Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  I was sure there was kinky shit going on as well. Most of the executives at HBHC acted like the Gods on Mount Olympus. They did whatever fucked-up thing they wanted and didn’t worry about consequences.

  My sister shook her head. “Mr. Scoffield gave Jenny three hundred dollars that night. He said it was a joke and not to repeat it to anyone.” Emily’s focus left mine. She pulled up her knees and stared at them as her voice sank further. “I asked Royce about it when we went out last year.”

  I tensed. She made me wait a decade before elaborating.

  “He’d been an asshole to me all night, but when I told him I’d heard a rumor about it, he changed. It was like he became a completely different person. He said it wasn’t true, of course, but he spent the rest of the night wanting to know exactly who I’d heard the rumor from.” Her gaze wandered back to mine. “He was angry, Marist. And I think he was scared.” Her blue eyes had been soft, but they turned hard. “He was terrified I knew the truth.”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the floor, wanting to get away from what she was telling me. The whole thing was fucking insane.

  Yet . . .

  Why did I think there was even the tiniest chance it could be true?

  My gaze swiveled to peer through the open kitchen door that led to the dining room. Macalister had sat there last month and announced his family had a tradition, and a woman played a significant role in it. How the board needed to approve me before I could become Royce’s wife. There’d also been the invasive questions during my interview.

  And Macalister had lectured me about sex being necessary for a healthy marriage.

  I scrambled to my feet, knocking over some of the piles I’d spent more than an hour organizing. “If it was true, Royce would have told me.”

  Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.

  All the Hales had only given me the information they thought I needed to know. Surely, Royce wasn’t allowed to tell me. If he had, I could have bolted, and they wouldn’t want that. A lot of time and money had been invested in me, and besides—it was win at all costs. It was the Hale family motto, he’d said.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered. I pressed a fist into my stomach, desperate to feel anything other than the nausea sweeping through me. I settled on anger and whirled to face my sister. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  She climbed to her feet, scattering more of the bills around us. “I tried, and . . .” She looked lost. “I thought you’d back out, or it wouldn’t get this far.”

  My rage went from scalding hot to icy cold in an instant as the realization hit me. “You thought I’d fail.”

  “No,” Emily said quickly, but it was pointless. I could read it all over her face. “No, but I . . .”

  She might have said something else in her defense, but I didn’t hear it. Instead, Royce’s comment in the back seat of my car flitted through my mind, how he’d been worried our first time would be traumatic.

  There was so much he wasn’t telling me, how could I believe anything he said? A lie by omission was still a lie. Yet the way Royce had looked at me as I tried on the red dress—even if everything else was manipulation, that moment was real, wasn’t it?

  “What are you going to do?” Emily asked, jarring me from my thoughts.

  I didn’t know.

  If it was true, could I actually go through with it? Let Royce take my virginity as the rest of the board watched? Including his father? Oh, my God.

  The whole idea was like something out of the myths I enjoyed. A dark ritual of sex and power, and I’d be at the center. It made me shudder. Mostly in fear, but the part of me that loved the twisted, fucked-up stories in Greek mythology, it found this appealing.

  Jesus, what was wrong with me?

  I had to focus. It was too late to turn back, and there were no good options. I stood in the nest of bills, put a hand to my forehead, and closed my eyes. Emily had asked me what I was going to do, and I gave her the best answer I had. “Whatever I have to.”

  * * *

  This was the last time I’d see Royce before my final meeting with the board. The initiation, as he and his father had called it. He’d had his driver pick me up, and we rode in the back of the car alternating between stilted conversation and uncomfortable silence. Royce seemed as agitated as I was, but he did a better job at trying not to reveal it.

  Maybe he was nervous about the promotion, and not whether he could perform in front of eight other dudes, one of whom was his father.

  I was under no delusions what this “date” really was—a photo op. A show. We would get ice cream, then go for a hand-in-hand stroll down Cape Hill’s main street to maximize viewing opportunities for the public. Some of the guests for Royce’s celebration had already arrived, and since the town was small, it was likely we’d run into people.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, stabbing his spoon into his hot fudge sundae. “You seem weird.”

  “Yeah,” I said coolly. “You too.”

  He frowned, pressing his lips together.

  The shop was decorated like an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. It had pink and cream striped wallpaper and white wrought iron chairs with patterned seat cushions. The ice cream dishes were tulip shaped and footed. It was like the 1950s, and I didn’t need a reminder of a time where wives were expected to be subservient to their husbands.

  “Saturday’s going to be difficult.” He wiped his face with his napkin, wadded it up, and tossed it on the table. Then he leaned back in his chair and gave me a serious look.

  My breath caught. “Difficult how, exactly?”

  “We hate parties, remember?”

  “Oh. Right.” My mood worsened. For a hot second, I’d thought he was going to tell me. But, no.

  Last night as I lay awake in my bed, I came fully to terms with it. I’d adapt. I’d give him every opportunity to confess what was going to happen, but if he didn’t—I wasn’t going to let on that I knew. Information was power, and I’d hold on to it as long as I could. Let him see how much he liked being left in the dark.

  I tried to envision what the initiation would be like. It lined my stomach with lead, but also made me uncomfortably hot. Tension wrapped around my body, cinched me tight and kept me still as I burned from the inside out. It was scary and wrong, and I was willing to admit to myself a little exciting too. The big picture was I’d get what I wanted.

  Maybe I was prepared to win at all costs to get Royce.

  It was June and summer was in full swing, and the ice cream place was busy. I hadn’t noticed the blonde girl waving at me until we locked eyes. I wanted to turn and look behind me to see who she was waving at, until I remembered we were seated in the corner and there was no one else it could be.

  Noemi Rosso was waving at me.

  She rose gingerly from her seat, careful of her pregnant belly, and made her way over to me.

  “Emily, right?” she said, extending a hand.

  My smile froze. Of course, she thought I was my sister. I’d only met the heiress a few times. Her father owned a media empire, and like Royce, she was poised to take control when he retired. Rosso was as much a household name as Hale was.

  “Actually,” Royce said, turning in his seat, “this is Marist, not—”

  He blinked at the sight of the woman, and a smile flashed across his lips as he pushed back his chair to stand.

  “Noemi.” His tone was warm. “Good to see you.”

  “Royce.” She grinned.

  Although they clasped hands in a businesslike handshake, it all seemed so familiar, and an unwanted emotion spiked through me. I’d never seen him act sincerely friendly before. It probably didn’t help that Noemi was beautiful. She was close to him in age, maybe the same or a year older.

  “Congratulations on the promotion,” she said. Her hand fell to rest on her belly, and the wedding rings glittered on her finger.

  “Thanks. I was surprised you decided to come.”

  “Of course. This worked out great. Josep
h and I wanted to get out of Chicago for a weekend while it was still just the two of us.” She gave a sly smile to the man I hadn’t noticed standing beside her until now. “I don’t think you’ve met my husband. This is Joseph Monsato.”

  The men engaged in a cursory handshake and exchanged hellos.

  I didn’t follow the gossip rags, but there was no avoiding the story. Noemi’s husband was at least fifteen years older than she was, and soon after they’d eloped, she’d gotten pregnant. The tabloids accused him of seducing her for her money, and most of the stories downplayed how he had money of his own.

  Joseph’s dark eyes followed his wife with reverence, and it was obvious to me their marriage had nothing to do with money.

  Was it possible the same would ever be said of mine?

  “This is my girlfriend,” Royce announced. “Marist Northcott.”

  I pushed to my feet, squeezed out a smile, and shook the couple’s hands while Royce’s statement buzzed in my brain. Girlfriend. Once again, it had come from him so quick and naturally.

  I had to remind myself to be careful. He was a spectacular liar.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Marist,” Noemi repeated. “We’ve met before, right?”

  “Yeah. I think at the HBHC golf classic last year.” And a few other events before that, but I wasn’t going to point it out. She wouldn’t remember me.

  “Ah, yeah. Didn’t you have green hair, or am I totally making that up? Sorry, pregnancy has eaten my brain.”

  “No,” Royce said with a chuckle, “that’s her.”

  Noemi’s gaze turned to him. “Well, it’s nice to see you both again. We didn’t mean to interrupt. I was craving some mint chocolate chip and thought I should say ‘hi.’ I’m sure we’ll see each other this weekend.”

  “Yeah, of course.” Royce nodded.

  She gave a final smile, took her husband’s hand, and then they disappeared out the door.

  It made sense Royce would be friends with her; they had a lot in common. They were from two of the wealthiest, most powerful families in America and pseudo celebrities. I’d never experienced that.

  As we slid back into our seats, Royce’s tone was matter-of-fact. “If my father could have picked any woman in the world for me to marry, it would have been her. He pushed her dad for her to apply to Etonsons, but I don’t think she got in.”

  My jaw fell open, but I promptly shut it. The two of them would have been a great couple. Noemi’s family had a ton of prestige and power, and she was gorgeous and Royce’s age. But I didn’t like the thought of them together at all. I was glad she hadn’t gotten in to Etonsons, stayed in Chicago, and the two of them never became more than friends.

  It worked out better for everyone this way.

  Oh, my God. The possessiveness I felt toward Royce was staggering. I’d never thought I’d be a jealous person, but one simple conversation showed me otherwise.

  “You should know,” he said, using the same straightforward tone, “if my father had asked me to pick, I’d have chosen the one sitting across from me right now, not eating her ice cream and looking pissed.”

  I thought I’d erected all these defenses, yet he punched right through them. I couldn’t tell if this was manipulation or real, but I wanted it to be the truth. It was painful to look at him.

  “Promise me,” I said abruptly, my words whisper quiet as I stared at my melting ice cream, “that you’re not going to hurt me.”

  His eyes widened and he drew in an enormous breath. The silence stretched between us until every part of me ached. I longed for him to say something. Anything. His expression was heartbreaking.

  “I can’t promise you that,” he matched my hushed voice, “but I promise I’ll try my best not to.”

  I parroted back the same words his father had given me. “Well, that’s all you can ask of someone, isn’t it?”

  * * *

  On Saturday, I nearly threw up on the solo car ride over to the Hale estate. I’d been too anxious to eat all day, and now acid roiled in my stomach. Maybe I could ask Alice for some toast when I got there. And perhaps I could get some Xanax sprinkled on top too.

  She’d insisted I come over by three p.m. to get ready. Thursday, the preparations had officially begun. I’d visited her salon of torture, been given another painful Brazilian, and Sebastian refreshed my hair color. Yesterday, it had been manicures, pedicures, and a spray tan.

  This afternoon, two chairs had been brought into one of the guest suites, and Alice and I sat in them while her team of stylists went to work, twisting and curling and pinning until our hair was stacked high on our heads. Conversation wasn’t difficult. I was too nervous to speak, and Alice talked non-stop, rattling off all the guests I needed to make sure I mingled with tonight.

  I’d been so focused on the initiation, I hadn’t given much thought to the party afterward. Was it possible to dread that more than the impending sex?

  When our makeup had been expertly applied, Alice set her hand on my shoulder and leaned over, putting her face near mine. She held her phone out, high above us and angled down.

  “Smile!” It came out light and breezy, but I heard the demand in it all the same.

  I pulled my lips back, showing my teeth.

  “No,” she scolded. “Smile with your eyes too.”

  I forced myself to look happy and carefree, and it must have been satisfying enough for her, because she snapped a few and then airdropped the best photo to my phone in my lap. She didn’t have to tell me what to do next. I opened the Instagram app.

  The picture I was about to post gave me pause. There Alice and I were, looking excited and like new best friends, who’d just enjoyed getting their makeovers together. The whole thing was so fucking deceitful.

  And yet, I posted in anyway.

  Win at all costs.

  The red Donna Willow dress had been altered to fit me, but I held my breath as Alice finished tugging the ribbons tight at the back. Last time I’d had the dress on, I’d felt powerful, and I hoped the magic was still there. I needed every ounce of strength today.

  I stared at the finished product in the full-length mirror. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.

  Alice sighed wistfully. “It’s like she made the dress for you.” Her expression was full of admiration. “You are breathtaking.”

  I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  She turned to leave, but I did something I’d never done before. I reached out and grasped her wrist to stop her. To make her feel a connection. I wasn’t sure who it startled more, me or her. Her wide eyes went from my grasp to my face.

  “Thank you for everything, Alice.”

  Did she know what I meant? I’d done my best, struggling through what they wanted, and although at times she’d been aloof and direct, I wouldn’t have gotten this far without her. I wanted her on my side.

  The corner of her mouth twisted up into a half-smile, but it looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or apologize. Her normally confident voice faltered. “You’re welcome.”

  There was a knock at the bedroom door, followed by a male voice. “He’s asking for her.”

  Suddenly, I was pulled close. Panic swamped her face and her words were urgent and low. “Try to enjoy it.”

  “What?” I reared back. Had she really just said that?

  But the nervous Alice disappeared. She hardened back into her veneer, returning to the cheerful woman from twenty seconds ago. “Come in,” she called.

  The door swung open.

  Vance Hale looked similar to his older brother Royce. He had the same long nose, blue eyes, and brown hair, but he was taller. More lanky and slender, like a long-distance runner without an ounce of fat. It made his high cheekbones look razor sharp.

  The guy’s social calendar put Alice’s to shame, and I hadn’t seen him in ages. His hair was different from before. It was neat and tidy, and he looked so polished and comfortable in his tuxedo, had I not known him, I wo
uld have wondered if he’d been born in one.

  As I assessed him, he did the same. His curious gaze raked down me and back up again, and his smile was easy. “Hey, Marist. Pretty dress.”

  “Hi.” I was so nervous, I was vibrating. “Thanks.”

  “You ready? Royce wants a word.”

  My feet wouldn’t move. I was rooted to the carpet. Worse, my mouth filled with glue and wouldn’t work. Fear gripped me in its vise. It told me as long as I stayed where I was, I would be okay.

  His head tilted to the side in confusion.

  “Marist?” Alice prompted.

  No. I wouldn’t be an avoider like the rest of my family. I willed my feet to begin moving. I ordered my heart not to beat too fast and make me lightheaded. I demanded my lips and tongue do my bidding. When I’d stepped into the red dress, I’d pulled on the other version of myself—the girl the Hales wanted me to be.

  The girl who could handle anything.

  “Sorry.” It was surprising how normal it sounded from me. “I’m ready.”

  Vance escorted me along the hallway, and when we reached the top of the grand staircase, I grasped a handful of the skirt to lift so I wouldn’t trip. I wasn’t expecting him to take my other hand and help guide me. The gentlemanly gesture was . . . nice. His hand was warm and steady, and it distracted as we descended the stairs.

  “I’m glad it was you,” he said at the bottom. His face shifted from serious to playful. “I had such a crush on Emily. This would have been weird.”

  Did he know what was about to happen? “Right,” I said. “Because this isn’t weird at all.”

  His surprised smile was wide. He nodded toward the closed door ahead of us, the one which led into the formal dining room. “You better get in there. He thinks I can’t tell, but he’s nervous.”

  Vance pulled open the door for me and waited beside it.

  The heavy curtains had been drawn closed, and the extravagant crystal chandelier that loomed over the dining table wasn’t lit. The room was naturally dark, paneled in walnut that was so deep in color it was nearly black, which made the formal space somber and cold. The red rug, trimmed in gold, beneath the huge dining table did nothing to warm it up.