FIVE

MY MOTHER SCREAMED. It was an awful sound, far worse than the groan from Emily as she tried unsuccessfully to cover her mouth and stop the catastrophe. The red dye from the sports drink she’d consumed was a sickly color when it came back up, like fake, garish blood running through her fingers.

The legs of my father’s chair screeched across the hardwood as he leapt to his feet, yanked a cloth napkin off the table, and scurried to help his boss.

Macalister reared back. Red bile dripped from his hand, and he held it far away from his body. If he could have severed it clean off at that moment, he might have. Royce and I stood in stunned silence while everyone else buzzed around in a flurry of activity.

Emily muttered an apology and vanished. My father led his boss away to the nearest bathroom to wash off, while my mother chased down Delphine to clean up the puddle of vomit on the floor.

It left me alone with Royce, staring at each other from across the expansive table my family hardly ever used.

“Hello, Marist. Or is it Medusa now?” His lips held the faintest of smiles. “Did you do what I asked?”

Air halted painfully in my body as everything constricted. I couldn’t believe he had the balls to ask me that after what had just happened, after all this time, and to be so casual about it. Flames bloomed in my chest. “It’s Medusa.”

“Liar.” He smiled so victoriously, I almost didn’t catch the relief he was trying to hide beneath it. His gaze drifted from me to the door our fathers had disappeared through. “Is she pregnant?”

So much had happened in the last few seconds, I couldn’t process. “What?”

He didn’t repeat it, instead he let the question soak in silence.

Emily couldn’t be pregnant. “She’s not even dating anyone.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, that’s not a requirement for getting knocked up.”

I couldn’t manage my emotions. “She’s not.”

As soon as the statement was out, I began to question it. Whatever was going on with this insane wedding proposal, she hadn’t confided any of it in me. My mouth went dry. She hadn’t had anything to drink last night either. One of her friends had ordered celebratory tequila shots, but Emily turned hers down. She’d said she’d gotten sick off of Patron after finals week, and the smell made her nauseated.

Whatever expression I was making must have given away my thoughts because he looked smug.

“Fuck off, Royce,” I snarled. “If she was pregnant, she’d tell me.”

The door to the kitchen swung closed, announcing we were no longer alone. The cold draft of Macalister Hale was back, making the temperature in the room plummet until it was arctic.

“She’s pregnant?” He appeared just as horrified as when my sister had thrown up on him.

“No, she’s not,” I answered quickly.

Royce shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels like he found the whole thing amusing. “Go ask her. One hundred bucks says she is.”

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of running away, but his father had a way of making his desires known without saying a word. The set of his shoulders and the way he angled them toward me expectantly left me with no choice. I trudged back up the stairs with my hands balled into fists. I wished I could have reveled in the moment when someone threw up on Macalister, and if it had been anyone else not in my family, I would have.

She wasn’t sitting on the bed this time, and I could hear her soft crying coming from the bathroom. She was bent over the sink, splashing water on her heated face. As soon as she saw me over her shoulder in the mirror, she straightened.

“Is it possible to die of shame?” She stared up at the ceiling, trying hopelessly to blink back her tears. “I want to. I’m so fucking embarrassed and miserable.”

I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t good at sugarcoating things, and my sister wasn’t an idiot. She knew this wasn’t something Macalister would quickly forgive or forget.

When I lingered awkwardly in the doorway, her expression changed to one filled with worry. “What now?”

“Are you pregnant?”

I’d whispered it, but her reaction was as if I’d screamed it at her. My sister’s eyes expanded with shock, and then guilt spread through them like red wine spilled on a white tablecloth. Her gaze fell to her feet. “I’m . . . three weeks late.”

“Three?” I had a million questions, but the practical one came out first and in a rush. “Shit, why haven’t you taken a test?”

She shoved away from the sink and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. “Because,” she said in a hush, “I know what it’s going to say, and I don’t want it to, okay?” Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the travertine tile.

My heart broke a little. Not just for her, but selfishly for myself. She’d suspected for weeks and not confided in me. How many secrets was she keeping? “Whose is it?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Em.”

“He’s married. Oh, God, I’m a terrible person.” She shut her eyes, squeezing out a fresh batch of tears. “It’s . . . Dr. Galliat.”

“Your psychology professor?”

She nodded. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“Well, you’re not marrying Royce Hale, for starters.” I put my hand on her shoulder and pulled her close, crushing her into a hug. “It’s all right,” I murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I held her reassuringly while the sobs wracked her body, not caring if her tears were staining my dress. I wondered if this baby could be a blessing in disguise. I certainly couldn’t imagine Macalister as a father-in-law and didn’t want us involved with the Hale family any more than we already were. It already felt like too much.

 

 

By the time I returned to the dining room, everything was back the way it had been at the start of lunch—except for the faint, lingering smell of disinfectant. Everyone was seated and appeared calm, but the tension was so strong, it invaded my senses like a thick paste.

“How is she?” my mother asked.

Royce took one look at me and smirked. “Pregnant. You owe me a hundred dollars.”

Macalister didn’t react with his face. He was perfectly composed even as he slammed a fist on the table so hard it created an enormous boom and made the silverware dance on the plates. Royce sobered, and for the first time I could remember, he looked nervous.

“That is unacceptable.” Macalister’s eyes were an intense Nor’easter, and I locked my knees before the hurricane-force winds knocked me down.

My parents were stunned, but the blow to the table seemed to knock my mother back to life. She pushed back her chair. “Please excuse me.”

“Sit down.”

At Macalister’s snarl, she froze halfway out of her seat but then straightened until she stood tall, her backbone hardening. “No. I need to speak with my daughter.”

“In a minute,” he ordered. “You’ll hear what I have to say first.” His attention slithered my direction. “Take your seat. This involves you now, Marist.”

He hardly ever said my name, and for that, I was grateful, because I always shuddered when he did. My feet moved independent of my mind to follow his order and bring me to my chair, and I fell into it while my heart rose into my throat.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware,” he adjusted the sleeves of his dress shirt beneath his suitcoat, “that the Northcott family has accrued so much debt, it’s likely you’ll declare bankruptcy by the end of the summer.”

I let out a short laugh.

What the hell was he talking about? I glanced around our dining room. The ornate, hand-carved table had enough seating for sixteen, and the curtains were Dupioni silk. We’d just had a meal cooked by our private chef and served by our live-in staff.

We had money in spades.

Yet . . .

When I glanced at my parents, they both looked like they’d swallowed the canary, and choked half to death on it.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

My grandparents, the ones I’d been named after, had left their enormous wealth to my mother. Besides that, my father’s annual salary was six figures. We had money in multiple markets. Property. Assets. There was no way bankruptcy was lurking around the corner. It just wasn’t fucking possible.

“A decade ago,” Macalister announced, “your father made a series of terrible investments. He chased the market for a while and dug a deeper hole. To stay afloat, they began draining their savings. You’re a student of economics at Etonsons, correct?”

Hyperawareness inched over my skin, coupled with a terrible feeling of dread. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I don’t need to tell you how your tuition, plus your sister’s, is more than Charles makes in a year. To keep you enrolled, he sold off his stock options.”

My heart raced as the financial walls began to close in, making me swallow thickly. “But the house—”

“Was mortgaged three years ago and is now in default. I’m sure you know which bank holds the lien.” He looked sickeningly pleased to tell me all this. “The fact is Charles and Delancey have been living well beyond their means for years. But that ends today.”

I expected my parents to say something, to either defend themselves or say it wasn’t true. But they were utterly silent, and the quiet grew more crippling with each breath I pulled in. All of our money was . . . gone?

Macalister spread his hands and placed his fingertips on the tabletop. “The only thing you currently own worth any value is your name and reputation.” His statement was laced with a threat. We were all acutely aware he could take those just as easily as he could take the house. A single word from him and we’d be shunned.

“I’m going to make an offer,” he said. “Only a fool wouldn’t accept it.”

I dragged my gaze from Macalister, unable to look at him. I didn’t want him to see the panic swamping in my eyes. Instead, I turned my attention to his son.

Royce sat perfectly still, one hand on the table, his fingertips resting against the edge of his folded napkin. The way he was unnaturally frozen in this casual position made me think it was for show. That inside he was tense and uncomfortable, and worried if he moved, he might give that away.

Macalister straightened in his chair, drawing my attention back to him. “When a new member is welcomed to the board, a woman plays an important role in the tradition.”

My parents’ shame had left them unable to speak, so I had to. “What kind of role?”

“She becomes his wife.”

Oh, my God. The Hales had always been old-fashioned, but this was . . . archaic.

“Marriage is an important partnership,” he continued. “And it’s one the board needs to approve.” He didn’t notice the shock rippling through me. “Your parents were terrible with their finances, but they did a sufficient job raising their daughters. Obviously, Royce isn’t going to marry Emily now, but your family name has enough status that, even though you’re young, this pairing makes sense. And a Hale marrying a Northcott is what Royce’s mother always wanted.”

My shoulders rose and fell as I struggled to catch my breath. “You mean, Royce and I—?” My gaze flicked toward the man seated across from me. He hadn’t moved, but there was an edge of excitement in his blue eyes.

An unwanted flash of heat coursed through me, when it should have been disgust.

“You will marry my son,” Macalister stated flatly. “In exchange, I’ll forgive your parents’ mortgage and they can keep the house that’s been in your mother’s family for four generations. For appearances’ sake, your father will continue at the company, but his finances will be taken over by a manager of my choosing.”

Because he wouldn’t want any scandal with his daughter-in-law’s family, and more likely, because he preferred having total control.

My voice was hollow. “If I don’t?”

“Charles will have to find employment elsewhere.” Macalister’s expression was a storm, and he dropped the pretense. “I’ll foreclose on the house, and everyone will know how your parents squandered their money. When I’m done, you won’t even have your reputation. You’ll be left with nothing.”

My mother burst into tears, and my heart tore down the middle. One side ached for her and this humiliation, and the other side was hot with anger. They’d seen this coming for years and purposefully kept it from my sister and me. They hadn’t scaled back or tightened their belts. How could they continue living like nothing was wrong? Was it avoidance? Or pure denial?

I sucked in a breath through my teeth as another idea took shape. Perhaps they had a plan and had just been biding their time. Maybe they’d been counting on Emily marrying Royce and bailing them out.

It was the anger that gave me strength, although it couldn’t be heard in my voice. I’d been told Macalister was a ruthless negotiator, but I was about to find out firsthand. “I . . . have a counteroffer.”

His shoulders snapped back like I’d asked if his Cartier watch was a fake, but I sensed he was simply posturing. He probably enjoyed this sort of thing. “My offer was more than generous.”

I ignored him. “If I agree to marry Royce,” hysterical laughter bubbled in my throat, but I tamped it down, “we keep the house, my father keeps his job and agrees to the financial planner.”

Macalister’s irritation swelled to outright anger. “That’s the exact offer I just proposed.”

A tremble worked its way up my legs but was thankfully hidden beneath the table. Outwardly, I tried to match his merciless personality. I said it before I lost the nerve.

“And also, ten million dollars.”