Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways 1)

“Must I? No. Do I? Sure, when I’m in the mood.”

“Leave her alone, Bea,” my father warned tiredly.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She shot him a look before returning her attention to me. “This attitude of yours is not doing this family any favors. Your father tells me you pushed Amanda Gispen’s lawyer to the edge. Practically baited him to go to trial.”

“Beatrice!” my father roared. He had apologized for that day at the hearing, and I’d accepted, although something had broken between us since then. A fragile trust we had restored when I was fifteen.

I choked on my muffin as she continued, with an air of irritation. “Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t put more hours and resources into trying to spin this in the media.”

“Actually, I’ve been working nonstop on garnering positive press. Not an easy task, considering the allegations he is facing. There’s only so much I can do before the trial starts. Also”—I turned to my father—“I spoke to someone whose opinion I value, and he suggested you hire a female litigator as a part of your team. Apparently the jurors will respond favorably to a woman.”

Dad took a sip of his sangria. “Thank you, Arya. Your job is to make me look good, not give me legal advice.”

“You said I needed to help you more,” I challenged.

“Yes, in your area of expertise.”

“Well, don’t you think—”

Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress, who placed our quiches, Bloody Marys, and eggs Benedict on the table. We all paused until she was out of earshot. When she was gone, he began talking before I could finish my sentence.

“Look, I’m not interested in hiring any other lawyer, female or not. It’s going to look like we’re desperate.” He began cutting into his spinach quiche furiously.

“We are desperate.” My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“That’s not something I’d like Christian Miller to see.”

“Oh, now you care about the optics?” I cried out, knowing all of this could’ve been prevented if Dad had been a little less brash when he’d fired Amanda. Assuming everything else she’d said wasn’t true, which was a hypothesis I found more unlikely with each passing day. Also, I honestly didn’t want to care what Christian thought. If I allowed myself to dwell on it, I’d crawl into a hole and die of humiliation from his rejection at Solstices’ sauna. He and Claire were probably having a good laugh about it. That was fine. It wasn’t like Miller’s opinion kept me up at night.

“There’s no sin greater than hubris, Dad. Pride is a luxury you cannot afford right now,” I said measuredly, trying another angle.

“Arya, I’m not going to make a last-minute change just because some nameless friend of yours told you I should do so.” My father tossed his napkin over the table, standing up. “On that note, I think it’s time you upped your game. You’ve been following me around like a lost puppy and doing very little so far to help me get out of this.”

Get out of this? He thought I had the agency to help him get off the hook?

“My bad. Let me go look for my magic Your-Honor-he-is-innocent wand.” I wasn’t sure how Dad and I had gotten where we were right now. My mother looked between us like we were two strangers interrupting her brunch.

He shook his head. “I’ll see you at home, Beatrice. Arya.” He dipped his head, got up, and left. I sat there, speechless, while my mother took another sip of her G&T. She was hardly affected by how upset Dad was. Then again, I hadn’t seen my parents act like a normal couple even once. Their relationship looked more like that of two siblings who didn’t like each other very much.

“Do you think he did it?” I blurted out.

My mother’s seamless demeanor didn’t crack. In fact, she continued dissecting her eggs Benedict with her fork and knife and took a small bite of her food. “Arya, please. Your father has definitely had his fair share of affairs, but all of them were consensual. These women flung themselves at him shamelessly. I’m sure he and Amanda enjoyed each other’s company at some point and she expected more compensation after he discarded her for a newer model.”

“He cheated on you?” But I already knew the answer to that question.

My mother laughed throatily, tearing off a miniscule piece of sourdough bread and popping it between her scarlet lips. “Cheated, cheating, will cheat. You choose the tense. But I wouldn’t use that term, exactly. Cheating implies I care. I haven’t had an interest in fulfilling my marital obligations in a while. It was always understood that if he wanted female affection, he’d have to seek it elsewhere.”

“Why didn’t you get a divorce?” I spit out, anger humming beneath my skin. I was under no illusion that my parents had a happy marriage, but I’d thought they were semifunctional.