The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

Joseph’s dark eyes followed his wife with reverence, and it was obvious to me their marriage had nothing to do with money.

Was it possible the same would ever be said of mine?

“This is my girlfriend,” Royce announced. “Marist Northcott.”

I pushed to my feet, squeezed out a smile, and shook the couple’s hands while Royce’s statement buzzed in my brain. Girlfriend. Once again, it had come from him so quick and naturally.

I had to remind myself to be careful. He was a spectacular liar.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Marist,” Noemi repeated. “We’ve met before, right?”

“Yeah. I think at the HBHC golf classic last year.” And a few other events before that, but I wasn’t going to point it out. She wouldn’t remember me.

“Ah, yeah. Didn’t you have green hair, or am I totally making that up? Sorry, pregnancy has eaten my brain.”

“No,” Royce said with a chuckle, “that’s her.”

Noemi’s gaze turned to him. “Well, it’s nice to see you both again. We didn’t mean to interrupt. I was craving some mint chocolate chip and thought I should say ‘hi.’ I’m sure we’ll see each other this weekend.”

“Yeah, of course.” Royce nodded.

She gave a final smile, took her husband’s hand, and then they disappeared out the door.

It made sense Royce would be friends with her; they had a lot in common. They were from two of the wealthiest, most powerful families in America and pseudo celebrities. I’d never experienced that.

As we slid back into our seats, Royce’s tone was matter-of-fact. “If my father could have picked any woman in the world for me to marry, it would have been her. He pushed her dad for her to apply to Etonsons, but I don’t think she got in.”

My jaw fell open, but I promptly shut it. The two of them would have been a great couple. Noemi’s family had a ton of prestige and power, and she was gorgeous and Royce’s age. But I didn’t like the thought of them together at all. I was glad she hadn’t gotten in to Etonsons, stayed in Chicago, and the two of them never became more than friends.

It worked out better for everyone this way.

Oh, my God. The possessiveness I felt toward Royce was staggering. I’d never thought I’d be a jealous person, but one simple conversation showed me otherwise.

“You should know,” he said, using the same straightforward tone, “if my father had asked me to pick, I’d have chosen the one sitting across from me right now, not eating her ice cream and looking pissed.”

I thought I’d erected all these defenses, yet he punched right through them. I couldn’t tell if this was manipulation or real, but I wanted it to be the truth. It was painful to look at him.

“Promise me,” I said abruptly, my words whisper quiet as I stared at my melting ice cream, “that you’re not going to hurt me.”

His eyes widened and he drew in an enormous breath. The silence stretched between us until every part of me ached. I longed for him to say something. Anything. His expression was heartbreaking.

“I can’t promise you that,” he matched my hushed voice, “but I promise I’ll try my best not to.”

I parroted back the same words his father had given me. “Well, that’s all you can ask of someone, isn’t it?”

On Saturday, I nearly threw up on the solo car ride over to the Hale estate. I’d been too anxious to eat all day, and now acid roiled in my stomach. Maybe I could ask Alice for some toast when I got there. And perhaps I could get some Xanax sprinkled on top too.

She’d insisted I come over by three p.m. to get ready. Thursday, the preparations had officially begun. I’d visited her salon of torture, been given another painful Brazilian, and Sebastian refreshed my hair color. Yesterday, it had been manicures, pedicures, and a spray tan.

This afternoon, two chairs had been brought into one of the guest suites, and Alice and I sat in them while her team of stylists went to work, twisting and curling and pinning until our hair was stacked high on our heads. Conversation wasn’t difficult. I was too nervous to speak, and Alice talked non-stop, rattling off all the guests I needed to make sure I mingled with tonight.

I’d been so focused on the initiation, I hadn’t given much thought to the party afterward. Was it possible to dread that more than the impending sex?

When our makeup had been expertly applied, Alice set her hand on my shoulder and leaned over, putting her face near mine. She held her phone out, high above us and angled down.

“Smile!” It came out light and breezy, but I heard the demand in it all the same.

I pulled my lips back, showing my teeth.

“No,” she scolded. “Smile with your eyes too.”