Ruthless Heart

“Isn’t this a hoot?” Marissa says, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek. “You must try the iced tea. Get it with a splash of bourbon,” she adds with a wink. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Get your game face on.

“What a good idea. And I just love that scarf of yours!” I exclaim, beaming. “You must tell me where you got it from.”

I chat with her as we head into the lounge. There’s a sitting area with comfortable chairs and couches and a fireplace. A bookshelf against the walls is full of the classics and there’s a piano near the window. There are six women here, all the significant others of men that are outside. Everyone is sipping tea and carrying on polite conversation, so I take a plate of snacks and find a seat close to Ian’s wife, Fiona.

“A new face, how fun,” the woman next to me says before I get a chance to initiate a conversation with Fiona. Marissa introduces me to everyone.

“Lily is one of my oldest friends,” she says, smiling. “She’s just back from Europe.”

“Welcome. I’m Brittany,” the woman beside me says, flipping back her red hair. She has porcelain skin and a faint Southern accent. “And my husband, Langdon, is probably making a fool of himself already. The poor man can’t shoot straight.”

The others laugh.

“Jerry would never admit it, but he’s been practicing all month,” another confides.

“It’s the highlight of his social calendar,” Brittany trills. She’s young, in her mid-twenties, with model good looks and flawless makeup. The way she’s dressed is a little more revealing than the other women, too, and there’s an undercurrent of tension in the way her eyes dart around the room for approval.

She doesn’t quite fit in among the others, but she’s trying to. She must be here for a reason. It reminds me of Nero, and I make a mental note to keep an eye on her.

“So, will we be hunting, too?” I ask.

There’s laughter.

“Oh, Lord, no,” one of the older women says. “They have a fabulous spa here, so we like to take it easy.”

“Leave the men to trample around in the mud,” Fiona agrees with a smile. “I’m just happy to have the break.”

“That’s right,” the doyenne says. “I remember the campaign trial, when my Harry was in the statehouse. It’s a marathon.”

Fiona nods. “Of course, I’m happy to support him,” she says quickly.

“Of course,” everyone echoes.

“But I have to say, I’m relishing the thoughts of a whole weekend away from his campaign team,” she continues, “And the kids. It’s the closest we’ve come to romance in forever!”

There’s more laughter, but I notice, Brittany’s eyes narrow at Fiona. It’s just a glance, and she quickly masks it with a smile, but the hostility in her eyes takes me by surprise.

Interesting…

“Thank you for the hair tip, by the way,” I say to Fiona, eager to establish a connection. “I tried the salon you mentioned, and it was amazing.”

“Aren’t they amazing?” she says. “Lily, wasn’t it?”

I nod. “That’s right.” I angle my body closer. “I have to admit, I’m a little intimidated,” I murmur, “My fiancée told me about this trip last-minute, but I’m not used to mixing in circles like this. I’m way over my head.”

Fiona smiles understandingly. Because of course she does, my research showed that Fiona wasn’t exactly born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She’s from a small town in New Jersey and met Ian when she was in teacher training college. His meteoric rise in politics swept her into a new world, too, so I’m betting it’ll help establish a bond to cast myself in the same light. “There’s nothing to it,” she reassures me. “Just relax, enjoy yourself—and watch Dolly over there after her fourth martini.”

“I heard that!” Dolly calls, pink cheeked. Everyone is laughing good-naturedly, but Brittany purses her lips and takes another sip of her tea, shooting another barely-disguised glare at Fiona.

Yep, there’s something here I need to investigate further.

After another hour of chit-chat,everyone disperses to dress for dinner, and I find a staff member to show me to our cabin. The trail winds through the grounds, to a private spot beside a babbling brook. It would be romantic, if the man I was sharing it with wasn’t a cold-blooded monster.

I open the door, preparing to relax before dinner, but when I step inside, Nero is already there.

Shirtless, his bare chest flexing as he rummages in one of the cases I packed.