Respect

Emma~

My eyes drop to the floor the second I realize how much I’m staring, and I try not to scramble too much as I move to finish my section with shaky hands. It’s pathetic really, to react this way just because of a pretty face, but I swear it’s like my body’s taken on a life of its own.

Others must have noticed my change in character as well, as I can feel Owen trying to make eye contact with me. It’s causing concern to fill his face the longer I resist, but I refuse to give anything away. Finding a man like that attractive is not just embarrassing, but ridiculous, and I need to get a hold of myself already.

He’s a killer, a monster that’s demanded a place at my father’s table, and for all the good looks in the world, that won’t cancel out his filthy actions.

No, reminding myself of that fact does wonders for regaining my composure, and instead, I think of how I’ll optimize my time downstairs when preparing the dessert. Food is always a safe subject for me.

“Sit.” For some reason, I don’t need to turn to know where that voice belongs, the shivers down my spine are indicators enough, and all heads appear to turn in his direction.

The question is, who is he speaking to like that? I’m surprised my father hasn’t spoken up already as disrespect is rarely tolerated, especially at the dinner table.

I look around to try and suss out who the unfortunate soul might be, but am stopped in my tracks by a pair of dark grey eyes locking with mine. Wait, it couldn’t have been me, could it?

Servers aren’t usually addressed by guests; we usually try to preempt requests before they’re made, and even so, I’ve not been serving him this evening, Derek has. It makes no sense for him to address me this way, and yet that glare of his doesn’t falter.

Suddenly, my cheeks flush in a mix of indignation and embarrassment as I accept that it was me and that he had the gall to bark at like that. I don’t care who he is and what he’s done, I don’t owe him a thing, and so in response, I turn on my heel in order to head towards the door. My part is done here anyway, and it’s not like he knows my name to call out and stop me.

“Who are you speaking to?” My father’s voice sounds displeased. I expected as much from the start and hope it discourages him from trying it again.

Naturally, Orion is a man to fear as his reputation has preceded him, but we’re in my father’s home and he’s sitting at his table. Surely he’ll be able to respect that? Then again, I’ve never met someone who has done the things he has; I can’t assume anything.

“Her.”

From one simple word, I feel the painful transition of going from invisible to having every pair of eyes glued on my face. If I wasn’t red before, I am now, but this time it’s with vengeance.

The invitation to sit lingers in the air as my father hasn’t declined it for me yet. In fact, he hasn't said anything yet, and I wish he’d jump in already. I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?

I have things that I need to do, dessert isn't even finished yet, and the last thing on my list is to sit here and chat idly with this crook. It's not even on the list at all for that matter, but clearly, I need to say something.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Neville, but I have duties to perform in the kitchen for the next course.” I refuse to make further eye contact with him as I speak.

Maybe he’s the kind of man that likes things like that, you know, for women to appear submissive, as from the look on his face, he clearly wasn’t a fan of the fact that I was about to walk out anyway. I just hope that he will drop it from here and let me leave with whatever dignity I have left.

“Sit.” He repeats in an almost threatening tone, and something within me snaps.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m now the center of unwanted attention, or the fact that he just spoke to me as if he can order me what to do. But my reaction is all the same as he is not my keeper, and that’s something he’ll do well to remember.

“I’m not a dog.” I say through gritted teeth before turning to the other side of the table, please let him say yes, “Father, please may I be excused to prepare the dessert?”

He just nods, uncertain of what is happening here, but rather than questioning me, he looks to his guest. Good, let him explain how he dares to speak to me that way, but I don't care enough to stick around.

Now that I have permission from my true source of authority, I leave faster than a bullet from a gun.

I dart to the stairs and back down to the sanctuary of my kitchen. If there is any mercy left in this world, let him not follow me.