by Nikki Sloane
A sound erupted from his chest, too cruel and bleak to be considered a laugh. “No, I don’t think so.”
I must have had a confused look on my face because he set his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, seriousness wiping his expression clean.
“The most difficult day of my life was the one where I buried her . . . by myself. Vance was too distraught, and Royce refused to go.”
I inhaled so sharply, it hurt.
I hadn’t thought about that day since, but at the time, I’d wondered why neither of the Hale boys had been at Macalister’s side during the burial. The only reason I’d been there was for moral support. My parents had thought Emily and I could somehow help, even though we weren’t close friends with the boys.
“He refused?” I asked. I pictured Royce as I remembered him back then, a wild, stubborn brat who always got what he wanted.
The muscle along Macalister’s jaw hardened. “He blamed me for her death, because Julia and I had argued that morning, and he believed she wouldn’t have taken her horse out if we hadn’t. He said a number of awful things that day.”
Sadness cloaked me like a heavy, stifling blanket. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was only a boy who’d just lost his mom.”
“The staff was able to get him into the limo, but when we arrived at the cemetery, he wouldn’t come out. I am not a man who begs, Marist, but I did that day. I wanted closure for my son. I needed him beside me during the most difficult task of my life, and instead I felt tremendous shame and disappointment at the boy who could only think about himself.”
Oh, Jesus. I wasn’t sure which Hale my heart broke for in that moment. Was it the stoic man who had stood beside the mound of dirt and the newly carved stone bearing his wife’s name? Or the boy wearing a formal black suit no little boy should own, crying his eyes out alone in the back of the stretch limo?
“Macalister.” My voice broke on his name, teeming with emotion. “He was ten.”
It was the wrong thing to say because a dark pall spread through his expression. “I was younger than him when my parents died, and I did what was required of me.”
How was I supposed to respond to that? The only stuff I knew about the Hale family was the history lesson he’d given me during the initiation. I’d never met any of Macalister’s family, but I assumed it was his terrible personality that had pushed them away, not that he had some tragic backstory.
“People grieve in different ways,” I choked out.
He gave me a pointed look. “Yes, and Royce made it abundantly clear he would prefer to do it by himself.”
I couldn’t argue. He hadn’t told me what today’s date meant to him. My fiancé was an island, unconnected to anything or anyone.
“Well,” I said, searching for an out, “Vance, then. You shouldn’t drink alone.”
“I’m not alone.” His eyes were like an exposed live wire. Electric and beautiful and extremely dangerous. “You’re here.”
“I don’t count. I’m not a Hale.”
“No, not legally, of course, but that’s a formality. You live in my house, you work at my company, and you’ve sworn yourself to this family. You’re a Hale, Marist.” His tone was absolute. “One who I’ve made a considerable investment in.”
I could read it all in his confident body language and heated eyes. He expected me to pay dividends. Not to his son, but to him personally. The thought made my throat swell closed and my mouth dry up.
“I would like to know,” he continued, “whose idea was the lock on your bedroom door? His?”
I bit my lip, unable to answer, but it was all the confirmation he needed.
“You’re a smart girl, so I assume you’ve asked yourself why.” Macalister recapped the bottle, his fingers turning methodically, and I couldn’t help but think of a torturer turning a screw. “I own this house and everything in it, including access to any space whenever I desire. The lock is unnecessary, as you are perfectly safe while you’re here. Royce knows this.”
My heart clanged in my chest louder than the bell on Wall Street that opened the markets.
“The lock’s protection is an illusion.” The deep, stern timbre of his voice made him impossible to ignore. “It’s not to keep things out, but hold them in.”
I strove for confidence when I felt absolutely none. “Such as?”
“Before he suggested it, were you concerned about not having one?”
I frowned. “No, but—”
“And now I suspect you lock it every night and worry what would happen if you don’t.”
I glanced away, unable to look at him as he proved his point. Was it true? Had Royce’s demand for the lock on my bedroom really been manipulation? A way to ensure my distrust of his father?
“A cage may open from the inside,” Macalister said, “but it’s still a cage.”
My eyelids were heavy from the false eyelashes the makeup artist had applied, and as I stood in the shade of one of the trees on the Hale grounds, I stared at the branches above and silently prayed for one of them to break off and crush me to death.
“Marist,” the photographer said, “let’s have you put your back against the tree. Royce, lean into her. Hand on her waist and the other on the tree by her head.”
I took her directions and leaned against the tree trunk, its rough bark against my back, and steeled myself as Royce stepped into my space. He clasped my waist with a confident hand, and the heat of his palm seared through the thin silk of the dress I wore. But it didn’t compare to the fire in his crystal blue eyes.
He was so fucking good at pretending. Was this just a production for our engagement photos? Or was any of it real?
The crew buzzed about us. Two men held white screens to bounce the light, and whenever the photographer was busy adjusting settings on her camera, the makeup artist dabbed at me with powder. It was a thousand degrees outside, but I was sure there wouldn’t be a speck of shine or bead of sweat on my body. The pictures would be flawless.
They had to be. Alice said several high-end magazines had requested engagement photos of the happy couple. Brides had offered to do a full spread.
They wanted pretty pictures to go with the pretty lie.
The photographer adjusted her stance and angled her camera at us. “Kiss her.”
A smug smile curled on Royce’s lips the moment before he leaned down and pressed them to mine. In his office, I told him this wasn’t allowed, but now that he’d been given free rein, he was happy to take advantage.
It was impossible not to fall into his kiss, not with the way he moved against me. It was a seductive dance. His tongue delicately slipped into my mouth and stroked so softly, I felt it deep between my legs. He made me melt so badly, there was no way the makeup artist had enough powder to cover it all.
“Very nice,” the photographer said, subtly nudging Royce that she’d gotten the shot she wanted, and it was time to move on. But Royce didn’t take orders from the servants. The prince of Cape Hill got whatever he wanted, and right now, he wanted this kiss to continue.
His hand curved around my waist until it was wedged between my back and the tree, and he used it to urge me deeper into his demanding kiss. He drew the fingertips of his other hand along my jaw so he could cup my face and prevent me from ending it.
Wars raged—one in my head, and one between our mouths. What was happening was a cruel tease. I couldn’t lie like he did, so when I kissed him back, the meaning was real. As hurtful as his kiss was, it didn’t mean I wanted him to stop. Oh, God, how I wanted him to keep going. I wanted the entourage of people to fade into the trees and disappear so this moment wouldn’t end.
Royce adjusted the angle so our mouths could better meet, and when he pressed the rest of our bodies together, I felt fully possessed by him. The connection was so powerful, it was nearly as intimate as sex.
Someone let out a nervous, uncomfortable laugh, breaking the spell between us. As Royce lifted his head, malice flashed through his eyes. He didn’
t like being interrupted.
The photographer had a wide smile and gave us a wink. “Save some of that for the next setup.”
My face burned hot, and it had nothing to do with the heat outside. It was caused by the man who twined his fingers with mine and pulled me away from the tree, out into the harsh sunlight. And once we were linked, he refused to let me go.
We were posed in a half-dozen different locations on the Hale grounds, but my heart climbed into my throat when Royce suggested the site where he’d asked me to marry him. The photographer looked delighted and had him lead the way. We were a parade, marching through the maze until the bubbling fountain came into view.
“Oh, how romantic,” she gasped. “This setting is fabulous.”
I stood motionless as the makeup artist slicked gloss over my lips, but like a thirsty gazelle sharing a watering hole with a lion, I watched Royce with wary eyes. He looked effortless in his tan suit without a tie, full of carefree confidence. The enormous privilege he carried weighed nothing.
The photographer tossed a finger at the stone bench. “Royce, why don’t you sit beneath the fountain?” When he did, she added, “Great. Marist, we’ll have you sit sideways in his lap.”
To the rest of the people, my fiancé just looked thrilled with this idea, but all I saw was his devious smirk. I begrudgingly marched toward him and refused to let the excitement deep inside me make an appearance. He held his arms out, welcoming me into his lap, and the masculine scent of his cologne invaded my senses. It was bad enough he looked good. He didn’t have to smell amazing too.
I forced on a smile, matching his dazzling one while the camera’s loud shutter clicked away.
“Good, good,” the woman said. “Can you put your arm around his shoulders? Tilt your head down and look at him.”
It was uncomfortable sitting on him, and the dress rode up high across my bare legs, but I did as I was directed. When I shifted, trying to find a better position, it worked a grunt from him that was probably too quiet for anyone but me to hear. It was loaded with pleasure.
His hand gripped my knee for a moment before it slid a few inches up my leg, and my breath caught. His fingertips were hidden beneath my skirt. It lingered right at the edge of being inappropriate, and the way my body responded to it was completely inappropriate. Despite the summer heat, goosebumps pebbled across my skin.
His touch gave me tunnel-vision. The photographer said something to Royce, perhaps telling him to straighten his back, but everything outside of him went fuzzy. It barely registered when the woman commanded me to kiss him. My body was already clamoring for it, so it wasn’t hard to give in.
“Control yourself this time,” I said. Hopefully my scolding tone masked the very real plea beneath it.
“Not a chance.”
Today, he wasn’t Hades, the king of the underworld—he was Ares.
God of war.
I wasn’t going to win against him right now, not under his brutal kiss, but at least the surrender was sweet. Like when he’d proposed, time slowed. He stripped away the armor I’d put up to protect myself, one seductive kiss at a time, until I was laid bare. Then he delivered the final blow with a sweep of his tongue and left me trembling.
His mouth carved a path down my neck.
“What I’m doing right now? This is nothing.” His voice was whisper soft but still packed its defiant punch. “Every party we go to, every time we’re out together, I’m going to have my mouth on you. My hands all over you.” As he spoke, his lips brushed over my sensitized skin. “I don’t give a fuck who’s watching or if we make a scene. I want you, Marist. I want you so badly it scares me.”
Desire snaked through my veins like a drug he’d administered.
My resistance to him might have cracked, just a little, which was incredibly dangerous. He’d slip inside the fractures, fill them up, and split me open. I’d become the foolish mortal worshiping at the temple of a god who didn’t care. He wasn’t capable.
Was he?
“Your phone is ringing,” the makeup artist said abruptly, jarring me from my thoughts. Since my dress didn’t have pockets, she’d offered to hold on to it for me, and now she thrust the phone my direction.
I scrambled up off Royce’s lap and took the phone. One look at the screen and worry sliced through me. My mother never called, not unless something was wrong. I tapped the screen, and before I’d brought the phone to my ear, she started speaking.
“Marist,” she said in a panicked rush. “We’re taking Emily to the emergency room. I found her—”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“—and there was so much blood. It’s just awful. Will you meet us there?”
Cold dread froze my limbs in place. “Mom, slow down. What happened?”
Hearing the fear in my voice had Royce on his feet. I turned away from him, not wanting the concerned look streaked on his face to distract me as I tried to focus on what she was saying.
“She’d been cramping all morning, but I thought it was normal. I had some spotting with both you girls.” Her tone was crushed with guilt. “I told her not to worry, Marist. I thought if she took a nap, she’d feel better.”
I couldn’t catch my breath, and without thought, my legs started churning, carrying me through the maze toward the house. I needed my car keys. “Which hospital? Port Cove?”
Cape Hill was too small to support a full hospital, but the next town over had one. Surely it wouldn’t be Mass General. That was at least forty minutes away.
“Yes. We’re in the car now.”
“I’m on my way.” I hung up as I scrambled up the stone steps, only to jerk to a stop at the top—
A warm body slammed into me and nearly knocked me over, but then Royce’s hands were on me. “Whoa.”
I hadn’t realized he’d been right on my heels and didn’t take the time to think about why that was. All that mattered was getting to my sister. “I need my car keys.” I glared at him like it was somehow his fault I didn’t have them. “Your father took them.”
“I’ll have a driver out front in ninety seconds.” He took one hand off me to pull out his phone, and I watched his thumb slide across the screen with surgical precision, texting his order. “What’s going on?”
My pulse was a chaotic, fluttering mess. “I don’t know. I think Emily’s having a miscarriage.” Everything felt out of control, and the sensation was horribly disorienting. “I don’t want a driver, Royce. I want my keys.”
Strangely, he didn’t rise to match my intensity. He was a ship in a storm, even-keeled and staying the course. “I know you do, but my way is faster.” He gripped my hand and pulled me toward the house. “Let’s go.”
It wasn’t until we were seated in the back of the town car and Royce was buckling my seatbelt that I realized what we’d done. “The photoshoot . . . We just left everyone back there.”
The sedan jerked to a start and barreled down the tree-shaded drive toward the main road before he’d finished buckling his own seatbelt. “Are you kidding? Don’t worry about them.”
“Right,” I lashed out. “How stupid of me to think about anyone other than myself. Sorry, I’m not a Hale, so I’m not used to doing that.”
I’d expected my dig to earn me a scornful look or a sharp comeback. He was supposed to get angry. Instead, he said nothing. He laced his fingers with mine, and his tone was soothing. “It’s going to be okay.”
The pain in my chest was acute. Emily’s pregnancy wasn’t exactly planned, but she had made it clear she wanted her baby with all her heart, even when the father didn’t. I clutched Royce’s hand so hard, my knuckles turned white. She wasn’t just my sister . . .
“She’s my best friend,” I whispered.
He leaned across the seat and pressed his lips to my forehead. “I know. I promise you it’s going to be all right.”
“How can you promise that?” I cried.
His eyes were as pure and unforgiving as the diamond on my finger. “Because
I have more money than God, which means I can make it so.”
SEVEN
MY MOTHER WAS A MESS. Not physically, of course. Her tailored white blouse was impeccable, and her black slacks were wrinkle-free. Her statement necklace was a vivid red, giving her a punch of color, which she needed right now. Her face was pale, and likely in her worry she’d rubbed off most of her makeup. My father sat beside her, his arms crossed and his vacant stare boring a hole into the tile floor of the emergency waiting room.
“Mom,” I said.
Relief at my voice brought her to her feet, but when her gaze wheeled around to find me, she did a double take. She blinked her stunned eyes, taking in my silk Dior dress and perfectly executed hair and makeup.
And then she spied Royce beside me and stiffened.
He wasn’t his father, but he was still a Hale, and that made her nervous. Her focus darted from me to him and back again.
“They took her back for an ultrasound,” she said.
“Is she okay?” It was a stupid question to ask while standing in a hospital, but I needed the answer to be yes.
My mother frowned and nodded slowly as she twisted the tissue in her hand tighter. “Emily’s doing all right now, and the baby still has a heartbeat, but that’s all we know at this point.”
“Oh.” An ounce of relief loosened my chest so I could breathe. “Well, that’s good, right?”
Her gaze drifted slowly downward until it landed on my hand, and she flattened her lips together with displeasure. I didn’t understand until I tracked her eyeline and discovered my hand curled around Royce’s.
When the hell had that happened?
When I shook free of his hold, something that looked strangely like disappointment blinked through Royce’s expression, but it was gone so fast it couldn’t have been real.
I sat in the empty set of chairs across from my parents, and my surprise continued when he sat beside me. I was grateful for his help getting to the hospital, but what was he doing?
My mother’s tone was full of judgement. “You two look nice.”