The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

My gaze snapped to Royce, but he simply stared back, devoid of any emotion. He’d become a statue once again.

“How wonderful,” my mother choked out.

“Yes,” my father lied.

Macalister gave a subtle nod. “As you know, this is a huge honor.” His tone was cursory. “We have a tradition that goes along with it.”

A thousand tiny spiders crawled along my back.

The last time someone had joined the board, I’d been eight. No one explained to me what the process was, and not that anyone could. The tradition went back several generations in the company, and only the board members were privy to it. There was an initiation, or a ceremony, or some weird rite of passage, and then an enormous party afterward to celebrate. Like the private and elusive societies at an Ivy League school, I found the whole secret thing pretentious. Men making a big deal and pretending to be more important than they were.

“Now that Emily has finished school,” Macalister continued, “it makes sense that she joins Royce. Once he takes his seat, we will announce their engagement at the celebration afterward.”

It was surprising when my jaw fell open, it didn’t thump audibly onto the table.

In the past year, Emily and Royce had been on exactly one date, and she’d said it had been horrible. They had little in common and zero chemistry, according to her. I’d found that a little surprising. He was an asshole for sure . . . but no chemistry? I certainly hadn’t experienced that issue with him.

His kiss had burned for weeks after.

A part of me was secretly thrilled it hadn’t worked out between them.

Wait for me, his voice echoed through my mind.

Beneath the table, I pinched my knees together. It was hard to handle the memory while he was seated right in front of me.

But he didn’t protest the suggestion of marrying my sister. He didn’t say a goddamn thing about what his father had just announced, and irrational jealousy knifed through me. And even if you put the lack of chemistry thing to the side, Emily wasn’t even in the fucking room.

It shouldn’t have been so shocking. This marriage proposal wasn’t about love, it was a business merger. Macalister didn’t think my sister needed to be included in the negotiations of it, apparently.

My family’s confusion came out in a single word from my mother. “What?”

He looked irritated he had to spell it out. “Royce would like to ask for Emily’s hand in marriage.”

An incredulous laugh burst from my mouth. Was he seriously letting his daddy do this? “Maybe we should get Emily in here,” I said, my tone sarcastic. “She might have some thoughts about it.”

When Macalister’s icy gaze turned on me, I shivered. I wanted to fold up inside myself until there was nothing left.

“Then perhaps you should go and fetch her,” he decreed.

I stole away from the table, happy to be gone. I stepped out of my heels, depositing them at the base of the steps, and raced up the front staircase, my dress swishing as I went. I burst breathlessly into Emily’s room without knocking and discovered her sitting on the side of her unmade bed, her arms folded across her stomach. She looked like she was holding herself together.

“Em,” I said. “You need to get downstairs now.”

I darted into her walk-in closet and rifled through the dresses hanging there. There was a peach floral dress that was a bit too summery, but it would do. I snatched it off the hanger and stormed back into her room, holding it out urgently.

“Macalister just asked if Royce could have your hand in marriage.”

I’d expected laughter. Disbelief. Shock.

Instead, she cast her glassy, red-rimmed eyes down at her damask bedspread. Somehow, she knew this was coming.

A void opened in my chest. My sister was my best friend, and we told each other everything.

No, you don’t.

I hadn’t told her about my night in the library with Royce. I’d had a good reason not to before they attempted a relationship, and after it was clear nothing was going to happen, it seemed pointless to tell her.

I pushed my questions and sting of betrayal to the side. We’d deal with it later. Right now, we needed to handle the situation. I loved my father with all my heart, but he wasn’t as strong as he needed to be. He was susceptible. He folded and gave in too quickly, especially when it was something he wanted, like another cigar or glass of whiskey.

What if Macalister offered a seat on the board in exchange for Emily? It was absolutely something the shrewd businessman would do, and it was possible our father would be foolish enough to accept. Not that my sister would ever go along with it, but just the insane negotiation could be disastrous.

“Get dressed,” I ordered.