The Dare

by Lauren Landish

  Eddie’s shrug is careless, but Colton sits down. At least I won’t be bailing him out of jail either. Eddie really brings out the worst in everyone.

  “A right tart,” Eddie’s girl says as she laughs, her voice rising piercingly until she breaks and ends up snorting like a pig.

  And here I thought I actually should pity the girl. But it’s every woman for herself when she’s throwing me under the bus and then laughing like a jackass on meth.

  “Seriously?” I don’t mean the word to come out, or at least to be audible, but it slips out and she hears me. The whole table hears me.

  “What’s that, Yank?” the girl asks, maybe getting that her comment wasn’t appreciated. The only good news is that I know for a fact that she’s not concealing a weapon. I’ve seen up and down her dress, and there’s nothing there other than exposed body parts. Though her acrylic nails might be deadly weapons.

  Maybe she can give Eddie a hand job later and Bobbitt him? It’d serve him right, I suspect.

  I backpedal my thoughts, though, playing the part of the well-mannered woman my dad raised me to be. Though the sweetness is all saccharine. “I was saying, we haven’t been properly introduced. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  “It won’t matter tomorrow,” Nan says, sipping her tea.

  Eddie proves her point, saying flippantly, “Oh, this is Amelia.”

  She squawks again. “Ava!”

  Eddie shrugs, and Nan looks rather pleased with herself for being correct.

  Alfred appears with a bottle of wine and stands at Edwin’s side, waiting to be acknowledged. When Edwin nods, Alfred uncorks the wine and dramatically pours a small dash in a wine glass.

  Edwin swirls it around, putting on quite the show as conversation stops, waiting for him. He sniffs and then takes a sip, swishing it around like it’s mouthwash. I’m not a wine connoisseur, but I’ve had my fair share of vino. Maybe more than my fair share, if I’m being entirely truthful. What I’ve never done is hollow my cheeks like I’m giving a blow job and make squishing sounds in my mouth that make it look like I’m a spitter, not a swallower.

  Finally, Edwin swallows, and without looking at Alfred, he deems it acceptable. “It’ll do.”

  Alfred pours a glass for Edwin, then for Eddie. Ava takes one as well. Colton declines, and while I’d rather have wine than tea any day, I decline as well, following his lead. Lizzie and Mary decline as well, but Nan accepts with another biting remark. “If he’s drinking the good stuff, then by Queen Victoria, I am too.”

  Nan means it. She picks up the glass, and faster than I can say ‘bottoms up’, it’s empty and she’s setting it back on the table. I’m reminded of the Japanese dinner with Colton because, as though he expected it, Alfred is standing at the ready to refill it.

  “Nan, don’t get knackered before we’ve even had a proper dinner.” Edwin’s scold is met by a glare so cold, it could send snow to the equator.

  “Mind your own,” Nan says, gesturing to Edwin’s wine glass with her own. “So, what brings you to hell, Coltie? Though I’m certainly glad you’re here.”

  Nan is on a roll. I think I might love her a little bit. I’m also still worried she might be a smidge crazy. Or maybe more? What’s bigger than a smidge?

  A long-ago memory of a home-ec class I once took comes back to me. Smidge, pinch, dash . . . smallest to largest. Nan is definitely a dash mad. At least. I bet she could hang with any dare Tiffany or I could give her, and that’s a grand compliment in my book.

  “Yes, Coltie. You practically ran out in the middle of the night. I never even figured out why you were going over the pond.” Eddie’s smug self-satisfaction says he knows exactly why.

  “I’m here on business,” Colton says evenly, avoiding Eddie’s baiting dig. “I’m doing quite well in the States, serving as a board member for Fox Industries."

  Let’s be real. Colton is not ‘doing quite well.’ He’s the fucking rock star of the company. Sorry, Dad!

  Edwin, however, seems less than impressed. “You’ve got a management position in the family business all ready for you, and you sod off to go make money for someone else’s company in the States? Disappointing.”

  I feel Colton’s fingers tense on my forearm and know he’s about to blow, so I step up to the plate to save him. “Excuse me, Mr. Wolfe. But what is the family business?”

  “Agriculture, mostly,” Mary says, smiling wanly. “The family name has stood for quality fresh meats in the UK for centuries. Business began with just one man who raised livestock and walked farm to farm to sell eggs each day. Over time, it grew from his one-man operation to the company we have now.” She sounds almost nostalgic, sentimental about the growth.

  “Don’t waste your breath trying to get Colton back in the family business. We all know why he left.” Eddie leans forward, getting closer to watch Colton’s reaction. “He couldn’t handle being second-best.”

  “That’s right, love!” Ava says, batting her eyelashes. “He just couldn’t measure up to a dish like you!”

  She starts laughing and snorting like a pig again, and I can’t help but cringe.

  Even Edwin seems turned off by Ava’s gross misconduct, though he excuses his son’s. “Right, right, enough of this tripe,” Edwin growls. “What actually brings you back home, Colton? You say you’re doing so well in the States, yet here you sit.”

  The accusation hangs heavily, mostly because Edwin all but throws it in his son’s face. Eddie, of course, is quick to see that and press the advantage. “Exactly, Dad. Colton, you abandoned your family without a word, and you come back unannounced with an American girl and some story of heralded success. I think it’s all bollocks.”

  “Eddie!” Lizzie protests, but apparently, being the youngest child means being ignored in this household.

  “No, he’s quite right,” Edwin says. “I’ve barely gotten much more than a formal Christmas card from you in years, you barely speak to your mother or your grandmother . . . so I don’t buy that this is simply a family visit. Let’s be honest, shall we, Colton? You want something, and I demand to know what!”

  “Dad!” Lizzie appeals again, working her way up the food chain.

  “Hush, Elizabeth!” Mary admonishes her daughter. “Your father is speaking!”

  “Well?” Edwin demands. “Speak, boy! Or has your time overseas turned you soft?”

  I feel Colt’s fingers tighten, and I’m worried that he’s about to unleash on his father when instead, he leans back, crossing his ankle over his knee and laughing.

  “You know, this all used to bother me. And honestly, I did go off because I didn’t want to put up with the lot of you, nor did I have to.” His voice is hard as steel, though he’s casual and loose as he talks to his dad. When he turns to the other end of the table, the warmth returns. “However, I came home for many reasons. First, because I miss some of my family.”

  “Colton—” Mary starts, her eyes soft.

  “It’s all right,” Colton says, tapping his fingers together. I’ve seen that hand gesture before . . . in the office. Every time he’s figured out something important, he runs it through his mind one last time before sharing it. Whatever’s about to happen is Colton’s true play of this whole charade with his Dad and brother.

  I wonder what it could be.

  Colton’s set at Fox, but maybe he does want to jump back into the family business? Or maybe this is a coup and he’s going to take it out from underneath them? Or maybe he’s come to rescue his sister, and Nan and Mary too?

  Whatever it is, Colton’s about to drop a bomb on Edwin and Eddie. After only knowing them for an hour, I’m pretty damn excited to see them get their comeuppance. Hell, I could dance a gleeful jig on the table, even without a dare, I’m so eager to hear it.

  "Father, Eddie . . . you may not have been keeping up with me and my endeavors in the States, but rest assured, I have stayed well informed of yours. I’ve watched from afar as you’ve cocked up half a dozen nitwit
ted business ideas, and its only sheer luck you haven’t lost the entire estate. Well, luck and restricted access. Eddie, you’re an utter prat. Father, you’re a disgrace.”

  Edwin and Eddie are both blustering, yelling at Colton, but he soldiers on, talking to his dad as though about the weather while shanking him left and right. Badass to the bone, and prepared as though he’s been dreaming of this moment for quite some time.

  “You bully and badger Mum, you treat Nan like rubbish, you’ve let Eddie run amok, and you practically ignore your only daughter, other than to perhaps scheme which of your Eaton mates you’re going to marry her off to.”

  “I will not—”

  Colton runs roughshod over Lizzie’s interruption too. “I came back because I’m taking my land,” Colton thunders. “Fox is looking to build a new HQ, and I’m going to be the man to lead it. This visit was simply a polite formality to check on my kin and to put you on notice that I will be here, watching closely and stepping in every time you get out of line. I’ve been absent, but no more.”

  There’s a moment of shocked silence, each of us processing what that means to us.

  My brain is pretty much on a repeat of . . . what the actual fuck, what the actual fuck? There’s a tiny question of ‘can he do that?’ mixed in, but then my brain goes right back to ‘what the fuck?’

  I mean, I know we’re here to do the scouting on the London property for HQ2, but I thought this was just a family visit because work brought him so close to home. There’s nothing in any of the paperwork I’ve seen that said the proposed site is Colton’s land. That changes . . . everything.

  It’s his land . . . there’s no negotiation. It’s his land . . . the price is at his discretion. It’s his land . . . he can set this deal up so that it’s irrefutable as the best option for Fox. It’s his land . . . Dad is so fucked. It’s his land . . . and he didn’t tell me.

  Eddie suddenly bursts out laughing. “Your land?”

  “That’s right,” Colton says. “The estate Grandfather promised me in his will.”

  Edwin stands up, so red I would be worried about his blood pressure if a small ugly part of me wasn’t wishing he’d drop dead right about now and save us all the trouble. Not really, of course . . . but maybe a little.

  “That land, you say? Tell me, Colton, since your grandfather died when you were still in nappies, who do you think controls the trust that owns that land?”

  He pauses dramatically, the feral grin growing wider and uglier by the second. “That’s right, boy. It might be your land in some old codger’s will, but it’s my land until the day I pass. And even then, it won’t be going to you so you can lease it or sell it to some American pissants. It’ll go to my son. My only son.”

  And with that, he looks to Eddie, who’s smiling like he’s been handed the keys to the kingdom just for being born and breathing oxygen.

  Chapter 24

  Colton

  There’s yelling and arguing, there’s negotiation and discussion, and then there’s the verbal weapons of mass destruction my father and Eddie unleash on me. To be fair, I do the same to them. Everyone else listens as we bicker with sharp barbs, bringing up everything from childhood wrongs to business mismanagement.

  Mum’s head initially ping-pongs as she tries to soothe the anger flowing like lava between her menfolk, but eventually, she wilts under the weight of so much hostility and her head falls, her eyes locked on the napkin in her lap.

  Nan and Lizzie seem shocked at first, but their delight at someone finally standing up to Father is a buoying lift that keeps me going. They have had to keep their mouths shut for far too long in the name of manners and power dynamics, and if I’m the one to take him on, then so be it.

  He has no hold on me. Not anymore. I have finally outgrown him. I don’t need to prove myself to him. I don’t need to impress him. Perhaps I thought I did when I began this journey and wanted to throw my success in his face as revenge, but listening to him rant brings home one lesson loud and clear. He is as weak as his power over me is. My desire for his approval, his affection, his love is naught but the past.

  There is power in the freedom.

  Mid-bluster, Father’s vein bulging dangerously, I simply get up. Elle startles, probably thinking I’m going to amp this up to a more physical altercation, but I pull her chair out. Helping her up, I take her hand and walk to the doorway.

  “This is pointless. You can’t stop this from happening. This is a mere formality, a nicety because we are family. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t consider me family, however, so perhaps we will continue this as professionals only. I’ll be in touch.”

  I don’t let him respond, walking out before he can have the last word. But from behind me, I hear Eddie whining. “Father, you said it would be mine. What is going on? Do something.”

  A victorious smile takes my face. I might not need Father’s approval, but it sure does feel good to throw a wrench in their plans, their very existence.

  Alfred escorts us out, opening the front door for us. “Oliver has been well cared for while waiting for you, Master Colton.” Lower, he whispers. “You do know how to rouse a ruckus, don’t you, sir?” His pride and glee are a resounding job-well-done, and it feels more important than my father’s.

  Right as we step outside, Lizzie runs up. “Coltie! Fuckin’ hell, you handed Father his arse! Bloody brilliant.” Thankfully, the front door is far enough away from the parlor that no one besides us can hear her. No one would care about her course language, but the sentiment would be considered near-blasphemy. And Lizzie is still a child, still subjected to Father’s whims and whimsies, unfortunately.

  I take her hands. “Lizzie, watch yourself. It’s one thing for me to piss Father off, quite another for you. Please just keep calm and carry on. I’ll be in touch soon.” I kiss her forehead, and she nods, giddy excitement still shining bright in her eyes. I hope she can keep it in check long enough for this to be handled with Father.

  Oliver pulls down the long drive, and I can’t help but stare out the window into the coming darkness. Even without the light of day, I know the rolling green hills like the back of my hands, each scar and line a story. Of my boxing fights, of my ancestors’ fights for the land and for a living.

  Elle breaks into my thoughts as she addresses our driver. “Oliver, you’re about to hear things that you’re not gonna hear. You feel me? Like some driver-passenger confidentiality thing, ’kay?”

  His eyes meet mine in the mirror as he answers Elle. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She’s not done. “And I’m about to basically go bat-shit crazy. I don’t want you to judge all Americans by what I’m about to do. Understand?”

  “Bat. Shit. Crazy?” he mouths, confusion written in his knitted brows. But he holds the car steady, joining traffic with experienced ease.

  “I’ve found that Americans have a fondness for idioms based on animals. Just say yes. It’s safer for you that way.” I try to reassure him with a smile, but his quiet ‘yes’ is more question than affirmation.

  “Good. We understand each other.” Elle’s summarization couldn’t be less true. Oliver has no idea what she’s talking about. But I do.

  I try to prepare myself for a verbal battle that feels more important than the one I just had with my father. I’m not ready when she smacks my arm over and over, two-handed catfight style with her hair flipping back and forth as she flails.

  “What the fuck was that, Wolfe? You’re such a bloody bastard! I could smack the ever-loving shit out of you right now! You’ve got some explaining to do, mister, so get to it before I . . . ugh!”

  Her voice has gone on a journey from screech to hysterical high-pitch squeal and back down to a growly snarl as she pushes at my chest. With the seat behind me, I don’t move in the slightest, which seems to piss her off even more.

  The whole production is hilarious and makes me want to smile. Wisely, I purse my lips and don’t do so.

  “I’m sorry, Elle.” An a
pology seems like the best place to start, but she amps right back up.

  “You should be!” She’s smacking me again. This time, I gather her hands in mine and kiss her.

  She fights it for one long heartbeat and then she kisses me back, hard and fierce. It’s not passionate. It’s punishment. “You scared the shit out of me, Wolfe.”

  “Why are you calling me ‘Wolfe’?” I ask, my lips still pressed against hers.

  She smacks me once more, with her lips, not her hands, and answers with a smile. “I don’t know, because I’m mad at you, I guess.” But she seems less so than a moment ago.

  “You said ‘bloody’. I think I’m rubbing off on you a bit.” A dangerous observation, but it goes over well with her smile growing slightly. “You ready to hear it now? Or do you need to smack me a bit more?”

  She sits back, crossing her arms over chest as she orders, “Let’s hear it.”

  “Ages ago, my family invested very heavily in land and got right jammy when they got a contract to supply the Army and Navy with rations. In fact, later on, our bully beef and condensed milk were the Tommies’ favorite rations in the trenches, compared to the Maconochie.”

  “The what . . . never mind. I take it the basic gist is that your family got richer?” She rolls her hand at the wrist, telling me to get on with it.

  “Yes . . . the Depression put a crimp in that, but come World War II, we were right back making rations for our boys and the Yanks, too. The Estate has an airfield nearby, and during the war, it was a base for American planes and their escorts. The whole time they were in England, they enjoyed our family’s products. And we just kept growing from there . . . bigger and bigger.”

  “And you gave it all up?” Elle asks suspiciously. “Why?”

  “I figured that would be obvious to you, of all people. Your father could hand you a position easily, same as I could take up an executive level position in our family offices. Father and Eddie have certainly chosen that path, and it’s done them no favors. They squander their days playing at being businessmen, all the while mismanaging trusts, wasting money on sports teams they know nothing about, and throwing about their perceived power like gormless twats.”