The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

“No. They were from—get this—Richard’s dad.”

The bathroom was empty, but still I dropped my voice to a hush. “Liam Shaunessy?”

“Yup. Someone needs to show that girl how to hide her text messages, and also—what a step down. I mean, Macalister to Mr. Shaunessy? He’s barely decent looking, and Macalister’s so hot, I need a shower after looking at him.”

Ugh. I pushed aside my disdain and focused. Alice wasn’t with Mr. Shaunessy for his looks, she was with him to get her husband’s attention. “Who else has Penelope told about this?”

“No one, as far as I know.”

I was playing the long game, and the last thing I needed right now was for the board to suddenly change. “Then I need to ask a really big favor,” I said. Sophia would likely think this was just concern for my new in-laws. “Don’t let this get out. If the rumor has already started, you think you could kill it?”

I pictured her on the other side of the phone looking proud and powerful. “Yeah, probably.”

“God, thank you, Sophia. If Macalister were to find out, I don’t know what he’d do.” Truer words had never been spoken. “Hey, let’s get together this weekend on Vance’s boat. I’ll have Royce invite Tate.”

She wanted Tate badly, and I could practically hear the thought in her head. Vance’s sailboat was big, but it wasn’t big enough for Tate to escape from her like he’d managed to do in Aspen.

Her voice was loaded with excitement. “Definitely.”

When I was finished with the call, I left the restroom and only made it a few steps before Macalister emerged from the shadows. “Marist.”

My mouth went dry, but I matched the innocent tone of his greeting. “Macalister.”

The party was going on in the next room over, but the hallway was empty, and it felt like the rest of the world had abandoned me to this man, who the last time we’d been alone had professed his love.

“How was the honeymoon?” His eyes glittered with arrogance.

I kept my voice perfectly level. “It was great.”

He was amused. “But you cut it short. Why was that?”

I pressed my lips together for a moment, not wanting to be too obvious. “You know why.”

Genuine surprise rolled through him. He hadn’t expected me to reveal the truth, and excitement worked its way into his eyes.

“Besides,” I added, “Royce wanted to be back for the acquisition. This is a big deal for HBHC.” I squeezed out a smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” His excitement thickened. I held my ground as he shifted his weight, subtly leaning closer to me. “Perhaps you’ll help me celebrate by joining me tonight after the party is over. We could finish our round of chess.”

My stomach bottomed out and breath caught painfully in my lungs, but I pushed forward. I had to do this. “Of course.” My anxiety shot through the ceiling, causing my voice to go weak. “Should I bring the board to your room?”

SIXTEEN

CARRYING THE CHESSBOARD WAS AN INSURMOUNTABLE TASK. Not because it was heavy, but because I shook violently and worried the pieces would shift off their squares. There were miles between the library and Macalister’s bedroom.

I’d never been in his room before. At most, I’d glanced through his open doorway, but I was rarely down at this end of the hall, and his room was typically closed to keep Lucifer from going inside.

Not that the cat would. He craved attention, and since Royce and I were the only ones who gave it, Lucifer largely ignored the other humans in the house.

Tonight, the door was ajar and soft light curled around its edges, beckoning me to see Macalister’s lair. I gingerly used the edge of the chessboard to inch the door open, my breath held tight in my body.

The master bedroom of the house wasn’t much larger than Royce’s. Like his, it had tall ceilings and oversized windows. However, instead of a view of the hedge maze, the room looked out over the shore. The bright edges of Cape Hill gave way to the ocean, and I wondered if Macalister liked how his castle looked down over his kingdom.

Despite the fancy, ornate chandelier hanging over the bed, the room was deeply masculine with its slate gray walls and moss green chairs in the sitting area. I lingered in the doorway, unable to cross the threshold.

Macalister must have thought I was waiting for an invitation. It was more of an order than a request. “Come in.”

My legs barely worked, and I tottered a few steps into the room before willing myself to get it together. I’d asked for this, I reminded myself. He gauged me critically, perhaps cataloguing every nervous bone I had, before gesturing toward the sitting area and the low table he intended me to set the board on.

A huge mirror hung on the wall behind the chairs, and when I caught my reflection, I saw what he saw. My flushed face and wide eyes, looking very out of place in my father-in-law’s bedroom. I tore my gaze away and set the board down, sliding it to the center of the table while he closed the door.