Macalister’s eyebrow lifted with interest. “Royce was upset?”
“I . . . maybe upset isn’t the right word. He was quiet today, and it was obvious something was bothering him.”
“But he didn’t mention what it was?”
“No,” I said softly.
He poured himself another drink, then rolled the liquor around in the bottom of the glass as he considered my statement. “Hale men typically aren’t forthcoming, especially when it comes to emotion.”
“I’m learning that,” I said dryly. The glass was cold in my fingers, even as the burn from the whisky lingered in the back of my throat. “You should be sharing this drink with him.”
A sound erupted from his chest, too cruel and bleak to be considered a laugh. “No, I don’t think so.”
I must have had a confused look on my face because he set his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, seriousness wiping his expression clean.
“The most difficult day of my life was the one where I buried her . . . by myself. Vance was too distraught, and Royce refused to go.”
I inhaled so sharply, it hurt.
I hadn’t thought about that day since, but at the time, I’d wondered why neither of the Hale boys had been at Macalister’s side during the burial. The only reason I’d been there was for moral support. My parents had thought Emily and I could somehow help, even though we weren’t close friends with the boys.
“He refused?” I asked. I pictured Royce as I remembered him back then, a wild, stubborn brat who always got what he wanted.
The muscle along Macalister’s jaw hardened. “He blamed me for her death, because Julia and I had argued that morning, and he believed she wouldn’t have taken her horse out if we hadn’t. He said a number of awful things that day.”
Sadness cloaked me like a heavy, stifling blanket. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was only a boy who’d just lost his mom.”
“The staff was able to get him into the limo, but when we arrived at the cemetery, he wouldn’t come out. I am not a man who begs, Marist, but I did that day. I wanted closure for my son. I needed him beside me during the most difficult task of my life, and instead I felt tremendous shame and disappointment at the boy who could only think about himself.”
Oh, Jesus. I wasn’t sure which Hale my heart broke for in that moment. Was it the stoic man who had stood beside the mound of dirt and the newly carved stone bearing his wife’s name? Or the boy wearing a formal black suit no little boy should own, crying his eyes out alone in the back of the stretch limo?
“Macalister.” My voice broke on his name, teeming with emotion. “He was ten.”
It was the wrong thing to say because a dark pall spread through his expression. “I was younger than him when my parents died, and I did what was required of me.”
How was I supposed to respond to that? The only stuff I knew about the Hale family was the history lesson he’d given me during the initiation. I’d never met any of Macalister’s family, but I assumed it was his terrible personality that had pushed them away, not that he had some tragic backstory.
“People grieve in different ways,” I choked out.
He gave me a pointed look. “Yes, and Royce made it abundantly clear he would prefer to do it by himself.”
I couldn’t argue. He hadn’t told me what today’s date meant to him. My fiancé was an island, unconnected to anything or anyone.
“Well,” I said, searching for an out, “Vance, then. You shouldn’t drink alone.”
“I’m not alone.” His eyes were like an exposed live wire. Electric and beautiful and extremely dangerous. “You’re here.”
“I don’t count. I’m not a Hale.”
“No, not legally, of course, but that’s a formality. You live in my house, you work at my company, and you’ve sworn yourself to this family. You’re a Hale, Marist.” His tone was absolute. “One who I’ve made a considerable investment in.”
I could read it all in his confident body language and heated eyes. He expected me to pay dividends. Not to his son, but to him personally. The thought made my throat swell closed and my mouth dry up.
“I would like to know,” he continued, “whose idea was the lock on your bedroom door? His?”
I bit my lip, unable to answer, but it was all the confirmation he needed.
“You’re a smart girl, so I assume you’ve asked yourself why.” Macalister recapped the bottle, his fingers turning methodically, and I couldn’t help but think of a torturer turning a screw. “I own this house and everything in it, including access to any space whenever I desire. The lock is unnecessary, as you are perfectly safe while you’re here. Royce knows this.”
My heart clanged in my chest louder than the bell on Wall Street that opened the markets.