‘Right. Like… containers.’
‘Sure… containers.’ Her mouth twists.
She points again, ‘That’s a Spanish royal. A minor one, but still. I’m pretty sure Eliza had a wild night with him once at University.’
I glance over and nearly choke on my water because this royal is chatting with Evan like old pals.
‘Why is he here?’ I ask.
Maggie’s shrugs. ‘Networking. Everyone needs connections.’
Across the room, Eddie’s mood is written all over his face.
He’s tightly wound, like a snake waiting for the right moment to wrap around my neck and choke the life out of me.
I’m trying not to stare back, because the last thing I need is a testosterone showdown at Maggie’s dad’s dinner. It proves difficult. Taking your eye off the skulking spider always leads to it disappearing.
Champagne bubbles on my tongue, dry and sharp. I keep my sips to a minimum after my morning of boozy indulgence. I’ve already slammed back some painkillers for the day-drinking headache that I know is approaching.
Dinner begins with a procession of courses: everything as over-the-top as possible. There’s foam. There’s smoke. I can’t decide if it’s food or one of those awful teen discos I used to go to. A night of snogging amongst foam that would stain our clothes and get us a bollocking come wash day.
James Rutherford has arrived for the celebrations, Maggie’s soon-to-be step-brother. He’s handsome. Even to me. All sharp angles and eyes that pierce. Maggie lets me know he’s every bit as deadly as he looks, and that heand Eliza have a healthy—or perhaps exceedingly unhealthy—rivalry.
A rivalry that is largely based on who can take out the targets with the highest rewards first.
Or who can do it the most heinously.
Even thinking about it makes it hard to swallow my food. Eliza looks like she should be sauntering along a catwalk, not hunting down scum and dispatching them.
‘You’ve always lacked finesse, Eliza,’ James says pleasantly, as if he’s talking about something that isn’t meeting out death.
Eliza smiles like butter wouldn’t melt. ‘And you’ve always confused volume with competence. Like most guys, I’m guessing you’re compensating for something…’
James’s jaw tightens before he takes a slow, measured sip of his wine.
‘That’s rich coming from you,’ he replies.
Maggie nudges my knee under the table and slides her hand into mine. A squeeze of solidarity, perhaps?
Halfway through dessert, our table descends into full-blown butchery bragging, and I wonder if my face is as green as my belly feels. The table around us is laughing while Eliza talks in half-hushed excitement, loud enough that I can’t ignore her, but not so loud as to alert other tables to the stomach-turning discussion.
‘—and honestly,’ Eliza says, swirling her wine, ‘he just wouldn’t shut up. Just kept talking. Talking.Talking. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a man who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.’
‘Noted,’ I whisper to Maggie, who looks equally as revolted by the conversation.
James grins, thoroughly enjoying every word. ‘So you strangled him with his own innards?’
Eliza’s eyes widen in mock surprise. ‘James. Don’t be crude.’
‘It’s literally what you did. Your reputation precedes you.’
‘Yes, but the way you say it makes it sound… messy.’
‘It was messy, I heard that one loop burst and left him drowning in his own…’
Nope. Not listening to that. I scan the room, loosening my tie as a hot flush washes over me.
People laugh around the table as I try to drown out the conversation.
