"Alright," Alina replied, even though she desperately wanted to say no.
"I know just the place." Rosana's smile could have cut glass.
The Pulse GT's engine purred as Alina followed her aunt's silver Aurium T7 through the winding streets of the financial district. Traffic lights turned green at perfect intervals, as if the city itself bent to accommodate the Marrowgate name.
"What does she want now?" Alina muttered worrily, her aunt was one of the few people she was apprehensive about.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to Le Jardin Noir—one of the few five-star French restaurants in English soil, and a place where the doorman probably earned more than most people's annual salary.
The valet practically sprinted to open their car doors, his white gloves spotless despite the drizzle that had started to fall.
"Lady Marrowgate, what a pleasure." The maître d' appeared instantly, his English filled with a French accent as thick as cream. "Your usual table?"
"Naturally." Rosana handed over her coat like she was bestowing a royal favor.
The restaurant bubbled with the quiet conversations of people who moved millions with a phone call. Crystal glasses caught the light from chandeliers that probably cost more than houses. The air smelled of truffle oil and old money.
Their booth sat in a corner with perfect sight lines to the entire dining room. Rosana settled into the plush velvet like a queen claiming her throne. She was forty-five but looked ten years younger - the kind of ageless beauty that came from the best surgeons and unlimited budgets.
Lady Rosana Vaelen Marrowgate. Even her name sounded like a weapon.
She'd never married, and she wore that fact like a badge of honor. "Strategic choice," she'd say whenever someone was brave enough to ask. Men were tools to be used, not partners to be trusted. Her entire life was calculated moves on a chess board where she always played five steps ahead.
The waiter appeared with wine before they'd even looked at menus. Rosana had that effect—people anticipated her needs before she voiced them.
"The usual for you, Lady Marrowgate?" The young man's hand trembled slightly as he poured the bordeaux. Even seasoned staff felt her presence.
"Please. And my niece will have..." Rosana's eyes flicked to Alina. "What will you have, dear?"
Alina scanned the menu quickly. Everything was in French with prices that made even her blink twice. "The salmon... And water."
"Still trying to watch that figure?" Rosana's tone was honey wrapped around a blade. "How admirable."
The waiter vanished like smoke. Around them, other diners spoke in hushed tones about mergers and acquisitions, about which ministers were taking bribes, about whose children were being sent to which elite schools.
Rosana swirled her wine and took a delicate sip. Her lipstick left no mark on the glass— another one of her many mysterious talents.
"So, darling." She set down the wine with the utmost care. "How are things? You look... tired."
'Here it comes.'
"I'm fine, Aunt Rosana. Just busy with work."
"Mmm. And how is..." Rosana paused, as if the next words tasted bitter. "How is your husband?"
The way she said 'husband' made it sound like a disease. Alina's shoulders tensed automatically. Four years of this. Four years of barely concealed contempt wrapped in polite conversation.
"Eric is fine." Alina's voice had that defensive edge she hated. It made her sound like a teenager again.
"I'm sure he is." Rosana's smile never wavered. "Still working with those youth teams, I assume?"
The food arrived before Alina could answer. Her salmon looked perfect, probably caught that morning and flown in from Scotland. Rosana's steak was cooked exactly rare, the way she ordered everything in life.
They ate in relative silence for a few minutes. The only sounds were the gentle clink of silverware and the low murmur of power lunches happening around them.
"You know," Rosana said, cutting her steak with surgical precision, "I was only being concerned, my dear. Family should look out for each other."
Alina nodded but kept eating. She'd learned that silence was often the safest response to her aunt's 'concern.'
"By the way..." Rosana reached for her designer handbag. "I received some rather interesting news from the youth league circle today."
The smile that spread across her face made Alina's stomach drop. It was the smile of a cat that had cornered a mouse.
"What kind of news?" Alina set down her fork. Suddenly the salmon tasted like cardboard.
Instead of answering, Rosana pulled out her iPad—the latest model, naturally. Her manicured fingers danced across the screen with practiced ease.
"Here we are." She turned the tablet toward Alina like she was presenting evidence in court.
The headline hit Alina like a punch to the gut:
[ERIC MADDOX SACKED BY SILVERGATE YOUTH SAILORSString of poor performances leads to immediate dismissal]
The words blurred for a moment. Alina blinked hard and read it again, hoping she'd misunderstood. But there it was in black and white, on the sports website that every football fan in the country checked daily.
Her pupils constricted as she read the brutal details. Poor tactical decisions. Player complaints. A dressing room that had lost all respect for their manager. The final straw was getting physical with the former assistant and now present manager, Nigel Crowther.
"Oh my." Rosana's voice dripped false sympathy. "How unfortunate."
Alina's hands clenched in her lap. The restaurant continued buzzing around them, but she felt like she was trapped in a bubble where only bad news existed.
'So this is why she invited me to lunch.'
"I..." Alina started, then stopped. What could she say? That she didn't know? That Eric hadn't told her? That would just give Rosana more ammunition.
"These things happen, of course." Rosana took another sip of wine, savoring both the bordeaux and the moment. "Football is such a... volatile profession. Especially at the lower levels."
The way she said 'lower levels' made it sound like Eric was managing children in a parking lot.
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