Emily Brontë.
“You look ravishing tonight, princess.”A nauseating sound invades my ear. “I guess we could call this our first date, huh?”
And here I hoped my revulsion toward this man would subside slightly by tonight. But then he opens his mouth again, and I want to bang my head against a wall.
“You call me princess again, and it’ll be our last.” I smile wide for good measure, grinding my teeth in agitation. I never knew I could loathe a nickname the way I do that one. I thought Stetson was ready to aim the bow at his face at the range this morning. Not sure I would have stopped him.
“Ah.” Austin retreats for a moment, and I think he might surrender. “It’s a term of endearment,” he whispersagainst the length of my neck, and it takes all of my restraint not to shrug away. “You know you like it.”
I cringe. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it…” I let out a nervous laugh. I’m not nervous. I’m disturbed. My mother better know how much I love her for this.
“Should we head inside?” I whisper, voice struggling to sound convincing. “I think I heard Nathaniel looking for us.”
“In a moment.” Austin shrugs off his suit jacket and lays the heavy fabric across my shoulders. “Your father can wait. Speaking of…tell me first why you call him Nathaniel. Seems odd a man of such power would allow his daughter to call him by his first name.”
Shit.Am I making my hatred for Nathaniel obvious? I’ve avoided him when possible, but I think I’ve masked my dislike well.
“Oh. Well. That’s just my way of acclimating myself to your world, Austin. I can’t be calling him Daddy in front of clients now, can I?”
“I guess not.”
I turn to face him and muster the courage to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “How about we get inside and show my father just how much I fit in your world, huh?”
A beam bright enough to blind me ignites his face. “Nothing has ever sounded sweeter.”I taste vomit.
Austin leads me out the door of our room, my arm linked with his as we enter the outdoor patio area where dinner is served. A long wooden table, large enough to seat twenty, is set up with tall candlestick lighting, fresh eucalyptus, likely picked from Stetson’s herb garden, along the table, and white opal dining wear arranged in front of each wooden seat.
The charm can’t be missed.
The space has been transformed with muted yellowstring lights hung from above, soft music playing in the background, and an old Coca-Cola refrigerator to the side, stocked full of beer and what I’ve learned to be Stetson’s liquor of choice—Johnny Walker Black.
The tasteful decor is distracting at first sight, but the eyes staring daggers back at me hinder any further examination I can make of the space. Ever since I arrived in Waterstone, Stetson has been slowly breaking. I hate that I can’t tell him the real reason why I’m here, or that Austin really isn’t my boyfriend. Well, at least not for long.
This is supposed to be a week of him celebrating his birthday with the people he loves, and instead, I’m here, reminding him of what he can’t have.
It’s so fucked up.
I keep my head up despite wanting to let it drop in humiliation, and avoid his eyes at the head of the table as Austin steers us toward our vacant seats by Nathaniel. The chatter among the guests, thankfully, fills any silence stolen by Stetson’s larger-than-life presence.
I’m not sure I could handle looking at him right now.
“There you are,” Nathaniel comments, surprising me by pulling me into a hug. “We’ve been waiting,” he murmurs in my ear, his hug doing nothing to comfort me.
“We—” I’m interrupted by Austin. “We got a little distracted,” he grins, and it’s disgusting, pretending to adjust a button on his dress shirt.
I attempt a laugh, but it’s stiff and detached.
Before taking my seat, I attempt to remove Austin’s jacket, but his hands meet my shoulders faster than I can react, pinning the jacket in place. “Nonsense. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”
“Can’t have that,” I mumble, sitting between asshole one and asshole two once again.
How did I get so lucky?
It’s when I hear Abigail call my name from the opposite side of the table that I finally decide to look up, and… bad move. Bad, bad move. Because there’s Stetson, over fifteen bodies away from me, with his elbows on the table and a fist at his mouth. His eyes, though? They’re looking right at me. Not at my eyes, but at the jacket across my shoulders.
I can see the shakes rattling through his large frame from here. He’s fuming, doing everything in his power to channel what very little restraint he has left.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Cove?” Abigail asks me, without the slightest clue how deeply maddened her big brother is beside her.
