by Tessa Bailey
“Yes,” I breathed.
Something oddly like relief filled his eyes and then vanished. “Good.”
He let go of me and stepped back so suddenly, I had to use the bookcase to keep myself upright, nearly toppling it and crushing us both. I got strength back in my legs and whirled around to face him, only to see his broad back heading quickly for the exit.
“Royce.” I said it the same way I’d tell him to stop.
But he didn’t. He opened the door and disappeared into the hallway, never once looking back at me.
Chapter Four
One Year Later
I was still a virgin on my twenty-first birthday.
It wasn’t done out of loyalty to Royce, I continually reassured myself. I hadn’t seen him since his graduation party a year ago and did my best not to think about him at all these days. It had been hard at first. I’d spent an unhealthy amount of time obsessing over our night in the library and wondering what the hell had happened. Had I done something wrong? Or had the whole thing just been one massive mindfuck?
It was going to be tough to get through today without thinking about him. He, along with his father, was due at the house within the hour.
I sat on the tile floor of Emily’s bathroom, gazing at my purple toenail polish. She was beside me, and I stroked a hand over her hair as she bent over the toilet and spit the lingering stomach acid from her mouth. I tore off a strip of toilet paper and passed it to her as she leaned back, and I stayed quiet as she wiped the corners of her mouth.
Her eyes were bloodshot. She’d thrown up so many times today, it’d burst blood vessels.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“A little. God, please tell me it’s finally out of my system.” Her skin was ashen and waxy. “Shit,” she groaned, collapsed back against the wall and put a hand on her forehead. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“People get sick,” I offered. “Everyone understands that.”
Her red-rimmed eyes popped open and stared at me like I was nuts. “Macalister won’t.”
She was right, so I wasn’t going to argue with her. Humans got sick, but Macalister Hale wasn’t human, so he wouldn’t be able to relate. Our father had tried to cancel the luncheon, but his boss refused. There were important things that needed to be discussed. Plus, he told my father there was “plenty of time for Emily to get herself together” before they arrived.
Macalister probably thought it was just a hangover and not actual food poisoning as my father had explained.
“Maybe a shower will help,” I said, glancing at the screen of my phone. The meeting was unavoidable, and she needed to get her ass in gear if she was going to attempt to look presentable.
“Okay,” she said weakly. I helped her up off the floor and plodded over to the shower, turning on the water.
After she finished, there was a knock at the bathroom door, but it swung open without waiting for a response, and our mother floated in. Her dark chocolate colored hair didn’t show a speck of gray because she paid a great deal of money for it not to. She wore a red and navy striped dress with a pleated skirt, and although lunch wouldn’t be served for another hour, she was all polished and ready to give Martha Stewart a run for her money.
She watched Emily climb feebly out of the shower, and worry streaked across her face. “Did anyone else get sick?”
I shook my head. “Em is the only one who ordered the salmon.”
My mother scowled, creating a crease in her forehead. “Don’t call her that today, all right?”
My sister’s nickname had never been an issue before. Any other time, I’d have been irritated at the idea of changing my behavior to please someone else, but today I would go with it. “Okay.”
The Hale family held sway over everything, and my parents would have less stress over the President of the United States visiting. They were supposed to be friends, but every moment with the Hales was rigid and formal. A visit with Macalister was a job interview that never ended. Every answer and action you made was evaluated and catalogued in his brain, and one wrong move would be disastrous.
“I should call the restaurant and let them know,” my mother said. “A lot of times it doesn’t get reported and—”
She froze as she stared at her daughter’s bloodshot eyes. It was obvious the thoughts running through her mind. First was concern over how sick Emily was, but the second thought was given almost as much priority. She was worried what Macalister’s reaction would be.
“I think I’ve got some Visine,” I whispered.
My mother’s attention swung toward me and, as she blinked, it was like she was seeing me for the very first time. Her critical gaze took in my deep emerald hair, scoured downward over my tank top and shorts, and landed on my flip-flops.
“Marist, please. Get dressed. I’m getting nervous sweats just looking at you.”
Emily lurched toward the toilet again. There wasn’t much left to throw up, and my mother and I stood helplessly by as she dry-heaved. If there was a way I could have transferred the sickness to myself, I gladly would have done it. It was so hard to watch my sister feeling miserable.
And she’d said the salmon wasn’t even that good. We’d gone out last night with her friends to celebrate her graduation from Etonsons. It had been a small gathering. The garden party my parents were planning would happen over Memorial Day weekend when the weather was better.
My mother locked eyes with me as Emily coughed and moaned. “Wear something nice. You might have to represent both my daughters today.”
* * *
After much arguing, I wore the pomegranate dress Emily had intended to wear. With my green hair, I was modern Christmas colors in May. The V neck party dress wasn’t my style, but it fit me and satisfied my frazzled mother.
After getting dressed and putting on the makeup my sister insisted I wear, I lingered upstairs as long as I could when the Hale men arrived. I waited until my father had to call for me to join them. It had been a small miracle I’d gone this long without running into Royce since I’d returned from college, but I couldn’t avoid him any longer. I teetered down the staircase on Emily’s heels, which were a half-size too big and made me clutch tight to the banister.
The polite conversation ceased at my entrance, and for a moment I became Medusa, turning everyone into statues. My father was the first to break form and gave a surprised smile, happy to see me. There was safety in numbers around the Hales, after all.
The patriarch of the visiting family took longer to recover and look mostly human again.
At fifty-two, Macalister’s hair didn’t contain a single thread of silver. It was swept perfectly over to one side, not a strand out of place, and I wondered if he simply decreed it in the morning and his hair fell into line. His nose was long, his cheekbones were high, and he was in perfect shape.
And just like his sons, Macalister was ruthlessly attractive.
But there was an unsettling edge in his eyes. As if he’d seen the entire world, down to every crevice, and found all of it so very disappointing.
His top lip curled as his gaze evaluated me top to bottom. Oh, he fucking hated my unnatural hair color, and it was so bad, he wasn’t even going to acknowledge me. I didn’t deserve a sliver more of his attention.
Royce, on the other hand, was frozen and focused only on me. His wide eyes didn’t blink for an abnormally long moment, and with the surprised expression fixed on his face, he looked . . . strange. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Otherwise, he appeared the same as last time. Still irritatingly sexy, wearing a cobalt blue suit with no tie, and shoulders set with confidence.
Had he not expected to see me? I guessed that made sense. His younger brother Vance hadn’t come, and when Macalister had requested the lunch, he’d only asked Emily attend.
The anxiety of it hadn’t helped my sister with the nausea.
Macalister cleared his throat, jolting his son from his stupor, then narrowed his exacting gaze on
my father. “Where’s your other daughter?”
My father stiffened. “She’s still not feeling well.”
Macalister was only a few inches taller than my father, but he seemed to loom over everyone, and his displeasure drifted down, permeating the room. “Then she can join us after lunch.”
My mother’s shoulders sagged, but she nodded and gestured to the dining room, ushering us toward the table our housekeeper Delphine had set with our fine china.
Since my father sat at the head of the table, I ended up across from Royce, and I spent the majority of the meal staring at the gold filigree in my plate, rather than endure his stare that drilled down into me.
The conversation was stilted pleasantries like it always was. Macalister’s only hobby was being an asshole, so it made him difficult to talk to. He’d changed so much over the years. I barely remembered how he used to be, or if he had ever genuinely smiled.
As soon as Delphine cleared the plates from the main course and disappeared through the door to the kitchen, my father’s boss laced his fingers together and set them on the table. The air shifted in the room. It was time to discuss business.
“Royce will be joining the board of directors,” Macalister said.
Holy shit.
He dropped his plain statement on the table, but it fell like an anvil and crushed through the floor, threatening to pull us all down with it. It was no secret my father wanted the coveted seat on the board. Royce was a Hale, so it was natural he’d be offered one eventually but, Jesus, he’d only been working at the company for a year.
And he was twenty-five.
Splotches of red crawled up my father’s neck and peeked out over the starched collar of his dress shirt. No doubt he was thinking how he’d been working for Hale Banking and Holding from before Royce was born. Charles Northcott was supposed to be next in line.
My gaze snapped to Royce, but he simply stared back, devoid of any emotion. He’d become a statue once again.
“How wonderful,” my mother choked out.
“Yes,” my father lied.
Macalister gave a subtle nod. “As you know, this is a huge honor.” His tone was cursory. “We have a tradition that goes along with it.”
A thousand tiny spiders crawled along my back.
The last time someone had joined the board, I’d been eight. No one explained to me what the process was, and not that anyone could. The tradition went back several generations in the company, and only the board members were privy to it. There was an initiation, or a ceremony, or some weird rite of passage, and then an enormous party afterward to celebrate. Like the private and elusive societies at an Ivy League school, I found the whole secret thing pretentious. Men making a big deal and pretending to be more important than they were.
“Now that Emily has finished school,” Macalister continued, “it makes sense that she joins Royce. Once he takes his seat, we will announce their engagement at the celebration afterward.”
It was surprising when my jaw fell open, it didn’t thump audibly onto the table.
In the past year, Emily and Royce had been on exactly one date, and she’d said it had been horrible. They had little in common and zero chemistry, according to her. I’d found that a little surprising. He was an asshole for sure . . . but no chemistry? I certainly hadn’t experienced that issue with him.
His kiss had burned for weeks after.
A part of me was secretly thrilled it hadn’t worked out between them.
Wait for me, his voice echoed through my mind.
Beneath the table, I pinched my knees together. It was hard to handle the memory while he was seated right in front of me.
But he didn’t protest the suggestion of marrying my sister. He didn’t say a goddamn thing about what his father had just announced, and irrational jealousy knifed through me. And even if you put the lack of chemistry thing to the side, Emily wasn’t even in the fucking room.
It shouldn’t have been so shocking. This marriage proposal wasn’t about love, it was a business merger. Macalister didn’t think my sister needed to be included in the negotiations of it, apparently.
My family’s confusion came out in a single word from my mother. “What?”
He looked irritated he had to spell it out. “Royce would like to ask for Emily’s hand in marriage.”
An incredulous laugh burst from my mouth. Was he seriously letting his daddy do this? “Maybe we should get Emily in here,” I said, my tone sarcastic. “She might have some thoughts about it.”
When Macalister’s icy gaze turned on me, I shivered. I wanted to fold up inside myself until there was nothing left.
“Then perhaps you should go and fetch her,” he decreed.
I stole away from the table, happy to be gone. I stepped out of my heels, depositing them at the base of the steps, and raced up the front staircase, my dress swishing as I went. I burst breathlessly into Emily’s room without knocking and discovered her sitting on the side of her unmade bed, her arms folded across her stomach. She looked like she was holding herself together.
“Em,” I said. “You need to get downstairs now.”
I darted into her walk-in closet and rifled through the dresses hanging there. There was a peach floral dress that was a bit too summery, but it would do. I snatched it off the hanger and stormed back into her room, holding it out urgently.
“Macalister just asked if Royce could have your hand in marriage.”
I’d expected laughter. Disbelief. Shock.
Instead, she cast her glassy, red-rimmed eyes down at her damask bedspread. Somehow, she knew this was coming.
A void opened in my chest. My sister was my best friend, and we told each other everything.
No, you don’t.
I hadn’t told her about my night in the library with Royce. I’d had a good reason not to before they attempted a relationship, and after it was clear nothing was going to happen, it seemed pointless to tell her.
I pushed my questions and sting of betrayal to the side. We’d deal with it later. Right now, we needed to handle the situation. I loved my father with all my heart, but he wasn’t as strong as he needed to be. He was susceptible. He folded and gave in too quickly, especially when it was something he wanted, like another cigar or glass of whiskey.
What if Macalister offered a seat on the board in exchange for Emily? It was absolutely something the shrewd businessman would do, and it was possible our father would be foolish enough to accept. Not that my sister would ever go along with it, but just the insane negotiation could be disastrous.
“Get dressed,” I ordered.
She did as I told her, moving like she was trying to delay the hangman’s noose.
Her hair was washed, but not styled, and there wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face when I led her downstairs, but it was better than her not being there at all. When we appeared, Macalister rose from his seat. Was this courtesy, or a power move? Royce stood as well, but his hesitation made it feel like an afterthought.
Her voice was as fragile as she looked. “Mr. Hale.” Her gaze rolled over to his son. “Royce.”
Macalister rounded the end of the table and strode toward her, his hand outstretched for a greeting. Earlier, he’d forgone a handshake when meeting a nobody like me, making it clear how much he preferred my sister.
“It’s nice to see you again, Emily.” There was no warmth in his tone, but I didn’t think he was capable.
She opened her mouth to say something, but words did not come out. Instead, she heaved the contents of her stomach all over his offered hand.
Chapter Five
My mother screamed. It was an awful sound, far worse than the groan from Emily as she tried unsuccessfully to cover her mouth and stop the catastrophe. The red dye from the sports drink she’d consumed was a sickly color when it came back up, like fake, garish blood running through her fingers.
The legs of my father’s chair screeched across the hardwood as he leapt to his feet, yanked a clot
h napkin off the table, and scurried to help his boss.
Macalister reared back. Red bile dripped from his hand, and he held it far away from his body. If he could have severed it clean off at that moment, he might have. Royce and I stood in stunned silence while everyone else buzzed around in a flurry of activity.
Emily muttered an apology and vanished. My father led his boss away to the nearest bathroom to wash off, while my mother chased down Delphine to clean up the puddle of vomit on the floor.
It left me alone with Royce, staring at each other from across the expansive table my family hardly ever used.
“Hello, Marist. Or is it Medusa now?” His lips held the faintest of smiles. “Did you do what I asked?”
Air halted painfully in my body as everything constricted. I couldn’t believe he had the balls to ask me that after what had just happened, after all this time, and to be so casual about it. Flames bloomed in my chest. “It’s Medusa.”
“Liar.” He smiled so victoriously, I almost didn’t catch the relief he was trying to hide beneath it. His gaze drifted from me to the door our fathers had disappeared through. “Is she pregnant?”
So much had happened in the last few seconds, I couldn’t process. “What?”
He didn’t repeat it, instead he let the question soak in silence.
Emily couldn’t be pregnant. “She’s not even dating anyone.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, that’s not a requirement for getting knocked up.”
I couldn’t manage my emotions. “She’s not.”
As soon as the statement was out, I began to question it. Whatever was going on with this insane wedding proposal, she hadn’t confided any of it in me. My mouth went dry. She hadn’t had anything to drink last night either. One of her friends had ordered celebratory tequila shots, but Emily turned hers down. She’d said she’d gotten sick off of Patron after finals week, and the smell made her nauseated.
Whatever expression I was making must have given away my thoughts because he looked smug.