Brutal Prince (Brutal Birthright)

As soon as she sweeps away with Geoffrey in her wake, Callum lets go of my waist and seizes my arm instead, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls at me.

“Are those your actual friends?” I ask him. “She should have just gotten one of those little dogs for her purse. Geoff is an awkward accessory . . .”

“Grow up,” Callum says, shaking his head in disgust. “The Huntleys organized a massive fundraiser for me last year. I’ve known Christina since grade school.”

“Known her?” I say. “Or fucked her? Because if you haven’t done it yet, you’d better get to it, before she starts humping your leg in public.”

“Oh my god,” Callum says, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe this. I’m marrying a child. And not a normal child—a demon hellspawn, like Chucky, or the Children of the Corn . . .”

I try to jerk my arm away from him, but his grip is harder than steel. I’m going to have to really make a scene to get loose, and I’m not quite ready to blow this thing up just yet.

So instead, I signal to the nearest waiter and take a glass of champagne off his tray. Then I take a sip and say to Callum, quietly and ca

lmly, “If you don’t let go of me, I’m going to throw this drink in your face.”

He releases me, his face paler than ever from anger.

But he leans right into my face and says, “You think you’re the only one who can fuck with my plans? Don’t forget that you’re going to be moving into my house. I can make your life a living nightmare from the moment you wake up in the morning until I allow you to lay your head down again at night. I really don’t think you want to start a war with me.”

My hand is itching to fling that champagne right in his face, to show him exactly what I think of that.

But I manage to restrain myself. Just barely.

I content myself with smiling up at him and saying, “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”

Callum stares at me blankly.

“What . . . what the fuck are you talking about? Does that mean you’re going to try to make the best of this mess?”

“Sure,” I say. “What else can I do?”

Actually, it’s a quote from The Art of War. Here’s another one I like:

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”

8

Callum

After that first bit of brattiness, Aida calms down and starts to behave herself. Or at least, she does her best. She puts on a smile and chats with reasonable civility to the stream of guests who come up to congratulate us.

It’s pretty fucking awkward explaining to friends and family that I’m about to marry this girl they’ve never even heard of, let alone met. Again and I again I tell them, “We kept things private. It was romantic, keeping it between the two of us. But now we can’t wait anymore; we want to get married.”

I see more than a few people glance down at Aida’s stomach to see if there’s a particular reason we’re in such a rush.

Aida puts those rumors to rest by drinking her weight in champagne.

As she reaches for another glass, I snatch it out of her hand and slug it down myself instead.

“You’ve had enough,” I tell her.

“I decide when I’ve had enough,” she says stubbornly. “It takes more than a little glorified ginger ale to get me drunk.”

But I can tell she’s already less steady on her high heels, and she was none too steady to begin with.

I’m relieved that she wore a dress, though the one she picked looks cheap and overly bright. What’s wrong with these people? Don’t they have the money to buy decent clothes? Her brothers look like complete thugs. One’s wearing a fucking t-shirt and jeans, the other’s kitted up like James Dean. Dante is skulking around the room like he expects a bomb to go off any minute, and Nero’s chatting up the bartender like he’s planning to take her upstairs. Maybe he will, that sleazy shit. I’m pretty sure he fucked Nora Albright in my house.