“Besides,” he added, “there’s something I’d like to discuss with both of you.”
There was no room to argue. He left me and strolled down the hall, wordlessly demanding I go with him, and all the excitement I’d had for my rendezvous with Royce died.
Macalister reviewed the most recent book I’d lent him as we made our way out of the house and toward the maze, but it was hard to focus on what he was saying. Every step brought me closer to a situation I didn’t want to be in. What was Royce going to think when I showed up with his father by my side?
And what the hell did Macalister want to talk to us about? I imagined all sorts of new, terrible rules he’d enact. More control he’d try to exert over us. I was so tired of it, and I’d only been living in the house two months.
The sun had set more than an hour ago, and even though the landscape lights were on and the weather was warm, there was a strange menace that lurked in the edges of the shadows. The breeze rustled through the trees and made the branches scrape against each other like fingers trying to claw their way out.
When we entered the maze, I could tell he was frustrated by how slowly I was moving, but he didn’t comment. Perhaps he thought my slow speed was because I was carefully trying to learn the correct path, rather than delay the inevitable. When we reached the opening to the center, he made me go first.
Each tier of the fountain was up-lit and glowed, casting amber light onto the cascading water and the ripples in the collection pool below. As he’d done while waiting to propose to me, he sat on the edge of the bench, his elbows on his knees and his head tipped down to the ground.
Only this time he wasn’t in a tuxedo or even a suit. He wore a stone blue button-down shirt over pale gray shorts, effortlessly casual. The crunch of my footsteps on the pebbled path drew his gaze up, and when he caught the sight of me, his smile was epic.
He pushed to his feet. “I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t—”
Macalister stepped into view, and Royce became a new statue in the garden. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking because his frozen expression was devoid of emotion.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Although Macalister didn’t sound sorry at all. “Marist told me where she was going, and I asked if I could come with her. I believe the three of us need to have a conversation.”
Royce must have rebooted himself because he blinked and came back online. Gone was the smile and the warmth he’d had ten seconds ago. He was the prince of Cape Hill now, and he eyed his father with veiled suspicion. “You know what? You’re right.” He lifted his chin, and his chest expanded with a deep breath. It made him look bigger and more powerful, and his tone was firm. “Marist is mine, and I’m going to buy her back.”
I couldn’t hear the bubbling fountain or the insects singing in the distant trees. Everything dropped out so the only sound was his statement playing in a loop in my head.
Marist is mine.
Macalister jolted, visibly as surprised as I had been, but he recovered faster. “Oh? And why would I let you do that?”
Royce didn’t look at me. He kept his intense gaze fixed on his father. “Because I’m going to give you fifty million dollars.”
THIRTEEN
TIME FROZE.
Fifty.
Million.
Dollars.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. My muscles locked up, and everything stopped working.
Macalister stared at his son with disbelief. “That’s . . . a strong offer.”
“Well, I wanted to make sure you understood how serious I am.” And he was, from his confident posture to his strong voice.
“If you want me to take you seriously,” his father said, “then perhaps don’t make me an offer with money you don’t have.”
“What makes you think I don’t have it?”
Anger streaked through Macalister’s face like a bolt of lightning. “If you’re telling me you liquidated stock in the current market, I have serious concerns about your financial acumen.”
Royce was offended his father even suggested it. “I haven’t touched my portfolio.”
“Then you don’t have it.” Macalister stiffened. “I know your net worth, Royce, because I’m the one who gave it to you.”
The smile that spread across his son’s face was joyless and cold. “You think you know everything. You’ve watched every transaction I’ve ever made, stood over my shoulder, judging each move. But I figured out a long time ago you were never going to give up those purse strings. Not really.”
Macalister gave a noise of exasperation. “Ah, I see. Now is where you make a big production out of revealing you have a secret account in Singapore. I’ll save you the time. I’ve known about that account ever since the day my hateful uncle funded it for you. Even if you were smart and invested wisely, you don’t have that kind of money there.”