Fallen Heirs (Windsor Academy 3)

Ainsley must’ve specifically requested Reed’s spot because neither my dad nor Charles are considerate enough to think of something like that. The place card bearing my name is directly next to my dad’s, so this should be interesting, to say the least. Since Jazz and I are the last two to arrive, we don’t really have the option of rearranging the cards. Switching to another table defeats our objective.

“Assigned seating?” Jazz whispers. “Seriously?”

I lean into her ear. “It’s bullshit, but the one good thing is you’re three people removed from my father.”

“I’m not sure Peyton’s much better,” she mumbles. “They’d better be serving mashed potatoes, or I’m staging a goddamned riot.”

I laugh and lean into Jazz to kiss her cheek before she takes a seat.

“Whore,” Peyton mutters under her breath.

I glare at my ex-girlfriend, but Jazz doesn’t let it get to her. She simply raises an eyebrow and says, “Aw, what’s the matter, Peyton? Jealous much?”

Peyton huffs and turns to Madeline while Jazz averts her attention back to me.

“Behave.” I wink. “I’m right on the other side of the table if you need me.”

She makes a shooing gesture. “Yeah, yeah. Go sit down. I got this.”

Neither one of us misses the attention we’re garnering from all three parents—and I use that term loosely. Jazz and I share a knowing look, silently acknowledging that we’re on display. The second I sit down next to my father, he starts interrogating me.

“Son.” He eyes me as he slowly takes a sip from his wine glass. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to join us.”

“Why would you think that?”

A waiter swoops in, so I watch as he fills my glass with some kind of merlot. Once he leaves, I take a leisurely sip from my glass—even though I can’t stand this stuff—before turning my gaze to the left, waiting for a reply.

“You and Jasmine seemed rather... upset earlier.”

I lean over and lower my voice so only my father can hear me. “You’d have to work a lot harder than that to upset Jasmine, old man. She’s a tough nut to crack, remember? As for me, it’s all part of the job Charles tasked me with, which you made quite difficult earlier.”

When I pull back, my father’s gaze is shrewd. Assessing. I can tell he’s weighing the truth of my words. I think back to what he said to Peyton in that video—how he knows I’m in love with Jazz, how he expected it to happen. Shit, I don’t even know how to explain what I feel for her, but he seems convinced, which means I need to persuade him that he’s mistaken. That it’s all part of the act.

“Is that so?”

I lift an eyebrow in challenge. “Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?”

My dad’s eyes shift down the table in Jazz’s direction before coming back to me. “I—”

“Dude.” Ainsley nudges my shoulder with hers. “When are they going to serve up the food? I’m starving.”

“Me too,” I tell her.

Putting up with this dinner every year is only tolerable because the feast is spectacular. I smile to myself when I think about the mashed potatoes, more specifically, how much Jazz will love them.

My father is irritated by the interruption, but I’m grateful to my twin. “We’ll continue this conversation another time.”

“Sure thing.” My tone is dismissive, which aggravates him further, but I pretend not to notice. I simply turn back to my sister and engage her and Reed in conversation.

After the final plates are cleared, people resume socializing, which I take as my cue to work the crowd. Charles is making his rounds with Jazz, treating her like a prized possess

ion as he introduces her to several business partners or acquaintances. My girl looks miserable, but I don’t think anyone else can tell. She knows I need time to gather information, so she’s taking one for the team. I ensure Bentley has an eye on Jazz before I seek out the man I’m looking for. Unsurprisingly, Alexander Ivanov—one of my father’s suspected associates—is standing next to my dad off to the side, deep in conversation.

Both men straighten as I approach.

“Kingston! It’s good to see you again.” Alexander extends his hand. “Preston and I were just talking about you.”

My grip is probably tighter than it should be as I shake his hand. “All good things, I hope.”