Bedroom Diplomacy. Michelle Celmer

      “No! God no. Nothing like that. This is because of your father.”

      She frowned. “What about him?”

      “After he introduced us, he and I had a talk. About you.

      And he warned me, in no uncertain terms, that I am to consider you off-limits.”

      Four

      Rowena felt as if she’d been sucker-punched in the stomach.

      The shock of Colin’s words, her father’s sheer gall, rendered her speechless. She honestly did not know what to say. And even if she did, her throat was so tight with anger, her vocal chords were frozen.

      Her father controlled where she worked, where she lived, the decisions regarding her son’s medical care. Now he wanted to control who she could see socially? What would be next? Her clothes? Her brand of shampoo? Would he keep going until he’d stolen every last shred of her independence?

      For over three years now she had played by his rules, doing and saying what was expected of her, paying penance for her sins over and over. And he still wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let her have a life of her own. What did she have to do to make him trust her? For him to see that she’d changed?

      Or maybe all this time she had been wrong, maybe this had nothing to do with her proving herself, with him trusting her. Power hungry as he had always been, maybe it was simply that he liked to keep her firmly under his thumb, under his control.

      In that moment, she resented the senator more than she ever believed possible.

      “I think he’s just worried about you,” Colin said.

      Her voice tight, Rowena replied, “Trust me, Colin, that’s not it. Not at all.”

      “I’m so sorry,” Colin said. “I can see that you’re upset.”

      She took a deep, calming breath. “Let’s get one thing very clear. Who I choose to see socially is none of my father’s damn business.”

      “I don’t think so either, but I can’t risk him pulling his support for the treaty. We’ve come so far already.”

      “He said he would pull his support?”

      “Not directly, but he insinuated it.”

      She was wrong—she actually could resent him more.

      She was so angry, so embarrassed and humiliated and disgusted—with her father and herself.

      “Rowena?” He touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

      She shook her head, brushing away an angry tear with the back of her hand. No. She wasn’t okay. Her father had crossed the line. One he could never uncross. And the worst part was that she had let him.

      But no more. This is where she drew her