by Tessa Bailey
“Fuck off, Royce,” I snarled. “If she was pregnant, she’d tell me.”
The door to the kitchen swung closed, announcing we were no longer alone. The cold draft of Macalister Hale was back, making the temperature in the room plummet until it was arctic.
“She’s pregnant?” He appeared just as horrified as when my sister had thrown up on him.
“No, she’s not,” I answered quickly.
Royce shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels like he found the whole thing amusing. “Go ask her. One hundred bucks says she is.”
I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of running away, but his father had a way of making his desires known without saying a word. The set of his shoulders and the way he angled them toward me expectantly left me with no choice. I trudged back up the stairs with my hands balled into fists. I wished I could have reveled in the moment when someone threw up on Macalister, and if it had been anyone else not in my family, I would have.
She wasn’t sitting on the bed this time, and I could hear her soft crying coming from the bathroom. She was bent over the sink, splashing water on her heated face. As soon as she saw me over her shoulder in the mirror, she straightened.
“Is it possible to die of shame?” She stared up at the ceiling, trying hopelessly to blink back her tears. “I want to. I’m so fucking embarrassed and miserable.”
I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t good at sugarcoating things, and my sister wasn’t an idiot. She knew this wasn’t something Macalister would quickly forgive or forget.
When I lingered awkwardly in the doorway, her expression changed to one filled with worry. “What now?”
“Are you pregnant?”
I’d whispered it, but her reaction was as if I’d screamed it at her. My sister’s eyes expanded with shock, and then guilt spread through them like red wine spilled on a white tablecloth. Her gaze fell to her feet. “I’m . . . three weeks late.”
“Three?” I had a million questions, but the practical one came out first and in a rush. “Shit, why haven’t you taken a test?”
She shoved away from the sink and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. “Because,” she said in a hush, “I know what it’s going to say, and I don’t want it to, okay?” Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the travertine tile.
My heart broke a little. Not just for her, but selfishly for myself. She’d suspected for weeks and not confided in me. How many secrets was she keeping? “Whose is it?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“Em.”
“He’s married. Oh, God, I’m a terrible person.” She shut her eyes, squeezing out a fresh batch of tears. “It’s . . . Dr. Galliat.”
“Your psychology professor?”
She nodded. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Well, you’re not marrying Royce Hale, for starters.” I put my hand on her shoulder and pulled her close, crushing her into a hug. “It’s all right,” I murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
I held her reassuringly while the sobs wracked her body, not caring if her tears were staining my dress. I wondered if this baby could be a blessing in disguise. I certainly couldn’t imagine Macalister as a father-in-law and didn’t want us involved with the Hale family any more than we already were. It already felt like too much.
* * *
By the time I returned to the dining room, everything was back the way it had been at the start of lunch—except for the faint, lingering smell of disinfectant. Everyone was seated and appeared calm, but the tension was so strong, it invaded my senses like a thick paste.
“How is she?” my mother asked.
Royce took one look at me and smirked. “Pregnant. You owe me a hundred dollars.”
Macalister didn’t react with his face. He was perfectly composed even as he slammed a fist on the table so hard it created an enormous boom and made the silverware dance on the plates. Royce sobered, and for the first time I could remember, he looked nervous.
“That is unacceptable.” Macalister’s eyes were an intense Nor’easter, and I locked my knees before the hurricane-force winds knocked me down.
My parents were stunned, but the blow to the table seemed to knock my mother back to life. She pushed back her chair. “Please excuse me.”
“Sit down.”
At Macalister’s snarl, she froze halfway out of her seat but then straightened until she stood tall, her backbone hardening. “No. I need to speak with my daughter.”
“In a minute,” he ordered. “You’ll hear what I have to say first.” His attention slithered my direction. “Take your seat. This involves you now, Marist.”
He hardly ever said my name, and for that, I was grateful, because I always shuddered when he did. My feet moved independent of my mind to follow his order and bring me to my chair, and I fell into it while my heart rose into my throat.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware,” he adjusted the sleeves of his dress shirt beneath his suitcoat, “that the Northcott family has accrued so much debt, it’s likely you’ll declare bankruptcy by the end of the summer.”
I let out a short laugh.
What the hell was he talking about? I glanced around our dining room. The ornate, hand-carved table had enough seating for sixteen, and the curtains were Dupioni silk. We’d just had a meal cooked by our private chef and served by our live-in staff.
We had money in spades.
Yet . . .
When I glanced at my parents, they both looked like they’d swallowed the canary, and choked half to death on it.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
My grandparents, the ones I’d been named after, had left their enormous wealth to my mother. Besides that, my father’s annual salary was six figures. We had money in multiple markets. Property. Assets. There was no way bankruptcy was lurking around the corner. It just wasn’t fucking possible.
“A decade ago,” Macalister announced, “your father made a series of terrible investments. He chased the market for a while and dug a deeper hole. To stay afloat, they began draining their savings. You’re a student of economics at Etonsons, correct?”
Hyperawareness inched over my skin, coupled with a terrible feeling of dread. “Yes, sir.”
“Then I don’t need to tell you how your tuition, plus your sister’s, is more than Charles makes in a year. To keep you enrolled, he sold off his stock options.”
My heart raced as the financial walls began to close in, making me swallow thickly. “But the house—”
“Was mortgaged three years ago and is now in default. I’m sure you know which bank holds the lien.” He looked sickeningly pleased to tell me all this. “The fact is Charles and Delancey have been living well beyond their means for years. But that ends today.”
I expected my parents to say something, to either defend themselves or say it wasn’t true. But they were utterly silent, and the quiet grew more crippling with each breath I pulled in. All of our money was . . . gone?
Macalister spread his hands and placed his fingertips on the tabletop. “The only thing you currently own worth any value is your name and reputation.” His statement was laced with a threat. We were all acutely aware he could take those just as easily as he could take the house. A single word from him and we’d be shunned.
“I’m going to make an offer,” he said. “Only a fool wouldn’t accept it.”
I dragged my gaze from Macalister, unable to look at him. I didn’t want him to see the panic swamping in my eyes. Instead, I turned my attention to his son.
Royce sat perfectly still, one hand on the table, his fingertips resting against the edge of his folded napkin. The way he was unnaturally frozen in this casual position made me think it was for show. That inside he was tense and uncomfortable, and worried if he moved, he might give that away.
Macalister straightened in his chair, drawing my attention back to him. “When a new member is welcomed to the board, a woman plays an im
portant role in the tradition.”
My parents’ shame had left them unable to speak, so I had to. “What kind of role?”
“She becomes his wife.”
Oh, my God. The Hales had always been old-fashioned, but this was . . . archaic.
“Marriage is an important partnership,” he continued. “And it’s one the board needs to approve.” He didn’t notice the shock rippling through me. “Your parents were terrible with their finances, but they did a sufficient job raising their daughters. Obviously, Royce isn’t going to marry Emily now, but your family name has enough status that, even though you’re young, this pairing makes sense. And a Hale marrying a Northcott is what Royce’s mother always wanted.”
My shoulders rose and fell as I struggled to catch my breath. “You mean, Royce and I—?” My gaze flicked toward the man seated across from me. He hadn’t moved, but there was an edge of excitement in his blue eyes.
An unwanted flash of heat coursed through me, when it should have been disgust.
“You will marry my son,” Macalister stated flatly. “In exchange, I’ll forgive your parents’ mortgage and they can keep the house that’s been in your mother’s family for four generations. For appearances’ sake, your father will continue at the company, but his finances will be taken over by a manager of my choosing.”
Because he wouldn’t want any scandal with his daughter-in-law’s family, and more likely, because he preferred having total control.
My voice was hollow. “If I don’t?”
“Charles will have to find employment elsewhere.” Macalister’s expression was a storm, and he dropped the pretense. “I’ll foreclose on the house, and everyone will know how your parents squandered their money. When I’m done, you won’t even have your reputation. You’ll be left with nothing.”
My mother burst into tears, and my heart tore down the middle. One side ached for her and this humiliation, and the other side was hot with anger. They’d seen this coming for years and purposefully kept it from my sister and me. They hadn’t scaled back or tightened their belts. How could they continue living like nothing was wrong? Was it avoidance? Or pure denial?
I sucked in a breath through my teeth as another idea took shape. Perhaps they had a plan and had just been biding their time. Maybe they’d been counting on Emily marrying Royce and bailing them out.
It was the anger that gave me strength, although it couldn’t be heard in my voice. I’d been told Macalister was a ruthless negotiator, but I was about to find out firsthand. “I . . . have a counteroffer.”
His shoulders snapped back like I’d asked if his Cartier watch was a fake, but I sensed he was simply posturing. He probably enjoyed this sort of thing. “My offer was more than generous.”
I ignored him. “If I agree to marry Royce,” hysterical laughter bubbled in my throat, but I tamped it down, “we keep the house, my father keeps his job and agrees to the financial planner.”
Macalister’s irritation swelled to outright anger. “That’s the exact offer I just proposed.”
A tremble worked its way up my legs but was thankfully hidden beneath the table. Outwardly, I tried to match his merciless personality. I said it before I lost the nerve.
“And also, ten million dollars.”
Chapter Six
A deal is deemed good when neither side is happy at the end of negotiations, and right now Macalister Hale looked very, very unhappy.
I could relate.
My parents gaped at me. A stunned, short laugh came from Royce and hung awkwardly in the air.
Macalister’s question was deadly quiet. It was scarier than if he’d shouted it at me. “Are you out of your mind?”
Obviously, I was, because I was considering this absurd deal. I had no desire to be married at twenty-one, and even less interest in becoming Mrs. Royce Hale. But what choice did I have? My entire family was broke, soon none of us would be employed, and it was likely my sister had a baby on the way.
I risked angering him further, and my voice warbled with a tremble. “Ten million isn’t that much to you.”
“No.” Rather than storm away from the table, he leaned over it, getting closer to me. “Understand something. I’m already forgiving a huge mortgage. I’m not stupid enough to extend your parents another loan.”
“It wouldn’t be a loan.” I scrambled to come up with something. Anything to leverage. How deep did our money troubles run? What if my parents had years’ worth of back taxes outstanding? Beneath the table, I balled my hands into fists. “Think of it as a reverse dowry. You’d be buying my silence and . . .” I choked it out, “loyalty to Royce.”
Meaning I was essentially selling myself to him.
Macalister’s eyes went thin as he evaluated it, and he made me wait a lifetime before speaking. “Five hundred thousand.”
Relief and terror mixed inside my stomach. I was a freight train, barreling along much too fast and locked in on a path with one destination. Negotiations had started, and there was no turning back. I needed as much money as I could get. “Eight million.”
His sneer cut me in half. “You think I’d be willing to pay that much? It’s insulting.”
“No more than your counteroffer.”
The corner of his eyes crinkled. He was surprised I hadn’t backed down, and perhaps intrigued. “I want this done. Two.”
I was terrified to push my luck but went for it. “Five.”
There was no emotion on his face. No hint of what he was thinking or what would happen next. He could laugh, he could curse, or he could walk away and leave us with nothing. I waited with painful anticipation.
“Five million dollars, Marist Northcott,” he said, “and you better be the perfect, dutiful wife. You will look and act exactly how we tell you to. A paradigm of class, the girl who everyone looks up to and wants to be.”
Oh, God. It was impossible to breathe. How was a nobody like me supposed to accomplish that?
“If you don’t receive approval from the board, this offer is revoked. The house, the money, everything evaporates. You understand?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.
“Then, we have a deal?” It was more statement than question from him.
“Marist.” My mother’s voice was a ghost. “We’ll figure something out. You don’t have to do this.”
Who was she fucking kidding? Of course, I did. Up until now, my life had been easy. I’d been protected. My parents had spoiled Emily and me and given us anything we’d ever wanted. They’d ensured I’d never had to sacrifice or struggle.
I peered across the table at the man who looked a lot like his father but hadn’t gained as hard of an edge yet. I traced the lines of Royce’s fingers with my gaze and couldn’t help but think about how he’d made me come. How he’d shattered me so completely with that same hand when he’d push me against the bookcase and jammed it inside my panties.
I could still smell the dusty, oaky scent of the library even now.
Agreeing to this was hard and unfair . . . but there were worse things than having to marry into one of the wealthiest families in the country. Becoming a Hale wasn’t exactly a death sentence.
It wouldn’t be—as long as I didn’t lose who I was along the way.
“Yes.” I said it so softly it was impossible to hear, so I cleared my throat and strived for an even, sure tone. “I agree.”
Royce’s unexpected smile made my heart stumble. Was I reading him right? He looked pleased at my answer, like he wanted this. What kind of sense did that make?
His father’s reaction was far more muted. Macalister was relieved to have an unpleasant task completed. He rose from his seat, reached across the table, and extended his hand. I smoothed my palms down on my skirt as I stood, wiping the sweat from them, and took the first handshake Macalister had ever offered me, sealing the deal.
His grip was overpowering and dominating, and I had the terrible feeling this was only a small taste of the control he craved.
He held on to me as he spoke. “While I would have preferred you accepted my initial offering, I respect that you didn’t. Maybe there’s a brain in there beneath that ridiculous hair you’ve got.” His compliment was mostly backhanded. Then he added, “I can see why Royce likes you.”
Since he still had hold of me, Macalister had to feel the jolt traveling through my body. My gaze snapped to his son. Alarm blared loudly on Royce’s expression but was shuttered instantly.
“I don’t,” he said quickly. “Like I told you before, either Northcott girl is fine with me.”
My brain quit functioning, and the word fired off before I could rein it in. “Wow.”
As he retreated into his emotionless, statue-like state, I must have misinterpreted his reaction from before. He didn’t care about my sister or me. We were interchangeable women to be married off. Merely a commodity.
Aren’t you?
I’d just sold myself to him.
Turmoil churned in my belly, and for a moment, I wondered if I too would throw up all over Macalister’s hand. I jerked back and forced my anxiety down. The full scope of what I’d agreed to hadn’t hit me yet, and I needed to keep it together long enough until the Hales were gone. Then I could process the terrible decision I’d made.
A sinister smile lifted on Macalister’s lips as he looked at his son, as if he wanted to see Royce squirm. “If that’s true, what was all that on the car ride over here?”
“It was nothing.” His voice was clipped. “I think it’s time for dessert.” When no one moved, he prompted my mother. “Mrs. Northcott?”
God, what an arrogant prick.
* * *
I didn’t eat any of the chocolate tart Delphine served. My parents didn’t either, unless my mother pushing around the raspberries with her fork counted. My family had no appetite following all the shit that went down. We sat as captives while Macalister laid out the instructions for the next month of my life.
An appointment was set up with Alice Hale. Royce’s stepmother would meet me at her favorite salon and personally approve the “drastic changes” Macalister said were required to bring me in line with the Hale brand. Obviously, my evergreen hair color would be the first thing to go.