Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

“That much is true. So what are you going to give me, in exchange for this secret you want?”

“What do you want?” The question comes out more seductive than I meant it to, my voice low and thick with desire. He turns me into some other woman, one who doesn’t need to be rescued. One who rescues a man instead.

“A goodnight kiss,” he says in that way that sounds simple but isn’t.

“Only a kiss?”

He smiles. “Only that.”

“Then you have yourself a deal.”

“Aren’t you going to shake on it?” Bea asks, her cheeks pink even though she’s the only one of us who didn’t touch the Bordeaux, her green eyes bright with mischief. “If the deal’s going to be official, you should shake hands.”

Sutton appears solemn as he offers his hand over the table, on top of the empty platter of coq au vin and the brandy-sauce green beans. I grasp the warm strength of him, the rough calluses of him, and squeeze. He gives a gentle squeeze in return. Our bodies can speak a language more fluently than our mouths, communicating, negotiating.

“A good secret,” I warn him, “or the deal is off.”

He considers the final swallow of red wine in his glass, taking his time to come up with what he’s going to share. “There was a horse named Cinnamon,” he finally says.

“That’s your secret?” I mean, it’s an adorable secret. But it’s not enough. “I’m going to blow you a kiss. That’s all you’re getting for that secret.”

He holds up a finger, and I realize he’s tipsy too. “That’s not the end of it. Giving her a name was more wishful thinking. She was wild, that one. Unbreakable. My dad kept her because she was a beauty, hoping one day they’d tame her. But really it was shitty to keep her locked up when she wouldn’t let anyone near her. And then one day I went out to the stable, and she was gone. I checked everywhere—the whole stable and the pastures, but the latch had been moved from the outside, so she couldn’t have gotten out alone.”

This suddenly strikes me as a tragedy, and I realize I should have been more specific. A funny secret. The kind that will make us laugh. Instead something terrible is going to happen.

“Finally found her down by the lake, where the kid who worked as a farmhand in the summer was trying to coax her to keep going. She wasn’t budging.”

“He was running away,” I whisper, recognizing the ache in my chest.

There had been an unfortunate number of times I contemplated that action, not because the streets of LA would have been hospitable but out of pure desperation. But I worried about who would take care of my mother if I left. She would have blamed herself.

Daddy would have blamed her, too.

“His home life was pretty shit. Everyone knew that. Daddy drank too much. Mom worked to pay rent and to stay out of the way. He showed up with bruises that people pretended not to see. But he rode Cinnamon when no one else could go near her. Rode her bareback without getting thrown off and breaking his neck. If the beast weren’t nervous about crossing the stream at the border of the land, if he hadn’t been worried she’d break her leg, he would have been halfway across the county with her.”

“What happened?” Bea asked, looking sick with worry.

Hugo touches her hand, a caress that speaks volumes. “Do not worry. Even Sutton is not so careless that he would tell a tragedy over dinner conversation.”

Then he gives Sutton a look that promises stark retribution if Sutton had really been so careless.

Sutton grins. “Where I’m from, we had more tragedy than comedy. But this story does have a happy ending. I brought the boy and the horse back home, and my dad moved him up from shoveling hay to working with the horses. He tamed Cinnamon before he grew up and left.”

There are tears in Bea’s eyes. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hugo makes a clucking sound before pulling her into his arms, onto his lap, uncaring that he has an audience. I could paint them this way, the handsome charmer and the old-world beauty, both of them made hard by the world and soft again for each other.

And then something clicks. “Oh my God.”

“You see it?” Sutton asks, his voice low. “I thought it would just be me, pretending not to.”

“What are you talking about?” Hugo says, a notch between his brows. “Ma belle, are you ill?”

“No, but she does have a condition,” I say, trying to contain my excitement and failing. “Bea, why didn’t you tell me? I hate you! Okay, I’m over it. I love you again. This is so exciting!”

There are many expressions Hugo can wear comfortably—amusement and sarcasm and seduction. I’ve never seen this one. Astonishment. “What?”

Bea’s cheeks are more than pink now. They’re a deep peach, so dark they match her freckles. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react,” she says a little shyly. “We didn’t talk about children.”