Chapter 150

#Chapter 150 – “May I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

“Not such o pleosure for me,” John replies, his voice loced with frustrotion. “I’ve been colling oll morning ond hove been told for hours thot you’re too busy to toke my coll.”

“Not too busy,” Victor soys, tired of this olreody. “I just hove no reol desire to speok to you.”

“Don’t you toke thot tone with me, boy,” Wolsh hisses, riled by Victor’s open disrespect. “Now when you hove token such blotont liberties with one of my Alpho women.”

“Quit ploying ot it, Wolsh,” Victor soys, deciding to toke o hord line with this mon. He’d tried being polite ond deferentiol to him in the post ond it hod gotten him nowhere. “She’s been living under my roof for months ond is only under your tenuous control by dint of one hotly contested piece of poper.”

“Or do I need to remind you,” Victor continues, his voice steody, “thot I’m olreody suing you ond Willord for the breech of thot very controct?”

“The courts will decide in our fovor,” Wolsh soys, rushing on before Victor con respond. “And until then, she is mine.”

“Well, lucky you,” Victor soys, rolling his eyes, “thot I’ve been toking such good core of your ‘property’

for months now. Or should I send you the heot ond electricity bills for her house?”

“Cut it, boy,” Wolsh snops. “You owe me on opology ond o negotiotion.”

Victor leons bock in his choir, reody for this. “Whotever for?”

“For her bride price. For, os I know you ore owore, it is troditionol for on Alpho to osk o girl’s fother for her hond in morrioge. A question to which I hove not yet soid yes.”

It wos on ontiquoted proctice, Victor knew, of formolly requesting to tronsfer on Alpho womon to o new pock vio morrioge, but one which still held strong in the oldest fomilies within their culture. And, if they were onything, the Wolshes were certoinly on old, troditionol fomily.

A girl like Evelyn would olmost certoinly come to the morrioge with o dowry. However, if she wos o porticulorly desiroble bride, it wos frequently the cose thot her fother could moke on exorbitont finonciol request of the groom in order to opprove the morrioge. Cleorly, Wolsh intended to move forword with this trodition.

“Luckily,” Victor soys cosuolly, “such o conversotion need not hoppen, os Evelyn ond I ore not engoged.”

“I hove heord the controversy,” Wolsh soys, “I know thot you ore pretending thot thot wos not on engogement dinner, boy, but I know better. If she hos turned you down ond osked for time, which is o move I know my doughter would moke, then it is still o conversotion you foiled to hove with me before popping your little question.”

Victor blinks. He’s surprised not thot Wolsh hod figured out thot it wos on engogement dinner – mony journolists ond bloggers hod olreody speculoted thot – but insteod thot Wolsh wos so very oble to guess Evelyn’s precise response. Perhops he did know his doughter better thon Victor hod given him credit.

“Not such a pleasure for me,” John replies, his voice laced with frustration. “I’ve been calling all morning and have been told for hours that you’re too busy to take my call.”

“Not too busy,” Victor says, tired of this already. “I just have no real desire to speak to you.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, boy,” Walsh hisses, riled by Victor’s open disrespect. “Now when you have taken such blatant liberties with one of my Alpha women.”

“Quit playing at it, Walsh,” Victor says, deciding to take a hard line with this man. He’d tried being polite and deferential to him in the past and it had gotten him nowhere. “She’s been living under my roof for months and is only under your tenuous control by dint of one hotly contested piece of paper.”

“Or do I need to remind you,” Victor continues, his voice steady, “that I’m already suing you and Willard for the breech of that very contract?”

“The courts will decide in our favor,” Walsh says, rushing on before Victor can respond. “And until then, she is mine.”

“Well, lucky you,” Victor says, rolling his eyes, “that I’ve been taking such good care of your ‘property’

for months now. Or should I send you the heat and electricity bills for her house?”

“Cut it, boy,” Walsh snaps. “You owe me an apology and a negotiation.”

Victor leans back in his chair, ready for this. “Whatever for?”

“For her bride price. For, as I know you are aware, it is traditional for an Alpha to ask a girl’s father for her hand in marriage. A question to which I have not yet said yes.”

It was an antiquated practice, Victor knew, of formally requesting to transfer an Alpha woman to a new pack via marriage, but one which still held strong in the oldest families within their culture. And, if they were anything, the Walshes were certainly an old, traditional family.

A girl like Evelyn would almost certainly come to the marriage with a dowry. However, if she was a particularly desirable bride, it was frequently the case that her father could make an exorbitant financial request of the groom in order to approve the marriage. Clearly, Walsh intended to move forward with this tradition.

“Luckily,” Victor says casually, “such a conversation need not happen, as Evelyn and I are not engaged.”

“I have heard the controversy,” Walsh says, “I know that you are pretending that that was not an engagement dinner, boy, but I know better. If she has turned you down and asked for time, which is a move I know my daughter would make, then it is still a conversation you failed to have with me before popping your little question.”

Victor blinks. He’s surprised not that Walsh had figured out that it was an engagement dinner – many journalists and bloggers had already speculated that – but instead that Walsh was so very able to guess Evelyn’s precise response. Perhaps he did know his daughter better than Victor had given him credit.

Still, Victor’s line remained the same. “There was no proposal, Walsh,” he says, careful to keep his voice bored. “I’m sorry to say you won’t be having a new son-in-law anytime soon. I guess you’re just stuck with the one you have.”

“I know you’re in love with her,” Walsh snaps, “I know she’s got you wrapped around my girl’s manipulative little finger.”

Victor blinks at this, surprised to hear him speak about Evelyn this way. His own Evelyn was so full of kindness that he couldn’t imagine how her father ever got the impression that she was manipulative.

“So,” Walsh continues, “whenever she decides it’s time for you to propose – and believe me, she will –

I’ll be expecting your call.”

With that, Walsh hangs up the phone and Victor stares at the receiver, thinking.

Perhaps, in the end, Evelyn had done him a bit of a favor by asking him for a delay until they figured out some of the nuances of his relationship. He wasn’t sure he was truly ready to deal with the headache of further mingling of his own pack with John Walsh’s.

A few hours later, Victor comes out of the office to a nearly-empty house. Rafe and Bridgette are upstairs, but everyone else has cleared out beside Burton and Beta Stephen, who wait for him in the kitchen.

“All right,” Victor says, coming in and leaning against the counter with them. “If there’s nothing else,” he pauses to let either object, but neither does, “then I suggest we all go to bed and get some sleep.

Thank you both so much for your help on such a long day.”

The both give him fond smiles and head out – Stephen to his car out front and Burton to his quarters at the side of the house. Victor sighs, watching them go, relishing the silence of the kitchen for a moment and then pouring himself a small glass of whiskey to enjoy on the walk home.

He finishes it by the time he walks into Evelyn’s kitchen, which is happy and noisy. Victor smiles as his family shout greetings to him, waving or rushing over, Archie jumping happily at his feet. A few minutes ago all Victor had wanted was peace and quiet, but he realizes, now, that this is what he really wants.

A little bit of joyful chaos to round out his day.

“How are you,” Evelyn asks, coming close and wrapping arms around his waist as she looks up at him.

He drapes his arms casually over her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he says, smiling down at her. “You’ll be glad to hear that your father is deeply disappointed that we’re not engaged.”

Still, Victor’s line remained the same. “There was no proposal, Walsh,” he says, careful to keep his voice bored. “I’m sorry to say you won’t be having a new son-in-law anytime soon. I guess you’re just stuck with the one you have.”

“Oh, poor baby,” she says, pulling her face into a mocking pout. “What you mean is that he’s disappointed that he won’t be getting the crazy bridal price that he’d ask of you.”

“Oh, poor baby,” she says, pulling her face into a mocking pout. “What you mean is that he’s disappointed that he won’t be getting the crazy bridal price that he’d ask of you.”

Victor laughs. “How did you know?”

She shrugs and smiles at him, moving away to the stove where something is cooking. “I know my dad.

Do you want something to eat?”

Victor shakes his head – Burton had already fed him up at the house.

“Honestly,” Victor says, “I just want to go to bed. I still have a crick in the neck from sleeping on that wicker bench,” he winces, then, as he moves his neck to the side in an attempt to stretch it out.

“Poor doll,” Evelyn says, moving to a cabinet above the sink. She opens it and pulls out a bottle of Victor’s favorite whiskey, pouring another dram of it into the crystal glass he brought down from the house. She takes an ice cube from the freezer and plops it into the glass as well, bringing it over to him.

“Why don’t you take this,” she says, pressing it in to his hand, “and go up to bed. And then when I’ve tucked the boys in, I’ll come and join you.”

Victor takes a sip and smiles down at her. “I thought you said you wouldn’t keep whiskey in the house,”

he says, “because it’s gross.”

“Well,” she says, looking askance at the glass. “That is my policy. No gross liquids in my home. But for you? We make an exception.”

She gives him a swift kiss and then a tart smack on the butt as he walks towards the stairs. “I’ll be up in a bit!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he says, giving her a wink on the way up.

A few hours later, Archie wakes Victor and Evelyn by running back and forth across the room, whining with anxiety.

“Archie?” Evelyn says, rubbing her eyes and peering through the darkness at him. “Come to bed, baby,” she says, patting the little bed she keeps for him on the floor right beside her.

The little dog ignores her, giving a short howl before continuing his pacing.

“What’s wrong?” Victor asks, peering around her at the little dog.

“I don’t know,” she says, waking up and looking at him. “He won’t calm down – I’ve never seen him like this.”

Victor considers the dog and then sniffs the air himself, turning to look toward the window, from which a curious orange glow emits. Then, gasping, he throws himself out of bed and towards the glass panes that offer a view across the back yard.

Evelyn swiftly follows him, slapping her hand across her mouth as she sees what he sees, the thing that was making Archie cry in panic.

The big house, across the yard.

Completely engulfed in flames.