THREE

I barely slept my first night in the Hale house. It didn’t matter that the king-sized bed was comfortable or that the sheets were soft. The detergent on the linens was pleasant but unfamiliar. Even with the curtains drawn, shadows seemed to move in unexpected ways in the cavernous room. Every foreign sound echoed and jolted me awake, and my gaze shot to the doorknob.

Thankfully, it never turned. Maybe Royce had exaggerated and there wasn’t any danger of Macalister coming into my room. Perhaps he’d put the fear in my head as a power move.

When sleep finally came, it wasn’t restful. The new room didn’t smell like my home, and it certainly didn’t feel like it either. Would it ever?

I stayed hidden in bed until the Hales left for work and the house went quiet. With them gone, I could finally think. The most effective way to derail Royce’s life was to figure out exactly what he was planning. I thought I’d have the day to explore the house on my own, but my phone buzzed with a text message. Alice, Royce’s stepmother, would be sending a car this morning, and she had several appointments set up for me.

Once I’d been whisked to Boston, I met her and a potential wedding planner for lunch. And when that was done, I was delivered to Alice’s personal shopper with a long list of occasions I needed to be styled for.

There were fundraisers and charity galas. Golf outings, and regattas, and a whole slew of events I would be expected to attend with Royce. His schedule had been synced with my calendar, and I’d been warned this was only the beginning. More parties and events were coming.

The first one on Alice’s list was dinner tonight, because once a week the Hales shared a meal together. So, this evening I’d sit beside my fiancé and be officially welcomed into the family.

In the dining room.

“Are you feeling all right?” the saleswoman asked, worried. She’d noticed my pale face, and perhaps the cold sweat dotting my brow.

“I’m fine,” I said as my stomach twisted into knots.

She put me in a short, rose gold dress that had an open back and a beautiful drape. It was business formal—not dressy enough for a wedding, but much fancier than anything I’d wear to dinner with my own family. It looked nice and sophisticated, though, and hopefully it would give me the confidence I’d need to get through this evening.

Royce made good on his promise. When I returned from my afternoon meetings, there was a deadbolt installed just above the knob on my bedroom door. It was brass and matched the décor perfectly, barely looking out of place. Only its shine gave away its newness.

I wondered if the same could be said of me in this house.

At six-thirty, there was a short knock. “Marist,” came Royce’s voice from behind the door. “It’s time for dinner.”

I balled my hands into fists, shook out the tension through my fingers, and strode to the door.

He was wearing a stone-gray suit with a charcoal colored tie. Like yesterday, he’d come straight from the office and hadn’t changed, but this time he hadn’t relaxed his look. The knot in his tie was sharp and perfect. Everything was buttoned down and polished.

Except for the way his hungry gaze roamed over me. It started at my nude heels and worked its way up, flowing over the pink hued fabric until finally finding my face. His blue eyes hinted at his indecent thoughts, and I did my best to pretend I didn’t care, nor was I having similar thoughts about the way he looked.

My exaggerated tone was sugary sweet. “How was your day, darling?”

He didn’t rise to take the bait. Instead, his appreciative gaze swiped over me once more, before landing on the engagement ring I wore. “Better now.”

Damn him. Unwanted warmth bloomed in the center of my chest. I went to push past him, but he put his arm on the doorframe and blocked my exit.

“Grab your phone,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”

That was strange, but I didn’t question it. I just did as I was told.

We walked together in silence through the hall, down the grand staircase, and as we approached the ornate wooden door to the dining room, trepidation turned my legs into unmovable cement. Panic bubbled in my stomach like over-carbonated cheap wine.

“Wait,” I whispered.

Royce’s warm palm pressed against the bare skin on my back. Not to push me forward, but to connect and calm. “Hey.” He matched my quiet voice. “It’s okay.”

Nothing was okay, though. Behind that door was the long dining table and flickering candelabras and nine men in tuxedos waiting for me—

I’d gone rigid, and Royce’s expression hung. “I, uh, can tell him you’re not feeling well.”       He’d done his best to sound convincing, but it was pointless.

“Right. Because that worked out so well for Emily.”

Six weeks ago, my sister had tried to get out of lunch with the Hales, but Macalister hadn’t allowed it. He’d pushed until she’d made an appearance—one that ended with her throwing up all over his hand during their handshake.

Even if Royce told his father I was sick and that worked, it was only putting off the inevitable. I’d be right back in this situation again next week. Better to face it now and get it over with than live with another week of dread.

I swallowed a deep breath, forcing confidence into my body. “I’m fine. I can do this.”

I said it more for me than for him, but Royce nodded. “Yes. If anyone can, it’s you.”

He pushed the door open, and my lungs squeezed painfully tight.

The room looked so different than it had during the initiation. The curtains were open, and bright sunlight poured in from the oversized windows, chasing away shadows. The candelabras had been shelved on a side table. Even the impressive crystal chandelier overhead seemed transformed. It was elegant and regal, sparkling proudly rather than glinting sinisterly in the darkness.

The table had been set at the end closest to the door, opposite the side where I’d lain naked a little over a week ago and lost my virginity. I tried not to stare at the spot or think about that night. I needed to focus, anyway. The rest of the Hales were already seated, and, judging by Macalister’s irritated expression, they’d been waiting for us.

He sat at the head of the table, Alice to his right and his younger son Vance beside her. I worried for a moment the empty seat next to Macalister was for me, but Royce pulled out the farther chair and gestured to it.

“Thank you,” I uttered automatically, dropping down into the seat.

Royce said nothing. He sat and plunked his phone face-up on the table beside the silver charging plate. I braced for Macalister to say something about how disrespectful that was. Phones weren’t allowed at the dinner table in my house . . . but here everyone had theirs out, resting beside their silverware like it was a required utensil in their place setting.

A woman I hadn’t met before, but who was clearly part of the Hale household staff, entered from the kitchen and served us salads. Alice first, then me, and then the Hale men in order of seniority. It was stilted and formal, and so uncomfortable it stretched my skin tightly. No one else seemed to feel it, though. In the silence, they readied their forks and began eating, oblivious to my discomfort.

“Marist. How did you find your first night here?” Macalister’s icy gaze locked onto me and refused to let go.

“It was fine, thank you.” I despised how weak my voice sounded. Silence followed, dragging painfully, and I felt compelled to fill it. I forced a bright tone. “How was your day?”

It was like I’d just asked him what color money was. He simply stared, making me wince and my skin stretch tighter still.

“It was fine,” he said finally. His attention left me so he could stab his fork into his salad, and then he focused on his youngest son. “I volunteered you to Lambert’s team for the Marblehead race at the end of the summer. One of their crew members broke a hand, and I told him you would help out.”

Vance blinked. He struggled to process the information but failed to conceal the dislike from his boyishly good-looking face. It wasn’t the sailing that bothered him. The Hales were the founding members of the Cape Hill Yacht Club, and Vance was an experienced helmsman. He had plenty of racing trophies to prove it.

No, I suspected it was Wayne Lambert who was giving him pause.

Mr. Lambert was the CEO of a giant pharmaceutical company. He had a very large and very New York personality, only moving here in the last decade so his daughters could attend Cape Hill Prep. Foul-mouthed and hot-tempered, he had one of those booming laughs that made a room go awkwardly quiet. He was loud in everything he did. And he was new money.

Which meant he was the polar opposite of Macalister Hale.

The two CEOs of Cape Hill seemed unlikely to be friends, so I had to wonder what was going on. Macalister wouldn’t put up with Mr. Lambert without a good reason.

“His daughter is also on the crew,” Macalister added. “Alice and I discussed it and feel she would be a good companion for the anniversary celebration.”

Vance’s pointed gaze swung toward Alice, and I couldn’t help but think about the last time I’d seen them together. She’d been on her knees, her hands fisted in the undone sides of his tuxedo pants and his dick buried in her mouth.

Her expression toward her stepson now was tepid. “Royce’s party was one thing, but this is huge. HBHC is turning one hundred and fifty years old, and you’re a Hale. You have to bring a date.”

Royce interrupted the wordless conversation going on between his brother and his stepmother. “Which daughter? Lambert has two.”

“The older one,” Macalister said.

“Jillian,” Alice said at the same time.

Royce turned his attention to his brother. “Be careful. She’s a stage-five clinger.”

Vance arched one eyebrow. “You dated her?”

“Yeah, I think ‘date’ would be too strong a word.” The amused look on Royce’s face froze, as if he just realized his fiancée was sitting right beside him while he was talking about fucking someone else.

Was I supposed to care about this? Because . . . I didn’t. It certainly wasn’t news to me that he’d been a player, and besides—he’d betrayed me. I wasn’t supposed to care about him.

He stared at me anxiously, not sure how I’d react.

I shrugged a shoulder. “Good luck, Vance. Last I heard, she has a boyfriend.”

A scoff came from the end of the table.

Macalister’s gaze was an avalanche. Cold, terrifying, and beautiful. “That doesn’t matter. When he asks her,” he turned his head so he could decree it directly to Vance, “and he will ask her—she’ll be pleased to trade up to a Hale.” His eyes turned smug. “They always are.”

If I’d been standing, the arrogance in his tone would have knocked me over, but he was wrong. My sister Emily had no desire to trade up to a Hale. She’d been promised to Royce for years and did everything she could to get out of it, including getting pregnant.

Alice set her fork down and picked up her phone. “Since we’re discussing the anniversary, I have a mockup of the invitation to show you.” She tapped the screen a few times before presenting it to her husband.

Disdain flooded his face. “This isn’t serious. A masquerade party?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “This is what you asked for.”

“I believe I asked for something memorable and sophisticated.” He set her phone down and pointed at the screen. “This isn’t elegant, it’s a junior prom.”

Alice tossed a lock of her blonde hair over her shoulder, crossed her arms, and rested them on the table, leaning forward. “This will be elegant, I promise you. It will still be black-tie.” Her posture was confident, announcing she wasn’t going to be deterred. “You can’t be memorable unless you go over the top. Otherwise, it’ll just be another bland corporate party, indistinguishable from all the others. You want this to be an experience, one people will be talking about for the next one hundred and fifty years.”

Macalister wasn’t sold, but as he leaned back in his chair, it was clear he was considering what she’d said.

“When people think their identity is obscured, even somewhat,” a sly smile graced her lips, “they let go of their inhibitions. Think about the guest list. Wouldn’t you love to have an evening where everyone has their guard down?”

My mouth dropped open. She’d just offered Macalister one of the things he valued most. The highest commodity in our elite New England town.

Information.

It’d be his best opportunity to learn all the secrets Cape Hill was desperate to conceal.

His gaze sharpened on his clever wife, and genuine delight flashed through him. He wasn’t on the fence about her theme anymore—he was in absolute support of it.

“I trust your judgement,” he said. “You understand how important this event is to me and my company.” He paused as the temperature of his voice plummeted. “I’m sure it won’t just meet my expectations—but exceed them.”

It was like he’d just barely left of the “or else” threat at the end of his statement, and I swallowed hard on Alice’s behalf. She didn’t seem affected, though. Either she felt confident in her abilities or she’d been married to him long enough she was used to it.

“Speaking of expectations,” his attention returned to me, and I struggled not to squirm in my seat, “after dinner is over, I have some items to go over with you. We can discuss them in the library.”

Royce asked it before I could. “What items?”

His father’s cool gaze turned to his oldest son. “Things that are none of your business.”

My heart launched into my throat, clogging my airway until it was nearly impossible to breathe. The mood in the room sank faster than a company’s stock after reporting a huge loss. Alice and Vance tensed.

But Royce’s chest puffed up, and he took on a dark cast. “Anything that has to do with Marist is my business.”

Macalister gave his son a look that screamed, is that so? In his mind, Royce had sold those rights away. The oldest Hale laced his fingers together on the tabletop, and as he sat in the ornate chair at the head of the table, he resembled a king on a throne. One who looked very much like he wanted to put the prince back in his place.

“We have an agreement,” Macalister said. “I promised to keep her updated on her family’s financial situation.” His piercing eyes curved back to me. “I don’t see a need for Royce to be included on that. Do you?”

Beneath the table, Royce’s hand latched onto my thigh, just above my knee. His warm palm tingled against the bare skin of my leg, but I tried not to notice. The action might have seemed affection to anyone else, but this was a warning. He was saying it was dangerous, telling me to be careful.

I understood what was happening and how I was playing directly into Macalister’s hand. And while I didn’t want to be alone with him, his offer was too good to pass up. Royce withheld information from me, and tonight I would do the same.

I pushed his hand off my knee as I looked at his father. “No,” I said firmly. “I don’t see a reason either.”

The pleased smile on Macalister’s face twisted my insides.

Tension rolled off Royce throughout dinner and permeated the room. Not that it would have been an enjoyable meal otherwise. Once the main course had been served, I realized these weekly dinners were merely business meetings for Macalister to preside over and ensure all his family members were carrying out the directions he gave.

As soon as we were dismissed, my fiancé turned in his seat and put a hand on the back of my chair. His voice was low and urgent. “Don’t be alone with him.”

I sucked in a breath. “Why? What are you worried is going to happen?”

Royce’s eyes darted away. “He’s manipulative.”

I did my best to hold in an incredulous laugh. “Oh, I see. Your worry isn’t about me . . . it’s what he might say about you.”

His gaze snapped back to me. “Let me come with you.”

He didn’t bother to deny my accusation. My spine hardened, either with pride or vindictiveness or both, and I pushed back from the table. “No.”

He followed me up, and his voice edged toward frustration. “Marist, please—”

“This is your own doing. You keep me out of your business, so I’m allowed to do the same.”

He frowned and desperation ringed his eyes, but I refused to waver. I couldn’t rely on Royce to save me. I’d have to do it myself.

As I marched out of the dining room, he fell into step at my side, not arguing or attempting to slow me down. We both knew his father was waiting for me.

It was fitting the library was on the second floor. We climbed the stairs and ascended toward Mount Olympus while I, the mortal, mentally prepared as best I could for my audience with the god Zeus.