One for the Money

My driver opens the door for me.

I take a deep breath and pause before stepping out. I am one of the gladiators, after all. And I’m late. I recognize Lucian and Tiernan’s cars. Emerson’s. The limo Sophia used to get here would be moved out of sight, just like this one will be. Leo’s car is missing.

I speed dial him.

He picks up right away. “She’s not feeling well.”

He means Haley. Worry tightens my throat. “Do you need me to come over?”

“I already called the doctor. He swears she’s fine. And I threatened him, so I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth. But that’s why I couldn’t make dinner.”

“What’s going on with her?”

“She had some strange pains and tension. She thought it was labor.”

“It’s too soon.”

“I know.” His voice is grim. A premature birth would be risky. Leo loves Haley to an extreme. If anything goes wrong, I don’t know what would happen to my brother. Nothing good.

“You have to go to dinner, though. I need you to cover for me.”

Which means I have to lie. If our parents knew there were issues they would descend with unwelcome help, my father with outdated advice, my mother with essential oils. “No problem,” I say, my heart clenching. “Keep me updated.”

He promises that he’ll text me and hangs up.

One of the expansive front doors already stands open. A member of the staff holds it for me under the watchful eye of Trix, who’s been the head housekeeper for years.

I nod a greeting to them both.

Her real name is Tricia Goodman, but Sophia nicknamed her Trix when she was a kid. She had a lisp and couldn’t pronounce her name correctly. All the kids took to it. Only my mother continues to call her Tricia. And my father doesn’t address her at all.

She manages the maids, the cooks, the groundspeople. There are Army commanders who could learn a thing or two from her strict leadership. There’s never a speck of dust here. The decadent flower arrangements are always blooming.

No, only the people who live here are a mess.

There are multiple places to eat in the mansion. The staff kitchen, the family kitchen. The regular dining room. There’s even a breakfast room. Our family dinners take place somewhere else—in the formal dining room, an expansive room that’s more like a grand hall.

Despite the brocade chairs and heavy drapes, our voices echoed.

That was before.

Before Lucian married a Constantine. Before Leo found love. Before Tiernan stopped being so damn surly and surprised us all by settling down. Even Daphne fell in love with a reclusive art collector, though we’re still keeping an eye on that guy. If he makes her cry, my brothers are going to twist his balls until they pop.

They’d have to get in line behind me.

Now there are way more people. Enough to fill the space with soft, teasing chatter instead of the stifling chill between my parents. Enough to make the room feel almost, almost loving.

Let’s not go too far, though. We are Morellis, after all.

I wave hello to everyone, my brothers and their wives. Daphne and Emerson. Sophia’s wearing a shiny silver dress with angles, her hair up in a high ponytail. The outfit would look silly on most people, but on her it’s effortlessly cool. She pats a seat next to her, between her and my mom. It’s the safety zone, but I give her a slight shake of my head. She rolls her eyes. Instead I cross the room, kissing cheeks and giving hugs as I go. I circle my father at the head of the table, giving him a kiss on the forehead before continuing.

I choose a seat in the middle of the table.

There’s a reason I sit here instead of on either side with my parents. Because it’s easiest to be the referee from here. As a bonus I get to sit with Lizzy and ask her about whether she’s gotten her period. I tried texting, but she’s given me radio silence since that morning.

I reach for the back of an empty chair, surprised when the dining room staff, a young man whose name is Mike, clears his throat. A faint blush tinges his cheeks.

He reaches for the one beside it. “Ms. Morelli?”

“That one’s taken,” Sophia says, her eyes twinkling.

I glance back in confusion. “By who?”

The only Morelli missing from the group is my brother, Carter. He’s away on some geological expedition or whatever he does when he’s not teaching at Oxford. He isn’t due back in the United States until Daphne’s wedding next month.

Sometimes my father will invite one of his friends.

Or my mother would invite someone intending to set me up.

My eyes narrow. If that’s what happened, I’m not going to stand for it. I’m fake dating Finn Hughes for a reason. My mother should know better than to invite Alex Langley or whatever other older, plain, boring gentleman she wants me to marry.