by K. I. Lynn
“What are you even doing here, Rhys?” Atticus asked as Rhys headed toward us.
“You didn’t really think I’d miss this, did you?” he asked with a sly smile and a twinkle in his eye. Even a year later, Rhys was just as slithering as I remembered.
“Why didn’t I know you were cousins?” I asked. Looking between them, I could see a few similarities, but Rhys looked more like Hamilton than Atticus with his steely grey eyes and brown hair.
“Why should you have?”
I was a little taken aback by his response, but he was right. Why should I have? We were three people having drinks at a bar. They knew each other, so my assumption had been that they were friends.
“You know what they say about assumptions, Ophelia,” Rhys said.
“I’m beginning to grasp the naiveté of my original assumptions, as they’ve come back to haunt me in unexpected ways.”
Rhys grinned at me. “Yes, you’ll make a fine addition.” He reached for my hand, and I involuntarily flinched when our fingers touched. “All is well, little mouse.” I let him raise my hand to his lips where he placed a light kiss.
Every muscle tensed. There was something almost menacing about the gesture that was meant to hold respect and reverence.
“I must be off. See you both soon.”
“You’re not staying?” Atticus asked.
Rhys shook his head. “As much as I would love to watch them play with your little pet, I have to get back to the city.”
Rhys gave us both a nod and a wave before heading down the hall. I kept my gaze trained on him until he was no longer in sight, having the strange feeling that if I didn’t, he would strike.
“He would eat me alive at the first opportunity, wouldn’t he?”
“Correct.” No coddling. “Come,” he said as he slipped his hand into mine.
A yawn left me as we walked down the hall that was easily the length of a football field. It was then the adrenaline of the evening and the anxiety began to crash down. Suddenly I was drained and just wanted to crawl into bed.
“That was…something. Are all your family dinners like that?”
“It was an accurate representation.”
“Par for the course.”
A small chuckle left him.
“Would you really cut your sister off?”
He turned to me, his expression as serious as always, and once again I wondered if the man even knew how to smile. I’d seen it a few times, but I could admit I wanted to see it more, especially with the years ahead of us.
“You come from the working class,” he began. I waited until he made his point before deciding whether or not to punch him. “Tell me—if you received a quarter of a million a month to live off, with no rent because your family owns every dwelling in which you lay your head including your very own Manhattan condo, could you spend it all in five days?”
My mouth went slack as I looked at him. By the way Genevieve spoke, I thought it was maybe a few thousand dollars. “Holy shit. What does she spend that amount of money on?”
“It’s not going to charity, I can tell you that.”
We continued on our path, and I attempted to process what he just said. “So she gets three million dollars a year, has no rent or any other real-life bills, and on top of that ends up begging another few million out of your family, and all she does is shop and party?”
“Yes.”
A harsh laugh left me. “Cut her off. Give her a taste of the poor life. She can have my old job.”
Atticus’s lips twitched up, and he broke out into a full laugh. It stunned me, and I stared at him in wonder. My reaction reminded me so much of Rhys’s reaction to Atticus’s laughter the night we met. Atticus had a beautiful smile. It was breathtaking, and when he looked at me, I got lost in the way his blue eyes sparkled.
In the week and change we’d been together, I’d only ever experienced the tight-lipped, business smile. Before me was the look of the man I let take me home a year prior.
“Hopefully that will be enough to keep you away from her.”
“Keep me away?”
He nodded. “Gen always brings bad press with her. Nothing good comes from spending time with her, so stay away.”
Was she really that bad?
“What was with the tense atmosphere and the Amelia chick glaring at me all night?”
He stopped, then gestured at me to follow him. We entered into a huge parlor out of earshot. “I’ve been honest about what I wanted from you, but not exactly the why.”
I nodded in agreement. “While I’ve realized I was so shocked about your proposal, I didn’t think to ask.”
“My grandfather passed over a month ago.”
My chest clenched and I reached out, my hand resting on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Atticus.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m not sad the bastard is gone. However, as always, he found a way to screw with my inheritance.”
“How so?”
“In order to collect his company shares and this house, as well as to hold my position within the company, I have to be married within a year of his death.”
“And in that time, you thought of me?” My mind spun with trying to figure out what shocked me the most—his grandfather’s stipulations, or his approaching me.
“I’ve spent many nights thinking of you, of remembering the feeling of your tight pussy around my cock,” he whispered. His breath tickled my skin while his words lit up my blood and left an ache between my legs. However, the rare glimpse of warmth and playfulness faded, hardening again. “My father has been trying to force an arranged marriage on me for over a decade, and thus far I’ve been able to avoid them all. With the time restriction, I was suddenly facing with delving into my options. Many suggested I marry one of the women I’d previously dated, but if I wanted to spend any time with them, I would have stayed with them. There was also the few female friends I have that often attend events with me.”
“And warm your cock?” I asked.
He nodded, not surprising me. In what I’d seen, he wasn’t one to spend time chasing women. Not that he’d have to with his one-two punch of sexy as fuck and money.
“Then you came to the restaurant, saw me, and thought ‘she’ll do’?”
“You’re going to make me admit something I don’t want to admit.”
“Say it.”
He stopped walking, turning toward me slightly, and his jaw hardened before he released a breath. “As much as I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And not just about how much I want to be between your thighs.”
My heart fluttered in my chest, happy to know it wasn’t a one-sided infatuation. “You were pissed when I suddenly popped up in front of you as your waitress.”
“Yes, because I’m a paranoid asshole who thought you were after something.”
I froze, my eyes wide as I stared at him in shock. “Seriously?”
“I’m a de Loughrey, Ophelia—of course seriously. When you’re born with a golden spoon in your mouth, you learn to trust no one, because everyone is willing to kick you to the ground to pull that spoon from your mouth.”
“What kind of daycare did you go to?”
He shook his head. “I had nannies. It is simply a hard lesson we’ve all learned one way or another. People will use you for what it will give them. I was afraid that was what it was, that you knew who I was, and that you were just another leech.”
That was the score, why he’d approached me. The pressure he was under had to be intense.
“What made you change your mind?”
“The background check.”
“How thorough was this background check?” It irritated me how detailed his knowledge of my life was without ever having asked me anything. The background check information was his version of the Binder of Doom, only I didn’t know the contents, and that made me uneasy.
“Extremely.”
I blanched at that. The flippant comments he’d mad
e about knowing how old I was when I lost my virginity were true.
“When?”
“Shortly after that first lunch.”
“But you still never asked me out?”
“No.”
“Were you ever going to, or was that just a load of bullshit you feed women?”
He stared at me, cold and expressionless. The walls of ice returned, blocking me from more information.
“You look tired. Let me show you to your room.”
“My room?”
He nodded. “It’s technically Elizabeth’s, but it is directly across the hall from my own.”
I made a start to say something, then stopped. Being across the hall was much better than being in the same bed.
We headed to the second floor, and I was surprised when we passed the landing and continued up to the third floor and an equally long and wide hallway as the one on the main floor. The spacing between doors was almost identical and it felt like one of those halls that keeps expanding, never ending, stretching on seemingly forever. Glancing behind us, I found the other side to be equally as large.
After passing a few sets of doors, he turned the handle and ushered me inside. A four-poster bed sat against one wall across from a large fireplace. Elegant furnishings accented the room just as they had the main floor.
“Are you sure this is Elizabeth’s room?” I asked. It looked like a well-made-up guest bedroom. There was nothing to identify it as a once personal space for a growing girl.
“Can’t you tell?” he asked. His voice came across as serious, but when I turned, one corner of his mouth was turned up. “Most personal items moved to her home with Preston. Besides the shades of the walls and the colors of the bedding, little evidence of her twenty-some years here remains.”
“Can the same be said about your room?”
He leaned in close, his breath ghosting across my skin. “Perhaps one day you will find out.” He pulled back, moving to the door. “Good night, Ophelia.”
I watched as he pulled the door closed but was able to call out, “Good night,” before the latch clicked.
Once alone, the cool air and the emptiness of the room combined to set off goose bumps across my skin. I swallowed before stepping to the end of the bed where my bag lay and kicked off my heels. My feet ached as they flattened out against the plush area rug.
All I wanted to do was fall into the four-poster bed, but I needed out of my costume first.
Grabbing my toiletries bag, I headed into the attached bathroom. With a flip of the light, I stared at the opulent space with a large walk-in shower and marble counter. Did each room have its own bathroom?
With the size of the mansion I was in, the answer was probably yes. I peered at my reflection, at the strange person who stared back. Despite the hours since I’d gotten ready, everything still looked flawless. My eyes showed the tiredness below, but everything else remained pristine.
I looked like I was getting ready for a fashion shoot, not just ending a family dinner. Was that how all de Loughrey events would be? Dressed to the nines?
It all needed to go. I needed a reminder of who I really was, and not the pretend woman before me.
Slowly the freckles began to reappear, breaking up the porcelain doll look with each swipe, wiping away the layers of makeup from my skin. Afterward, I managed to wrestle the zipper of my dress down and tossed it over a chair before clipping my hair back and giving my face a good scrub.
Finally, the familiarity of my imperfections eased me.
“Hi,” I said, then let out a sigh.
Was ten million really worth the loss of self I was beginning to feel?
A feeling of unease echoed inside me, but I couldn’t figure out where the phantom feeling arose from. All I was aware of was the fact that it kept my mind and body from shutting down for the night.
I stared up at the ceiling, a hint of light from outside creating a myriad of ghostly shapes on my ceiling. As a child, they frightened me, but as an adult, they were a welcoming of my return.
However, it wasn’t their haunting memories that kept me up, but the presence I felt.
Two doors and a hallway were all that separated us, and yet it felt all too close and not close enough at the same time. At least at home there was a bathroom, closet, and another bedroom that buffered my room and hers.
Her presence was necessary, but it unnerved me. I wasn’t accustomed to having someone around, especially not someone like her.
Ophelia was not like most of the women I dated. Though “dating” was a loose definition of my encounters, which were generally for stress relief or arm candy for an event. I hadn’t truly dated anyone since high school. There simply wasn’t time, and expectations for my life were high.
Being the firstborn came with restrictions, obligations, and above all, an ironclad execution of compliance on how to behave.
If only my younger siblings had been given as strict of an upbringing, my blood pressure would be lower. Though as siblings went, there was only one true thorn in my side—Genevieve. Silas was a close second, but mild in comparison to the youngest of Charles de Loughrey’s children.
She wasn’t the absolute youngest. Some of Uncle Hugh’s children were still in high school. Aunt Kathryn’s third child was younger as well. She married a man named William Montgomery. We didn’t see her family often as they lived on the West Coast, but there were three more cousins from there. There was also the extended—second, third, fourth, and fifth cousins that carried the family name.
Elizabeth, Hamilton, Rhys, and Georgiana fell right in line and caused no issues, with the exception of Elizabeth’s husband, but I was going to end that nuisance. Uncle Hugh’s children were young enough that he was still able to hold them in check, which helped tremendously, but soon, they too would be my responsibility.
The pit forming in my stomach told me my idea was a mistake. It was never going to work. But I needed time, a reprieve from the one aspect of my life that was a constant harassment.
One night, and I was already ready to go back to the city. However, familial obligations kept me from leaving until the following day. It had been a rough night with more backhanded insults against Ophelia than I expected.
Resistance? Yes. Full-blown disdain from more than the worst offenders was unexpected. I knew they didn’t want my position, so why all the friction against the woman I chose to marry?
Ophelia was the one grand decision I’d made for my life. Ever. My single status to date was the one thing I had control of that didn’t come with a leash—another reason I fought so hard against an arranged marriage.
Ophelia had already begun to turn my life upside down and sideways. Watching her walk past me in jeans that cupped her luscious ass like a second skin led me to thinking that choosing her was the best decision I’d ever made.
And then tonight, she stood her ground with a grace that rivaled my mother’s.
Throughout dinner, no matter what was said to or about her, she didn’t respond. She bit her tongue. Though I could feel the anger, no one else noticed. There was also an uncanny understanding inside her. Though I trusted Rhys, I knew he was a snake in the grass, and that side of him was very apparent to her from the beginning. Most women would have fallen for his charms, but she sank closer to me every time he was near.
I should have told her about my father’s plans and the stipulations of the will, but I didn’t want her to turn my proposal down. Omission was the key to everything.
The next morning I was sitting at the dining room table, enjoying breakfast and coffee, when she entered. It was those jeans again, the ones that molded to her skin and filled me with the urge to touch her.
“If you’re going to wear jeans around here, they need to be the ones Melanie brought you,” I said as she pulled out the chair across from me.
She halted, then glanced down. “Why? Jeans are jeans.”
“Trust me. They can tell, and I don’t want them looking down their noses at yo
u.” They already did that enough. “We still have another night here.”
“Does this request extend to home?” she asked with a hard edge.
The unpleasant twinge in my chest had my expression relaxing in an attempt to not come across as hostile. “It’s our home. Wear whatever you want.”
“You mean your home. I may live there, but I’m nothing more than a roomed employee. It’s not my home.”
There was a bite in her tone.
“It is as much your home as mine.”
“No, no, it’s not. At most, I’m a guest in your palace. And since you dictate what I can and cannot wear…”
“Outside. Wear what you wish at home. Or nothing.” I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched up into a grin. Oh, yes, I would much enjoy her strutting around the condo naked, waiting, begging. “You’re beautiful either way.”
“Wow, did you just compliment me?”
My good mood faltered. “I know it may seem like I’m harsh at times. It’s a product of the level to which I have to hold myself, and those with me.”
She let out an annoyed huff just as Mary appeared beside her. Ophelia seemed like she felt out of place giving a breakfast order to her, but she would become accustomed to it in time, though I knew it grated on her to be waited on hand and foot.
“Did you enjoy your meandering?”
“My meandering?”
“I assumed you were getting the lay of the land when I could not find you this morning.”
She shrugged. “It’s a big place. I was heading to breakfast and got twisted around.”
“Hmm.”
A large plate appeared before Ophelia, and her eyes widened.
I sat down my utensils and finished off my last bite as well as the last sips of my coffee, then requested another cup be delivered to the library.
Ophelia looked up to me as I stood, her mouth full of a bite of omelet, a sausage link speared on her fork.
“I’ll be in the library,” I said. She gave a nod of understanding, then turned her attention back to her plate.