by Nikki Sloane
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 would 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.”
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.
The only source of light came from the flickering, five-arm candelabras around the room. Long, white tapers burned, and crystals dangled from each base. There were two candelabras spaced evenly apart in the center of the table, one on the side buffet, and one tucked in the arched, built-in alcove.
It transformed the dining room into a shadowy cave. If I hadn’t been filled with apprehension, I might have laughed at how over the top it was. But this wasn’t a space for laughter. It was ominous. Its walls held secrets of perversion.
Royce was waiting beside the buffet table, and I was drawn to him. My dress fluttered around me like moth wings, and he was the flame I couldn’t resist, even if he was going to be my downfall.
He was spectacular, wrapped in a classic tuxedo without a vest, a black bow tied at his neck, and a glass of champagne in one hand. When the door was pulled closed behind me, it drew his attention. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, and for a long moment we simply stared at each other from across the room, drinking in the sight of the other.
His shoulders pulled back as he straightened, and his intense eyes went wide. He liked what he saw, but it also seemed to be hurting him. I understood. I felt the same ache down to the marrow of my bones.
There was awe in his voice. “You are devastating.”
My knees weakened. My entire body wanted to go soft and puddle at his words. He could have said I was beautiful, but no. He’d chosen a word that gave me power, saying I could lay waste to others. I was too tense to respond with words. I swallowed and nodded, hoping he could read the gratitude in my eyes.
Royce picked up a second flute of champagne from the side table and strode toward me. As I reached out to accept it, he caught the subtle tremble in my hand.
“You’re nervous,” he said. It wasn’t a question, just him stating facts.
I took a tiny sip of the champagne, letting the bubbles work my tongue loose. “Yes. It’s better now that I’m here with you.”
Because it felt like I’d crossed the point of no return. I was locked in, and he was with me. It alleviated the anxiety about whether I could back out and run. All I had to do now was get through it.
Being around him helped me, but was the opposite true for him? As I settled into my choice, he seemed more nervous. Like now he was thinking about backing out and running. Instead, he set his glass down on the dining table and pulled out one of the chairs.
“We need to talk,” he said. “And you’re going to want to sit down for this.”
His expression announced he was so uncomfortable, it verged on pain, so I took the offered seat. He grasped the back of the chair beside me, dragging it away from the table, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he returned to the buffet and retrieved something.
“Before we get into it, I have something for you.”
He set the black box down in front of me and dropped into his seat. If this was an engagement ring, it must be enormous. The box, tied with a red satin bow, was as big as a hardcover book.
My hands shook as I unknotted the ribbon and lifted the lid, my breath held.
One look inside and I burst into tears.
FOURTEEN
ALL THE EMOTIONS I’D BEEN TRYING TO AVOID poured out of me now in one uncontrollable instant. I gripped the lid of the box so tightly, the cardboard bent in my hands. Tears streamed hotly down my cheeks, likely destroying the makeup Alice’s stylists had applied.
Royce looked terrified. “Oh, shit. Please don’t cry.”
He had no idea how to deal with me, but it didn’t matter. At that moment, he could do nothing wrong. I stared at the Harry Winston necklace I thought I’d never see again, letting my gaze trace the delicate cluster of diamonds.
I could barely whisper. “This is for me?”
“Yes. It’s yours.”
I wiped away my tears with my thumb, and even though I was crying, I laughed in amazement too. “How? How did you . . .”
“Alice showed me the picture on Instagram. Costolli let me buy it before it went to auction.”
I had to look up to the unlit chandelier to keep from spilling more tears. “Oh, my God, Royce.”
Confusion spread across his face. “You don’t like it?”
“Are you kidding?” I dropped the lid and turned in my seat, gripping his face in my hands. “Thank you. My God, I can’t even find the words.” Now this heirloom could remain in my family. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
His hands gently cuffed my wrists, and his eyes melted. “Tell me.”
“It was my great-grandmother’s.” I struggled to rein in my emotions. “My mom wore it when she married my dad, and I hoped I’d get to wear it on my wedding day.”
“Well, now you can.” He let go and drew back out of my hands, his expression shuttering. “Even if it’s not to me.”
“Why wouldn’t it be to you?” My heartrate inched toward the chandelier.
He ignored my question. Royce grabbed the box, dipped a hand inside, and gently lifted the necklace out. He unclasped it and stood, draping it down over my front. The cold line of diamonds kissed the sides of my neck and I held still as he fastened it. It was heavy, but it belonged. I hadn’t felt like something was missing until it was there, completing me.
His hand lingered at the nape of my neck, fingers trailing down the line of my spine. It gave me a delicious shiver.
“There’s a mirror,” he said softly.
It hung over the banquet, and I rose from my chair. He followed alongside, and when I gasped at the sight of the glittering necklace, his eyes filled with pride. I slipped a hand up to curl around the back of his neck, fisting his hair and pulled him into my urgent, grateful kiss.
Even though our lips were pressed together, he held himself back from me. The kiss was . . . reluctant. Guilty. Like he thought he had no right to accept it from me, when it should have been the other way around. He’d spent a fortune on this necklace, and if I wasn’t so desperate, I should have refused.
When he ended the kiss, the mood in the room shifted, and in the flickering candlelight, his hesitation made him look like
a statue. “I need to remind you of the non-disclosure you’ve signed, because what we’re going to talk about can’t be repeated. Ever.”
He motioned to the chairs, all businesslike. I shook my head. “I think I’d prefer to stand.”
He looked pained all over again, a frown twisting the lips I’d just kissed. “Marist, please. This is hard for me, and if you could—”
“I know,” I interrupted. I gave him the most serious look I possessed so he would understand. “I already know.”
His eyes narrowed with distrust, disguising his worry. “What do you think you know?”
“You’re going to take my virginity in front of them.”
He flinched and went wooden.
Whatever was going on in his mind, I couldn’t read it. His expression was devoid of emotion. The longer he stood there, simply blinking at me like I was a ghost he couldn’t believe he was seeing, the more upset I became.
I’d held out hope that he would laugh and tell me I was being ridiculous. Or that he’d say he’d found a way out. He could forgo the archaic and insane tradition.
That hope died earlier when I came into this room. I sensed it in the air and tasted the hint of promised debauchery. Plus, it was foolish to expect any other outcome. He’d made it perfectly clear he was willing to do whatever was necessary to get what he wanted. He wasn’t going to give up a seat with the board to save me.
Royce looked like he wanted to ask a question, but he must have discovered the answer on his own. “Emily.”
He’d been wondering how I’d found out. “Yeah,” I said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Betrayal colored his voice. It threw me off-kilter to see him look wounded. “For fuck’s sake, Marist. Do you have any idea what this has been like? I didn’t sleep at all last night. It’s been fucking tearing me apart.”
“Are you seriously upset with me for withholding information?” I scowled. “You don’t tell me anything.”
He jammed a hand into his hair, possibly to yank it out. “I couldn’t tell you, no matter how much I wanted to. And—fuck—I wanted to so badly.”