Let’s just say my sanity is questionable right now.
After all the toasts and dinner, after everyone is well on their way to drunk or being shown to their rooms for the night, Trips’ father motions for us to follow him.
Needing support, I cling to Trips’ hand as we weave through the crowd, and when he squeezes my palm back, I almost cry.
If nothing else, I’m not alone. We’re stuck in this hell together.
The path to the office is familiar to me now, and I swallow down my unease as he ushers us in.
He pours three tumblers of scotch, pushing two to the other side of his desk as Trips and I take our seats across from him. I force myself not to check that the camera I planted is still there. I tip the cup, letting the peaty scent tease my nostrils, but avoid taking a sip. The last thing I need when I’m this tired is alcohol.
I learned my lesson.
Trips seems to do the same fake drink, both of us setting the glasses on the desk and waiting for whatever the monster has in store for us now.
“Big day tomorrow,” he says, leaning back, true happiness on his face. “How excited are the two of you?”
I blink at him, not knowing how to respond. He knows he’s blackmailing us into this, doesn’t he?
Trips seems equally confounded, so we both say nothing.
His smile slips a little, and he takes another sniff of the alcohol, inspecting both of us over the rim. He settles his gaze on Trips, and I want to reach over and hold his hand, to give him the same support he gave me on the walk here. But I know that’s not the right move. Not here, not now.
“You’re getting everything you wanted. This girl, one of your little criminal friends standing up with you, free rein of the estate…all these gifts, even though you two have failed to deliver your half of the deal. I’m even letting the wedding go ahead before sending you both for fertility testing. I don’t see how this is anything but overly generous on my part. So, what is there to be unhappy about?” There’s a bite in his words at the end, but also disbelief at our lack of gratitude. A shiver sneaks up my spine.
Trips drops his chin, but the tightness of his jaw hints at the fury he’s holding back. “Nothing, sir. I’m sorry. We’re grateful for all you’ve given us.” He reaches across the space between us, taking my left hand, idly playing with the engagement ring just like he does every time he takes that hand of mine. “Truly.” He turns toward me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat, something that makes me want to weep.
If this were another reality, we might actually get married, actually be excited for our future together.
I swallow hard, and his fingers grip my hand tighter, just for a second, before letting go.
“Yes. Thank you,” I add to the monster across from me.
His lips twitch, as if he knows we’re being less than genuine, but he doesn’t want to call us out on it. “Well, on that note, Archie, my boy, you’ll be in the silver room this evening. We can’t have you seeing the bride before your big day.”
The prospect of waking from one of my nightmares and being totally alone has my heart scraping along the inside of my ribs, but I say nothing.
“Of course, sir. Thank you.” He stands, and I stand to join him, to squeeze out whatever small moments of time together we can, but his father pulls one of his expensive pens from the cup, tapping it against the desk.
“Ms. McElroy, if you would stay? We have a few final details to parse out between us. You two will have forever together starting tomorrow. I’m taking one night.”
I swallow my panic. “Of course, sir.”
Trips leaves, the snick of the door forcing my eyes closed, just for a moment.
“Well,” the man across from me says, pulling out a legal pad and scratching down something onto it. “We have to set a few ground rules about how we want to proceed.”
“Do we?” I ask, not sure where this is going.
“Of course. I’ve let you play your games. You have most of the guards I employ convinced you’re a violent sociopath, you still hold way too much of my eldest son’s interest, and your friendship with my daughter has been on the rocks. You’ve turned out to be an adequate hand at torture, found me a list of candidates for a new liver, but don’t seem to have the fortitude for cold-blooded murder. At least not yet.”
I say nothing, not knowing how to respond to his uncomfortable evaluation of me.
“You still are not pregnant, and you were perfectly happy conversing with your other boyfriends on that phone I so kindly offered you. My son, however, trusts you, and obviously enjoys your…charms.”
He stops scrawling across the page, sets down the pen, and gives me his undivided attention, his blue irises rimmed by the slightest hint of yellow. “In short, during these last few months, you’ve both surprised me and disappointed me, Ms. McElroy.”
I’m stuck between saying sorry and thank you, so once again I stay quiet.
