The Ritual

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re home.” She pulls away and cups my face with both of her hands. “You’re such a grown man.” I see the tears start to build in her soft blue eyes.

I never come home. It’s not because of her or because of my dad. I just choose to be somewhere else. “I’m only here for the weekend,” I remind her.

She smiles at me. “I know. But soon, you’ll be living here again.”

I don’t respond to that.

“Son,” my father calls out from inside the house.

“He’s been waiting on you,” she says softly.

Kissing her on the cheek, I reach down and grab my bag before walking inside.

“I’ll take that.” She jerks it from my hands. When I go to reach out for it, she adds, “I’ll put it in your room.” Then she turns and practically skips up the stairs.

Taking in a deep breath, I walk down the hallway and into his study to the right. He sits behind his desk, typing away on his computer.

“I’m glad you could make it home, son,” he says, glancing up at me, then going back to his screen.

I fall into the brown leather couch. “You said it was important.”

His cell phone rings, and he stands. “Give me a second.” Dismissing himself from the room, he answers it.

I pull mine out and enter my passcode before pulling up my app that shows me the inside of Blake’s apartment. She’s lying in bed. She must have gone back to take a nap after her first class. I know she’s tired. After her drunken state last night plus waking up after her dream, she didn’t get much sleep.

She’s on her right side, facing one of the cameras. The covers are shoved down to the footboard. All she wears is her thong. Her clothes are on the floor by her bed.

“Sorry about that,” my father announces, entering, and I lock my cell before he can see what I’m looking at.

“It’s fine.” I shove it into my pocket and think of anything but her to ignore my hard cock.

He sits back behind his desk, undoing the button on his Armani suit jacket, his green eyes meeting mine. “Mr. Williams called me.”

I roll my eyes. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure I know what he wanted too.”

He nods. “Cindy told him who you chose, and he wanted to know why.”

“Did you tell him it’s none of his goddamn business,” I growl. God, that family is annoying. The fact that I have to marry into it gives me a migraine. And they keep overlooking the fact that no one chose her. That should be the first hint. I’ve seen Lords go to war over wanting the same chosen, while refusing to share her with one another.

“Well, she will be your wife—”

“Not by choice,” I interrupt him, standing.

He sighs heavily. “Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon in our social circle, Ryat.”

I walk over to the window and look over the grounds. You can see the horse stables from here. My mom loves her horses. She’s been riding since she was a kid. The only kind of horse my father likes are the ones that win him money at the track. “Yeah, well, as long as the prenup doesn’t mention anything about remaining faithful.” I give him a pointed look. “For either of us.” She can fuck who she wants, and I’ll fuck whoever I want. I don’t want to get caught with my pants down around my ankles and her try to take me for everything I have.

He runs a hand down his face. “The Williamses aren’t the issue right now.”

“Then what is?” I ask, looking back out the window.

“Matt.”

I tense. Does my father know what I did this morning? That Blakely is causing problems? He knows I had to choose her, but does he know why? I decide the best way to find out what he knows is to play stupid about what I did to Matt in the gym this morning.

I snort. “He’s always a problem.”

“I’m serious, Ryat. He’s getting worried. He’s offered to pay.”

I look back at him and growl. “How much?” So, my knee to his face has made him desperate? He thinks I have the chance to take Blakely away from him.

“Fifty grand.”

I roll my eyes. “The Winstons always have been fucking cheap.”

“You saying you want to offer more?”

Walking back over to the couch, I sit down and arch a brow. “Since when is that an option?” He’s got to be joking, but I’ll see where it gets me.

He shrugs. “This isn’t about you. It’s about Matt.” Leaning forward, he places his forearms on his desk. “So, I’m asking you … How much more are we going to offer?”

“I’m going to marry Cindy,” I argue. “Why would I make an offer for a woman who I have to toss to the side afterward?” His logic doesn’t make any sense.