The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

He wouldn’t give up, and it was win at all costs.

I wouldn’t be able to avoid him or his wife for much longer, though. It was mid-November, and the upcoming holiday loomed overhead. I’d spent every Thanksgiving—along with everyone else in the high society of Cape Hill—in Aspen. It was as if the entire Massachusetts town relocated to Colorado for an extended weekend of skiing and drama.

We rode in the back of the town car to Logan Airport, Royce’s hand resting comfortably on my thigh as he pressed his phone to his ear and listened in on a meeting that was wrapping up. He was always touching me now, even when cameras weren’t around. As if I might disappear if the connection between us was broken.

The car pulled up to the sleek private jet, which was waiting for us with the door open, a gaping mouth threatening to devour us.

We hadn’t talked about what was going to happen, but I knew. The other black Range Rover parked on the tarmac confirmed it. Royce and I weren’t flying to Aspen alone. It made sense. The Hale jet was big enough for a dozen people.

Acid churned in my belly as the driver opened my door, which meant I was expected to get out, walk across the pavement, and climb the steps, then endure a four-hour flight locked in a confined space with Macalister.

Royce would be there too, though. We parted just long enough to get out of the car, pull our jackets closed in the blustery November wind, and then he took my hand, entwining our fingers.

“It’s not that long of a flight,” he muttered, like he was saying it for his own benefit and not mine. I didn’t understand why he was so anxious about it until the doors of the other Range Rover opened and I caught the swath of blonde hair.

My knees locked, bringing me to a rigid stop.

SIX

I SHOULD HAVE ANTICIPATED THIS, but I was so focused on Macalister, I hadn’t thought about her. Of course, she was required to make an appearance Thanksgiving weekend. The rest of the world believed everything was right with the Hale family and it wasn’t splintered into a million pieces.

Seeing her forced her name to crash through my head like a wrecking ball.

Alice.

She stood statuesque on her high heels, wrapped in a perfectly cut dress coat of blue wool that looked made for her, and it probably had been. Her pale hair was down and sleek, the ends curling faintly under to give her lift. As usual, her makeup was flawless, but gone was any warmth. Like her husband, she mirrored his iciness.

When we locked eyes, there was no reaction from her. She didn’t drop my gaze in shame or flash an evil smile. She was indifferent. Unapologetic. And it was exactly as I expected. Hera never felt guilt about the terrible things she did to Zeus’s mistresses, even the ones who’d been unwilling or tried to run from him.

For a split second, I felt fear, but it dissolved in the acid in my stomach, leaving only anger. I wasn’t going to give her that kind of power over me. She’d tried to kill me . . . and she’d failed. Maybe she should look at me with shame. I was one of her failures, and Macalister craved perfection.

Royce stopped at the same moment I did, and tension tightened his shoulders. He said it in a loud voice, projecting across the tarmac. “We agreed you’d be on the plane already when we got here.”

Likely so Royce and I wouldn’t have to see Alice.

Macalister didn’t care for his son’s tone. “Yes, but unfortunately, my business doesn’t run on your timetable.”

And with that exchange done, every pair of eyes swung toward me, gauging my reaction. I ground my teeth and sucked in a deep breath, then strode defiantly toward the steps. Beneath the layers of my coat and clothes, I thought about the Medusa tattoo buried in my skin.

Like her, I wasn’t easy to defeat.

The interior of the plane was decorated in the same gold and cream color scheme as the helicopter had been. Plush, oversized chairs were arranged in pairs around a table on either side of the aisle, with more seating in the rear of the plane beyond an open partition that sectioned off the space. I made a beeline to it. At least this way, I could either keep my eyes on Alice and know where she was at all times, or Royce would close the door, and we wouldn’t have to see her at all.

I ducked into the window seat in the back corner and busied myself with getting settled while impatiently waiting for Royce to join me. But he stood in the aisle, his hand resting on the back of his chair and his gaze fixed on the other passengers boarding the plane. I couldn’t see them beyond the glossy wood panel, but I sensed their presence.