Her brothers straightened instantly, Nate going as stiff as a board and Alex already rising from his chair. Their reaction made the tight coil in my gut ease. Whatever else the Westwoods were, they protected their own.
“I can’t do it,” she blurted before either of them could speak. “Dad wants me to make a match with Gregory, but I can’t do it. Icannot marrythat guy.”
Alex blew out a strangled breath of relief, but Nate just shook his head. “Okay, I hear you, but Dad can still make it happen, Lottie.”
Charlotte made a small, wounded sound. It was barely audible, but it hit me like a punch. Alex, however, was suddenlylooking straight at me, and all at once, I knew why he’d called me to Chicago.
Mother-fluffing-fucker.
I was his ace in the hole, the back-up plan he was hoping he wouldn’t have to use.
No. Nope. No sir. I ain’t doing it.
I should’ve shut it down right then and there. I wasn’t getting tangled up in Westwood family politics and I sure ashellwasn’t volunteering myself as tribute in a marriage circus I barely understood, but then Charlotte looked at me too.
Not at Alex. Not at Nate. Atme—and the desperation in her eyes rewired every rational thought in my brain.
“Use me,” I heard myself say with a shrug, like it was a casual suggestion instead of pouring gasoline on a bonfire.
Alex’s smile came fast, his relief palpable while Nate blinked like someone had spoken in tongues, but he didn’t object. Charlotte stared at me, completely incredulous until it seemed to dawn on her what I’d meant. Then her expression snapped into a fierce scowl.
“No,” she said instantly, throwing her hands up and taking a few steps back, her head shaking again and again. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”
CHAPTER 11
CHARLOTTE
Gregory was showing me some of his true colors and he wasnotthe Prince Charming I’d thought at first he might be. The accent did a lot of the heavy lifting for him, since his personality was as exciting as a cup of lukewarm tea. All weekend, I’d told myself that maybe he was just the kind of guy I needed time to warm up to, but nope.
Standing beside him in the foyer, I listened as he droned on about theeconomic inefficienciesof my foundation’s outreach program—his actual words, not mine.
“It’s sweet, really,” he said, adjusting the cuff of his pristine shirt like he was posing for a catalog. “It’s nice that this little charity thing keeps you occupied.”
He smiled at me like I should be grateful for the verbal pat on the head. I tried to steer the conversation toward literally anything else, but he justwould not let it go. “Ideally, once we’re settled, you won’t need these projects. My wife will have a full, elegant schedule that won’t involve throwing herself into street-level philanthropy.”
My eyes widened, my jaw threatening to drop, and still, he wasn’t even done. “No Van Allen would be rolling up her sleeveslike that. That’s what donations are for. Someone else handles the messy parts.”
My stomach iced over, but he kept talking, listing expectations like he was reading from a job description for a position I’d never applied for. Hosting. Social calendars. Public appearances. Beingserene,supportive, andsoft.
The way his eyes dragged over me when he thought I wasn’t looking was almost just as bad, a slow, proprietary sweep that made my skin crawl. When he leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret with a lover, I felt every hair on my arms stand up.
“You clean up well,” he murmured. “Better than I expected. When we’re married, we’ll have plenty of time to work on the rest.”
I flinched back so fast that he blinked. His expression cooled instantly into something hard and ugly before he smoothed it back into a smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Charlotte. We both know what’s coming. It’s best to start getting comfortable.”
The bottom of my chest dropped out. This wasn’t discomfort or nerves. It was just plain wrong. I muttered an excuse I couldn’t even remember and slipped away before he could grab my elbow or say anything else that would make me scream, cry, or both.
Moving fast up the stairs, my pulse was pounding in my throat, each of my breaths tighter than the last. I needed distance. Air. I needed family that wasn’t trying to sell me off like a prize heifer. Someone who could keep Gregory away from me with nothing more than a look.
Down the hall, I noticed that the library door was cracked open and I didn’t even think. I headed straight toward it, desperate for refuge, for my brothers, and for anything thatdidn’t feel like the walls closing in, and then the dam inside me burst.
Alex took a step toward me like he was gearing up for aVery Serious Brother Lecture, but I cut him off before he could even open his mouth fully. Based on what Trent had just said and the look on both Alex and Nate’s faces right now, I knew what they were about to suggest and I wasn’t doing it.
“No,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m not fake-datingTrent.”
Alex stopped. His eyebrows shot up like I’d slapped him with a fish. “I wasn’t going to suggest that. Well, okay, I was, but hear me out.”
“No,” I repeated, because apparently tonight was the night I became fluent in one-syllable refusals.
