The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

My heart was still thumping rapidly in my chest. “Yeah.” I tried to act natural, and not like I’d just seen his brother’s dick halfway down his stepmother’s throat. “My dress is heavy, and the hill was steep.”

Worry lined his eyes. He saw right through me, but hopefully he also saw it wasn’t the right time to talk about it.

“Congratulations,” Noemi said, derailing us.

“Thank you,” we answered at the same time.

“I love the pictures Alice posted.”

“Pictures?” I asked.

Noemi showed me her phone, scrolling through the feed, and Royce and I leaned in to get a better look. There were three pictures on the post. The first was us trying to sneak out of the hedge maze right after his proposal, where Royce and I were holding hands and my gaze was locked onto him.

Anxiety crawled up my back.

Maybe Alice had gotten lucky and captured the photo at the perfect second, but I doubted it. It was nearly impossible not to think the girl pictured there was in love with the man she was gazing at.

Was that how I usually looked at him?

The second picture was the engagement ring.

My anxiety shifted, leaning toward excitement when she swiped to the final photo. It was right after his father’s announcement. Royce’s hand cupped the spot where my neck met my body, his gaze was on me, and I was grinning. He’d whispered for me to pretend I liked him just a second before it had been taken.

In this picture it looked very much like he was in love with me.

Noemi glanced up from her phone and straightened abruptly. “Mr. Hale, it’s nice to see you again. Thank you for inviting us.”

I should have sensed the cold breeze, but Macalister had appeared from nowhere. He gave a polite smile. “Please, it’s Macalister. Thank you for coming.” He motioned toward her pregnant belly. “I hope traveling wasn’t too difficult.”

She shot a wary smile to her husband. “Some of us wanted to have a doctor onboard the jet, but,” she emphasized her words, “we were fine.”

A muscle along Joseph’s jawline ticked. He didn’t seem to like her teasing, but then again, the guy seemed rather serious.

She leaned into him as she turned toward Macalister. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is my husband, Joseph Monsato.”

Joseph extended a hand. “We’ve met before, a few years back. Nice to see you again, sir.”

Noemi’s smile froze, and as the men shook hands, her expression was oddly empty. “Of course, you have.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Macalister’s attention drifted to me, “but I came to borrow my future daughter-in-law.”

“For what?” Royce sounded as if he didn’t like that any more than I did.

His father’s chilly gaze made me shiver. “For a dance.”

I stiffened and floundered to come up with an excuse, but my mind went blank as Macalister extended a hand to me. Even though I was dressed now, I felt just as naked as the last time he’d done it.

I couldn’t decline or negotiate my way out of this, and I’d rather deal with it now than delay the inevitable.

His icy hand clasped around mine, and I exchanged a look with Royce as I was led away, one that asked him to rescue me as soon as possible. He stood utterly still, an elegant sculpture, powerless as his father took me away.

Under the crisscrossing strings of lights, the dancefloor was mostly empty. A few couples swayed to the fading slow song, and as Macalister brought us onto the hardwood, the next song began. Nora Jones pleaded in her smoky voice to come away with her into the night.

“Do you waltz?” he asked.

I needed to start a list of things I never thought I’d hear him say to me, and add that one. “Uh, I know how, but my dress—”

He adjusted his hold on my hand and lifted it as he stepped into my space. His other hand slid behind my back, pulling me up against him and into the dance frame. “You’ll do fine. I’ll keep my pattern tight.”

Apprehension corded my muscles like rope twisted to the breakpoint.

Macalister was an imposing man in every aspect. Not just his dominating personality or his striking eyes, but with his physical size. He was broad and tall, and kept himself in excellent shape. He demanded perfection in everything, including himself.

His dancing was no exception. He was confident at leading, making his steps easy to follow, which I needed. I hadn’t danced the waltz since I’d learned to years ago. On one hand, it was surprising he knew how, because this dance was soft and artistic. But on the other, it was elegant and refined, and a precise partnership. I knew how much he liked those things, didn’t I?

I stared up at him as we moved in the boxed pattern, rising and falling with our steps. I could feel his wedding ring on his finger. Did he know where Alice was? That his partner was betraying him right now with his own son? There was a microscopic tug in my chest. I felt bad for him, just a little.