The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

Concern edged into his voice. “I don’t want to leave you here alone with them.”

Meaning his father and stepmother. I stared at the pattern on the duvet, not wanting to lie. “I doubt they’ll stay in, and it’s a big house.”

While I had massive anxiety about my impending conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Hale, there was a kernel of truth to what Macalister had said. Alice wasn’t going anywhere. As stepmother of the groom, she’d be a major figure at my wedding. Like a terrible coworker I was forced to work with, I had no choice.

I needed to confront her on what she’d done so we could both move on and get back to business selling the lie that the Hales were a perfectly happy family.

Royce looked unconvinced. It came from him as more of a statement than a question. “You’ll call me if anything happens?”

You didn’t the other night.

“Sure,” I choked out.

His kiss was long and sensual, and he lingered like he was having second thoughts about leaving. But in the end, Tate and the promise of fresh powder won out, and my fiancé went, blissfully unaware of the guilt knocking around in my chest.

I wasn’t an avoider like the rest of my family, but I dragged my feet. I took my time in the shower trying to scrub away the unclean feeling that clung to my skin. I spent five minutes brushing my teeth, still unable to get the persistent taste of Macalister out of my mouth. It took forever to select dark gray washed jeans and a black cashmere sweater to wear.

Breakfast was skipped, my stomach too unsettled.

When there was nothing else left to do, I made my way toward the lounge.

The room was at the top corner of the house, so instead of one glass wall, it had two, and another that was entirely made up of the stone fireplace, the requisite twelve-point buck head mounted above it. The roof was pitched and paneled in honey-colored wood slats, rising above the four brown leather chairs circled around a low table.

Macalister was seated in one of them, wearing black trousers and a tan sweater over a white collared shirt. Perfectly business casual, which was as dressed-down as he got. His focus was on the phone in his hand, probably reading emails because, as CEO, he didn’t get holidays off.

Alice wore an oversized maroon sweater, black leggings, and a vacant expression as she was perched in the chair beside her husband and stared at the nothingness before her. Her back was ramrod straight, and although she always had excellent posture, there was something eerie about how she carried herself. Her hands rested palms up in her lap, and she was so still, it was as if she’d been placed that way.

Or directed.

Tension corded in my body like a rope twisting. Her husband had ordered her to wait for me like that as her—what was the word he’d used? Penance.

At my entrance, his attention rose from his phone screen, and I knew I had to act fast before he took control of the conversation.

“I’m not here,” I said, “because you told me to come. I’m here because I want this done, and that’s it. The deal we made is still valid.”

A slow smile burned across his full lips as he stood, pocketed his phone, and let his gaze wander down the length of my body. It was uncomfortably hot beneath his heavy eyes. “You entered into it in bad faith. You continue to argue you want nothing to do with me, when we know that’s not the case.”

“It is!” I tensed my hands into fists at my sides. “I’m in love with Royce, and I’m marrying him, which means the only role you’ll have in my life is as my father-in-law. One I preferably never see.” I’d been off my game last night, but with time to prepare, I unleashed the pent-up things I’d meant to say then. “And if you touch me again, you’re likely to lose a hand. Or at least a fucking finger.”

He laughed. A genuine, deep-throated laugh, and hearing a sound of such enjoyment from him literally blew me back a step. The ground beneath my feet became unstable.

“All right, Marist.” His condescending tone was the same one I imagined he’d used when one of his sons had thrown a temper tantrum.

“I’m serious,” I added.

His amusement spent, Macalister turned back into the god I was more familiar with. Zeus’s expression was straightforward. “If you insist, we can renegotiate.”

“What? No. There’s nothing to—”

He raised a hand and silenced me. “I’ll continue to uphold our agreement, even when you choose not to.”

I stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it didn’t, “In exchange for?”

“You stay while I reprimand Alice and you listen to her full apology. You do not leave this room until it’s done.”