The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

“Apparently not,” Royce said.

Macalister ignored the comment and leaned over his youngest son. “Excuse me?”

For a brief moment, Vance flashed daggers at his older brother, but his attention swung back to his father. “She’s too embarrassed.”

“Fix it,” he ordered.

“I tried. She won’t come out of the limo.”

When Macalister turned his demanding gaze toward his wife, everything went cold inside me. He needed to smooth things over with Lambert’s daughter and have her walk in on Vance’s arm, and he expected Alice to handle it for him.

“I’ll do it.” I stepped forward, grabbed the door, and ducked inside before anyone could stop me. Maybe if I got her to come out, Macalister would owe me. I could use it to buy myself some time until I figured out what to hell I was going to do about his demand in the library.

At the least, it should spare Alice from having to talk to the girl who’d just been caught fucking her lover.

Jillian sat at the front of the back seat, as far away from the door as possible, with her face in her hands, and she didn’t look up when I pulled the door closed and locked us in together.

“Hey.” I gave her the most soothing tone I had. “Hey, it’s okay.”

She lifted her head, and her face was a mess. Black smudges collected under her eyes from her tears, and rather than worry about her . . . I wondered if her mask would be able to disguise it. God. What was wrong with me? This would have been the last thought on my mind four months ago, back before I’d agreed to become a Hale.

Her voice wavered. “Please tell me you came in here to kill me.”

I opened my clutch and pulled out a tissue, extending it out to her. “Nope. I came to tell you that Macalister wants you and Vance together so badly, he’d probably be thrilled right now, except he’s too busy worrying we’re going to be late.”

Her movements slowed as she took the offered tissue. “What?”

“I get that you’re embarrassed, but what just happened is seriously no big deal. But if you don’t walk in with Vance . . . that’s a very big deal.” I scooted closer to her on the side bench. “So, I’m here to help. You’re going to sit beside me when we all go together in the limo. You’ll put your mask on and hide behind it if you want to, and I promise everyone will act like nothing happened. Big, fake smiles for five minutes while we walk in, and that’s it. Easy.”

Knuckles rapped on a window, announcing I was running out of time.

“Everyone saw me naked,” she whispered.

“Not really. It was a lot more Vance than you.” I quirked a smile. “Even if they did, who cares? You got this. Show them you don’t give a fuck.”

When I climbed out of the limo, Macalister was right there, and I sucked in a breath. “We can go. She’s putting on her mask.”

He straightened with surprise, and relief edged across his expression. I gave him a look that told him I hadn’t done it out of the kindness of my heart. He was now in my debt.

While I’d been coaxing Jillian from the back seat, Vance had lowered his mask. It was a dark green with brass highlights, like the algae had been worn away from those spots. Curling tentacles spread out and hung down, four octopus arms on each side.

He spent so much time on a yacht these days, maybe he didn’t need the mask to feel like Poseidon. He helped Jillian out of one limo and straight into the other, larger one. I darted in right after them, taking a seat beside her as I’d promised to do.

The ride to the red carpet at the front of the gala was quiet and blissfully short.

There wasn’t really supposed to be media at the event. Photographers had been hired to take promotional images for the brand, but there was a velvet rope on either side of the red carpet, and several media outlets had shown up. So, when we emerged one by one from the back of the limo, there were cameras and flashes and cries for our attention.

I was the fake, Instagram Marist. I pasted on a smile and clung to Royce with an iron grip, then forced myself to walk with a normal gait and not sprint to the safety of the building at the other end. Inside, I was Medusa and he was Ares, and everyone should fear us, rather than us fearing them.

Not that Royce looked at all uneasy. He grinned and kissed my hand, playing it up for the cameras. Selling the story of our fairytale romance.

The expansive ballroom of the Harbor Plaza Hotel was bathed in purple and magenta lights, giving the room a surreal quality. Tall candelabras, draped in crystal beads, sat in the center of each table, flickering whispers down on the tablecloth.