The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

I sat at the head table with the rest of the Hales, sandwiched between Royce and Vance. My hand was in my lap, hidden beneath the tablecloth, and I fidgeted nervously with the ring as Macalister walked toward the microphone stand.

“Before I forget,” Royce said, his expression alight with amusement, “I hope I haven’t set a dangerous precedent. No more black boxes. That ring is the last piece of jewelry you’re getting from me for a while.”

I faked horror. “What? No earrings?”

Royce smirked. “Mr. Costolli tried.”

When it was clear Macalister was ready, a hush descended on the lawn.

His toast was brief. He talked about Royce’s tenacious work ethic and how proud he was as a father. He acknowledged the rest of the board for welcoming his son and said great things were in store at HBHC. It was a speech that hit all the right notes but lacked any real emotion. It left me just as cold as every conversation I’d had with Macalister.

I’d decided to take Alice’s advice and not think about my time in the dining room. Those memories would stay there until I was ready to deal with them.

“Lastly, it gives me great pleasure,” Macalister said, “to announce we have something additional to celebrate this evening.” His smile was flawless. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he looked genuinely happy. “Royce asked Marist Northcott to be his wife just a few minutes ago . . . and she’s accepted.”

The stunned silence only lasted a single second, but it felt like it dragged on forever. Then, the gasps and smattering of applause rang out, followed by every head turning to look at us. The expressions in the sea of faces ranged from confused to suspicious. All of Cape Hill put me under a microscope and began looking for flaws.

It was my nightmare come to life.

But Royce had his arm around the back of my chair, and when the crowd swung their judgmental scrutiny our way, his hand was on my shoulder. He leaned into me, nuzzling a kiss in the side of my neck and whispered in my ear, “Pretend you like me.”

It worked because his ridiculous statement made my tired smile muscles fire and a shy grin slid across my face. Liking him wasn’t something I had to pretend to do.

After dinner was over, the dancefloor opened up, and Royce and I took center stage, swaying to the music and playing our roles as newly engaged lovebirds. It wasn’t that difficult. Was I getting better at pretending, or was it not much of a lie?

Later, when Royce was occupied with a business discussion, I slipped out in search of Emily. Once I texted her, I discovered she was all the way over at the Hale stables with her friends. I followed the path past the hedge maze and to the narrow private road that led down the hill, and the small barn with the center pitched roof came into view.

It hadn’t been a working stable in years. After Royce’s mother died, the horses were sold, and the barn became a storage space. The collection of people in formal dresses and tuxedos were gathered nearby at a patio table under a tree, having their own mini-party away from the critical eyes of their parents.

As I walked up, there were cheers and smiles from the group. Most of them seemed to be drunk or high, or both.

“Emily, when’d your sister get so hot?” one of the guys asked in a too-loud whisper. A few of the girls snickered at him.

My sister was the only sober one among the group. She was stunning in her violet dress and the mermaid style hugged her curves, but her expression was like it had been earlier. Pained. I nodded my head to the side, gesturing I wanted to get away from the group and talk privately.

When we were on the far side of the house and out of earshot, she grabbed my left hand and jerked it up to stare at the ring. Her voice was filled with dread. “You did it.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God.” Her face cracked. It split between anguish and fear. “Are you okay? Was it awful?”

“I’m fine,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Jesus, Marist.” Her eyes filled with tears and her gaze ran from me. “It’s all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her focus snapped back to mine. “It was supposed to be me.”

I bit down on my bottom lip to prevent it from trembling. “Stop it. You can’t—”

“I got pregnant on purpose.” She said it in such a rush it was a blur of words, and by the time her admission soaked in, she’d begun to cry. “I didn’t want anything to do with the Hales. You know how Macalister is. He thinks he’s entitled to whatever he wants, and that includes people. He owns everything, but he wasn’t going to own me.”