“To be fair, they don’t like anyone much. And it wouldn’t say much good about you if they liked you, anyway.”
Her lips purse before they quirk slightly, and she leans into me. “For some reason, that does make me feel better.”
The car rolls to a stop in front of the house, right before Calla, who's standing with a hand on either hip next to my younger brother's Lamborghini.
I step out, rounding the car to help Grace while I listen to Calla's shouting.
"You can't park here!"
"Mini me…" He’s called her that for what feels like years now. It's not a perfectly fitting nickname, considering my mother doesn't yell. No, her voice is always calm, even if her words are sharp as knives. And while Calla has the blonde aesthetic of my mother, she only wears pink, which is very not Celeste. "It's a driveway. This is where cars go."
Calla's face is twisted, and she's obviously flustered and can't tell that Wren is just fucking with her because he enjoys getting this reaction.
"Wren," I interrupt as Grace takes my arm. "Give Wallace the keys and leave her alone."
He chuckles. "Big Brother, always ruining my fun." But he tosses the keys to my driver anyway.
"Thank you," Calla mumbles as we pass.
I get Grace settled in our room. The estate is huge, and there are enough bedrooms to host everyone in my family and more.
Taking a deep breath, I can't shake the tension coiling in my own shoulders. I need to talk to my father before the weekend spirals into chaos. Before Dove corners me, or my mother starts orchestrating photo opportunities, or the board members descend, looking for reassurance about the company's future.
"I need to go find my father," I tell Grace. "Will you be okay here?"
She turns, hazel eyes searching mine. "You're leaving me already?"
"Just for a bit." I cup her face. "Unpack. Take a bath. I'll be back before cocktails."
She nods, but I catch the flash of anxiety before she hides it.
I lean in, pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead, but before I can step away, she tugs at my arm, pulling me back to her and finding my lips. She kisses me sweetly, tasting like sugar, and the gesture calms the anxiety that I hadn’t realized was building inside me.
“Good luck,” she says softly.
I’m thinking about that kiss and her as I make my way to my father’s office in the east wing, isolated from the main entertaining spaces. I knock once before letting myself in.
He's behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviews documents. The room smells of leather and expensive scotch, the walls lined with first editions and framed accolades.
"Asher." He doesn't look up. "You made it."
"Of course." I close the door, moving to stand in front of his desk. "Big weekend."
"Indeed." He sets down the papers and finally meets my gaze. "Your mother's outdone herself with the guest list."
I wait, letting silence stretch. He wants me to ask. To show my hand.
"I wanted to discuss your plans for the next board meeting," I say carefully. "Given recent... developments."
His expression doesn't change, but he leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he pays me his full attention. "What developments would those be?"
"My marriage." I keep my voice level. "I've met all the requirements you set."
"Requirements." He leans back, fingers steepled. "You make it sound like a business transaction."
My eyes narrow. "Isn't it?"
Something flickers in his gaze. Approval? Disappointment? With Leonard Caine, it's impossible to tell.
