Page 3 of Twisted Knight

A scowl flickers. “I don’t know why you keep fighting it, honey. We’ve known the Williamses forever. Chad is a good man. He’d be a caring husband and good provider for you.”

“Mmm.” It’s my only response to a conversation I could repeat in my sleep. While there’s nothing wrong with Chad … he’s Chad. A second brother of sorts. Kind and gentle and not exactly my type.

She meets my eyes and offers me an encouraging smile as her hand slides down to hold mine. “Excitement and passion ebb in a marriage. What you need is comfort and reliability. Someone who knows your ways and how you were brought up. Someone you don’t have to try so hard with. A man who understands our family, our place in this town, and who we are. Chadwick Williams is all that and then some. Plus, he’s been in love with you since second grade. That right there saves you the whole having-to-make-someone-love-you part.”

Huh. Nice to know it’s so hard to love me.

“With all due respect, Mom. We tried the dating thing, remember? He’s a good guy—great in fact—but there was absolutely no spark—”

“Sparks burn out. Smolders last longer. You’re going to be thirty soon, sweetie. You could just settle into the life you were meant to live—being a good wife, the wonderful mother I know you’ll be—and become a committee chair at the Junior League. It could be yours in a heartbeat if that’s what you wanted.”

Ah yes, the preordained life of a Rothschild woman. Of a Westmore society woman for that matter. The one that I’m told time and again so many are envious of and that I should appreciate.

First my hair. Then Chad. Can’t wait to see what she brings up next.

“Enough about that, dear,” she says, batting the conversation away like it never happened. “You look absolutely stunning tonight. The picture of perfection—even if you did forget to bring earrings. Do you know what would go perfect with that dress? A pair of ruby pendants.” She reaches up and touches my earlobe as she tucks my hair behind my ear.

I roll my eyes. “Rubies?”

“Yes.” Another dreamy smile. “Perfectly subtle and ladylike. Such a romantic stone, don’t you think?”

“Of course. Ruby earrings.” Just like the pair I overheard her and Chadwick’s mom talking about a few weeks ago. What a coincidence.

Does she have anything better to do than try to marry me off?

The answer is, she doesn’t. And she wouldn’t be deemed a good Southern mother if she focused her attentions elsewhere.

“Oh, look. Where has the time gone?” Her smile transforms to one of excitement. “We wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?”

I stare longingly at the half-empty bottle of wine across the hotel suite and sigh. It might do me a lot of good to drink the rest of it before I go upstairs, where I’ll be expected to play the part of the perfect daughter of Emmaline and Rupert Rothschild.

Sister to their prized son and heir to the family everything, Rhett Rothschild.

Former debutante and society woman in waiting.

College educated but for no other reason than to be a well-rounded, future contributing member of the Westmore social circle—the unspoken but well-known elites of this town.

The face of our family-run business, TinSpirits. A company created by my great-great-grandfather that started out making signature spirits and that has since reinvented itself with canned cocktails. A place where I had to beg for a real position. One that didn’t involve my looks or my body. One that had relevance and where I could utilize my intelligence.

Vice president of marketing.

A position I coveted until I finally earned it, only to learn it was merely a placeholder without any real power. Despite that—or maybe because of it—my desire to run the family business only intensified to the point that I’ve progressively expanded my position, taking on more and more tasks, for no other reason than to learn the company inside and out. To become invaluable.

Silence permeates the elevator as my mother and I stand a foot apart, her adjusting the way her fur coat drapes over her shoulders and me dreaming of all the other places I’d rather be right now.

But duty calls. A duty I’m trying my damnedest to break free from despite all expectations.

The elevator dings as it passes each floor. A countdown to impending doom. Said doom being Westmore’s biggest social event of the spring. The place to be seen and be noticed.

For me? It’s the place to drink too many cocktails and roll my eyes at all the over-the-top ridiculousness.

“Just remember that we have enough gossip going on right now in regards to the family and the business,” my mom says in a low, even tone. “The last thing we need is for you to cause more tonight with your nonsense. These people run in our circles, help make deals and connections for us that further our name and its legacy with their patronage. They are the support chain for our business.”

My business.

Or at least the one I plan on taking over, come hell or high water.

“Mm-hm,” I murmur because if I don’t make promises, then I can’t break them.