The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

I did not want to die in Macalister’s arms, and certainly not moments after mistakenly telling him I loved him.

But I couldn’t convey anything, couldn’t organize my thoughts. They sifted through the holes Alice’s drug had created in my mind, disappearing forever. The only thing I could hold on to was my fear. Not that I was dying, even though I was certain I was, but that I’d never truly know how Royce felt about me.

Had his declaration of love just been for show? A lie told as he played his role as the prince of Cape Hill?

“Marist.” When a cool fingertip gently brushed a lock of hair back out of my eyes, it added to my horrible disorientation. Macalister’s voice was uneven. Nervous. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

The light from the chandelier in the entryway was growing darker with every slow blink, and the hideous halos around it stretched longer. I was running out of time, and my brain was shutting down.

“Hera,” I croaked.

The body beneath me tensed.

Zeus’s wife Hera was beautiful, but she didn’t have any redeeming qualities. She was jealous and vengeful and cruel toward her husband’s lovers. Even if Macalister didn’t understand my deeper meaning, he’d still know who I was talking about. The Hale family had dressed tonight for the masquerade party in a Greek mythology theme, and Alice had gone as Hera. The queen of the gods of Mount Olympus.

He would understand, though. He’d insisted on reading nearly every book on mythology I owned.

“What did Alice do to you?” His voice was quiet horror, but it still boomed down the stairs.

“Poison,” I whispered. “Dying.”

A pained grunt slipped from my lips as Macalister stood, shooting to his feet and carrying me up with him. The ache in my stomach was sharper and more violent, and I had no choice but to cling to the fabric of his tuxedo jacket. His first step down the stairs made my nausea increase ten-fold.

“What the fuck?”

It came from far away, across the room in a very angry, very male voice.

I tried to see him, but it was a hazy blot of white on black at the entryway. Instead, I had to picture Royce staring up at us. Me draped in his father’s arms, the train of my green Medusa dress dragging over the red carpeted stairs as I was swiftly carried down them. His father descended the staircase like I weighed nothing.

Macalister ignored his son’s furious tone, and once he’d reached the main floor, his shoes clapped out a loud, biting rhythm. It was a song of urgency as he stormed toward the door, and his voice was nearly as quick as his feet. “Is your driver still out front?”

“What?” Irritation simmered in Royce’s words. “Put her down.”

Macalister wouldn’t be deterred, not even when his son stepped in the way, blocking the exit. It brought him to a jerking halt, and he spat it at Royce. “Move.”

It was clear there would be dire consequences if he didn’t obey, but Royce didn’t understand something was wrong with me. All he saw was his fiancée cradled in his adversary’s arms, and tonight he was Ares, the god of war. “Fuck you. Get your hands off her.”

“I’m taking her to the hospital, because she’s dying. Get out of my way.”

I was close enough now I could mostly make him out, and Macalister’s statement went through him like a bolt of Zeus’s lightning. It froze Royce in place, which meant he was still blocking the exit. “What?”

Macalister’s grip was iron, but still I worried I was going to fall as I took one hand off and reached out for my fiancé. “Royce,” I whispered.

The second my fingertips found the smooth skin over his cheekbone, it spurred him into action, and we were moving again. It was darker, and wind ruffled through my hair, signaling we were outside, but it was nearly impossible to keep my eyes open. I was sluggish, and everything took too much energy to do.

Thinking.

Breathing.

My heart to continue beating.

Down the steps we flew, my body jostling in Macalister’s arms. The sound of a car door opening rang out, followed by warm hands on my shoulders. Royce’s. Both men worked together to load me into the back seat of the town car until I was stretched across their laps.

For once, getting the two Hales to become a team was easy. All I had to do was die.

A door slammed shut, sealing us in the dark, cramped space.

“Port Cove hospital,” Royce yelled at the driver. “As fast as you fucking can.”

The force of the car peeling out drove me against the two pairs of legs I was lying on top of. At least the bulk of my body was resting on the center of the seat. Royce’s arms circled around my shoulders as my legs draped over his father’s.