“You will not embarrass my mother,” he whispered, his grip tightening.
I felt the sharp sting of the diamonds cutting into my wrist, but I did not pull away.
“Let go of me,” I said, keeping my voice low and even.
“You are acting like an hysterical child,” Beatrix said, taking a step closer. “You have no sense of decorum, Vivian. None at all.”
“Thatcher, let go,” I said.
“You are staying here, and you are going to welcome our guests,” Thatcher said, his face inches from mine. “You will not make a mockery of this family.”
The pain in my wrist was sharp, a cold contrast to the heat of the child against my shoulder.
“This house is mine,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that made him pause.
He did not release his grip, but his fingers loosened slightly.
“The deed is in my name, the bank accounts are mine, and the money that pays for your mother’s pearls is mine,” I said, looking directly into his eyes.
