“If it helps, I have about as much say in this as you do.”
“No, it doesn’t help, and that cannot be true.” My shoulders tensed. Even though he was no longer touching me, the warmth of his palms lingered against my bare skin.
Frustration was an interesting look for him. The spoiled rich boy probably didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with it. He always got whatever he wanted. Royce brushed back the sides of his suit coat as he rested his hands on his hips. It showed off his trim form and the curves of his powerful arms.
Stop looking at him like that.
“Believe what you want, but it’s true,” he said. “I do what I’m told because there’s no alternative. Everything is planned or scheduled. I don’t get to make decisions because my entire fucking life has already been scripted.”
I didn’t want to believe him, but it echoed true. Macalister’s controlling personality was everywhere. My father had told me a story once how his boss had dictated what each staff member would wear during an audit.
Royce’s expression warmed unexpectedly, and his voice dipped low. “But you and me? I was . . . hoping for this outcome.”
Did he think I was stupid? “You literally said ‘either Northcott girl is fine.’”
“I said that to protect you.” His tone was sincere. “It was a lie, Marist. Like I told you last year, I’m not interested in your sister.”
At the memory, the room seemed to grow smaller the longer Royce and I stood alone in it. “Protect me from what?”
He gave a pointed look, as if the answer were obvious.
He was protecting me from his father. I sucked in a breath and matched his gentle tone. “Why?”
“I don’t have time to explain right now. I need your phone. I told them we were exchanging numbers.”
I begrudgingly dug it out of my dress pocket and passed it to him. “Right. Because you should probably have your fiancée’s number.”
He ignored my sarcasm and typed in the new contact, then texted himself from the phone. When done, he held it out to pass it back. Only he used it as an opportunity to jerk me close. His free hand slipped onto my cheek, forcing me to meet his intense gaze.
He was so close, a kiss threatened, and although our lips hadn’t touched, it was powerfully intimate.
“You’re not my fiancée, Marist. Yeah, you made the deal out there, but I haven’t asked you to be my wife.” His gaze roamed across my face, like he was memorizing each detail, before finally ending on my lips. His whispered words brushed over my sensitized skin. “Not yet.”
Was he talking about proposing?
Or kissing me?
He carried out neither threat. Instead, he abruptly released me, and my body was bereft in his absence. Everything was off-balance. And like he’d done last time we’d been alone, he turned on his heel and was out the door before I could utter a word.
Numbness took up residence in my heart that afternoon after the Hales left.
Emily cried as she told our parents she thought she was pregnant, but her shame at disappointing them shifted to fear as they confessed how much financial trouble we were in. I emulated Royce and sat eerily still on the patterned couch in the front room, an emotionless expression slathered on my face like the makeup I’d been asked to wear.
It was the first time I’d seen my father break down, and it was unnerving. Once again, I didn’t want him to surrender so quickly. Why didn’t he fight or defend himself?
Horror splashed across Emily’s face as my mother explained—in between her choked sobs—the deal I’d made with Macalister to try to save us. My sister leaned across the couch and seized my hand in a vise-like grip. “Marist, no. You can’t marry him.”
My voice was detached. “Sure, I can.”
My lack of emotion only increased hers, and panic flooded her face. “No.”
“Why not?”
She glanced at our parents before returning her focus to me. “You don’t love him, and he’s a Hale. They can’t love anyone but themselves.”
Was that true? Was Royce capable of loving another person, or was he Narcissus? In the myth, he’d refused all others and wasted away staring at the only thing he’d been cursed to love—his own reflection.
“There are worse things than marrying Royce Hale,” I said.
“Like what?” she snapped.
I lost the reins on my emotions for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know. Being pregnant and homeless?”
Her eyes went white from the pain I’d inflicted, then filled with tears.
“Shit.” Shame poured onto my shoulders, weighing me down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Emily shook her head, silencing me as she brushed the tears away that had collected in her eyes. I didn’t want to be mean. I understood everyone was fragile, but we didn’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. My parents had squandered that time just as they had their money.