by K. I. Lynn
A waiter came around with wine glasses and Atticus plucked two from the tray, handing me one. Voices could be heard nearby, and I knew the next battle was about to begin. I took a long sip of the red liquid, hoping it would help calm me.
“Did hell freeze over? Atticus de Loughrey with a date for a family dinner?”
Atticus’s gaze narrowed at one of the few de Loughreys I recognized—Genevieve—as she passed from one of the multiple openings that led into the space. She was wearing a short dress with insanely high-heeled pumps. She looked like she was about to go to the club. Even her hair and makeup were flawless. She was gorgeous.
“Ophelia, this is my wayward sister, Genevieve. Genevieve, meet my fiancée, Ophelia.”
“Oh, so this is how you’re going to do it,” she said as she appraised me.
“Do what?” I asked. It was beginning to feel like I was missing something. Some aspect that caused our predicament that I hadn’t been made privy to.
You should have asked more questions.
“Father is going to be fuming.”
“Good,” a male voice said, stepping up to join the conversation. “We didn’t officially meet last week. Hamilton de Loughrey.” He held out his hand, and I slipped mine in.
“Ophelia Evans.”
“Awe, that is such a pretty name,” Gen said with a smile.
Hamilton’s grey eyes studied me. I was certain it was something I was just going to have to get used to. I knew I didn’t meet their standards, but that didn’t mean I had to care what they thought about me. Our relationship was born from a contract and not a meaningful connection.
“Let’s go get a drink, Gen. Mother’s wine isn’t strong enough to get me through this night.”
“Okay,” she smiled as she wrapped her hands around his arm.
“I’m already exhausted,” I whispered to Atticus as they moved out of the room.
“Me, too.”
There was a pause as I processed what he said, then a loud laugh left me.
“I don’t see how my plight is entertaining to you,” he grumbled.
“I’m the one trying to keep up, and you’re the one who is used to this madness.”
“Being used to it doesn’t mean I enjoy it. With four siblings and five cousins, this house has always been chaos.”
“Five cousins?”
He nodded. “As I said—family house. We lived here with my uncle and his family for many years, as well as my grandparents.”
In the Binder of Doom, I hadn’t even gotten to the de Loughrey family tree to see just how large and twisted it was.
“Madeline, get back here!” a woman called as a ball of fluffy brown curls in a navy and white dress went flying by.
The ball of energy giggled before stopping in front of me, her grey eyes wide. “Hi!”
“Hello.”
“Are you uncle Att’s girlfriend?” she asked.
I squatted down to get to her eye level. “I guess you could say that.”
She tilted her head, making her curls bounce. “Say what?”
“Well, I guess you could say I’m going to be your aunt.”
Her little brow furrowed. “How?”
“You’re getting married?” a feminine voice said from the direction the little girl came.
I stood and took in the newest family member. Long brown hair framed her flawless skin and grey eyes. Her dress hugged her curves and when she turned to Atticus, her bumped-out stomach was visible.
“Answer me, Atticus.”
“I will if you give me a moment, Elizabeth,” he said as he took my hand and pulled me closer. “This is getting tiring. Meet your new soon-to-be sister-in-law.”
It was a trait I’d begun to notice with Atticus before the past few weeks. When his irritation hit, he no longer cared to explain anything and expected other people to either understand or figure it out themselves. Repeating was not something he was fond of.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ophelia.” I held out my hand. Elizabeth had a calculating stare, much like Atticus. She seemed to consider my outstretched hand, then her brother. A disapproving huff left her before she walked past me.
“Come, Madeline,” she said as she held her hand out.
“That was fun,” I said. “Guess I didn’t impress her much.”
“Elizabeth will be a hard one to impress.”
“How close are you two?”
He looked at me and sighed. “Just read the folio.”
There it was again. How were we to get to know one another if he expected me to just read all about him? Those were facts about his life, not the man himself. It would tell me how close in age they were, sure, but not how emotionally close they were. Only Atticus could tell me that, and he was as tight lipped as ever.
“Is it so terrible that you tell me yourself?”
“Yes. I don’t have the time or energy to tell you every little detail of my life. That is why I had the folio made.”
I hated the thing, especially with its droning prose and sleep-inducing cadence. After over a week, I was still only to his college years. I could say the man was impressive. By the time he was twenty he spoke six languages, was Valedictorian of his prestigious high school, and there was a never-ending list of other accomplishments.
It was easy to say we would not have been friends in high school. Between the wealth gap and his obvious popularity status, the only similarities were our grades, and I was in the top one percent of my class, not number one.
“You probably dictated it.”
“I’m a de Loughrey—my accomplishments and failures are kept in record and updated frequently.”
“What? Even when you lost your virginity?” Some girl named Amelia Carmichael when he was seventeen.
“Vulgarity, Ophelia. You must watch your tongue,” Vera said as she appeared through the doorway behind me. “If you are to be a de Loughrey, discreetness is a virtue you must adhere to.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you sure, my darling?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Questioning his decision in front of me. Ouch. If my pride and ego could convey hits like skin, my body would be a mass of bruises by the end of the weekend.
She let out another sigh, then something caught her attention behind me and she stepped away, calling out for a Mary.
“Atticus, you brought a friend,” a deep voice resonated. An older man entered and slowly strolled toward us with the presence of a king.
“Father, I would like to introduce you to Ophelia, my fiancée.” I thought he would be upset having to repeat himself again, but when I looked at Charles de Loughrey, I understood the ferocity behind his tone.
Charles was the same height as Atticus, his hair more salt than pepper with a perfectly trimmed, matching beard. A pair of beady eyes met mine, and a zip of cold rushed down my spine. While Atticus and his sister Elizabeth held a more calculating gaze, Charles held one of a predator.
And I was the prey. The one in his way, stopping him from getting what he wanted.
“Fiancée? Interesting.” He eyed me up and down, like he was taking stock but also with a lecherous edge.
Prey in multiple forms. Great.
“Charles?” a beautiful brunette beside him called, trying to pull his attention from me. She had the same air as all the de Loughreys, full of money and prestige. Every detail about her was perfect, from her hair to the set of her eyes and length of her lashes, down to her slim figure and the fabric that adorned it.
Fire red clung to her torso and hips held up by off-the-shoulder straps. It flared at the bottom above her knees in a teasing manner to catch the eye.
She was de Loughrey material, and for some reason that rubbed me wrong. Without thinking, I found I had leaned in closer to Atticus.
He didn’t even grant her a once-over with his gaze.
“Ah, yes. Amelia, this is my son, Atticus.”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said. Her lips pulled up into a sweet smile
and she held out her hand, but it wasn’t to shake. Atticus regarded it as he ignored her.
“You’re being rude, son,” Charles said. His eyes lost the playful edge, hardening as they locked onto Atticus. Watching the switch, I tightened my grip on Atticus’s arm. He’d seen an opening to take his son down a peg.
“Hello,” was all the greeting he would muster.
A bell chimed, and the room came alive as everyone stood and headed into the dining room.
Thankfully it broke the tension, and Atticus quickly pulled me around them and into the dining room.
Another enormous room with large, wrought-iron windows awaited me. It had an amazing, two-story ceiling with multiple crystal chandeliers and a balcony framing the edge where the second story was.
I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, so I followed Atticus’s lead and watched as everyone took what appeared to be assigned seats. They were drawn to them like it was the pattern they always adhered to. Charles on one end, with Gen on the side, Hamilton next to her, Amelia, a man I didn’t know, and an empty seat before Vera at the other head. On our side was Madeline, Elizabeth, Atticus, and myself.
I was just sitting when Vera called out. “Penelope, you’re late.”
“Forgive me, Mother.” A woman with light blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes stepped in. She was wearing an oversized sweater, leather pants, and heeled booties—a glaringly different look from Genevieve or Elizabeth.
“Atticus,” she said as she sat next to me.
“Penelope.”
Her blue eyes scanned me. “So, you’re the desperation.”
“Penny, watch it,” Atticus growled.
She sighed and looked forward.
“Not to worry, Pen. He’s just upset he’s not lording over us,” Hamilton said.
I leaned in toward Atticus. “What’s he talking about?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Why not now?” Hamilton called.
Atticus was stewing beside me. “Because it isn’t relevant to this dinner.”
“Based on where you’re sitting, it is,” Gen said.
“Is the entire family here? No, therefore it is our family dinner, and parental tradition dictates.”
“Again, confused.”
Hamilton’s jaw ticked. “He’s the king, and nobody sits until the king sits.”
Atticus’s fist clenched on his leg, his jaw locked tightly. I reached out and covered his hand with mine, an action that seemed to calm him.
“Enough,” Elizabeth hissed from the other side of him.
That solidified her as being similar in personality to Atticus.
Salads miraculously appeared in front of us. I whipped my head around trying to figure out what had happened. One second there was nothing on the plate in front of me and then suddenly, poof, there was a salad on another plate.
Everyone began eating, wine glasses were filled, drinks topped off, and it was all in a silent, seamless ballet of waitstaff.
Gen was talking while we began to eat. I tried not to salivate over the salad. I mean, who salivates over salad? But the bed of leafy greens was lightly bathed in the most delicious vinaigrette I’d ever tasted.
“Are you ever going to do anything productive?” Atticus said suddenly.
I looked up from my salad, which I was decimating much faster than everyone else, and found him glaring at his youngest sister.
She beamed at him. “Why, brother, I am single-handedly fueling the economy.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Everyone is aware,” Charles said. “You burn through your allowance in days and then come crawling for more.”
“Charles,” Vera said with an admonishing tone.
Charles ignored his wife’s attempt to silence him. “You’ve babied her too much, Vera, and if she doesn’t change her course soon, she will find herself without a penny.”
Vera gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
Genevieve simply rolled her eyes. “No, he wouldn’t.”
“Yes, he would,” Atticus seethed beside me. “And as I am on your accounts, I can guarantee you will be shut off at the word go.”
“At least I didn’t get caught up in a sex tape scandal,” Gen sneered.
“Enough!” Charles pounded his fist on the table, making me jump.
Based on Atticus’s lack of reaction, the sex tape was not of him.
“What? It’s not like she isn’t going to know all the dirty little secrets. She is one, after all.”
Ouch again. That was a low blow, and the hardest hit of the evening.
“Genevieve!” Atticus growled.
“Well, I’ve arrived at the perfect time,” a voice called from the doorway. I turned, and my mouth dropped open as I stared at the man. He grinned when our gazes met. “Ah, Ophelia has joined us,” Rhys said as he stepped forward and leaned down, pressing a kiss against my cheek. “Good to see you again.”
I stared at him, stunned. He was a de Loughrey? How many were there? Seemed I had a lot of studying of the family tree to do.
“You know her?” Hamilton asked, his gaze narrowed.
Rhys blinked at him. “Of course. I was there the night these two lovebirds met.”
The table went quiet and all eyes were on me, Charles’s scrutiny burning into me. I knew my face had to be beet red. Rhys greeted Vera and others at the table before taking a seat.
“Why so quiet? Is this not a celebration? We are adding another member to our family. We could use some new blood.”
“I’ve gone stale, I see,” the man across from me said. He was holding Madeline, so I was guessing he was Elizabeth’s husband. Preston?
“No offense, but you’ve been with Elizabeth for a decade, and I’ve known you since you were a child. Ophelia is truly new blood.”
“Of a commoner,” Charles scoffed.
The hits just kept coming. I was at the point of clenching my teeth to keep from biting back. Sadly, I didn’t have anything to retaliate with. Atticus had prepared me for his father’s harshness, but not for the rest of the family.
“Really, Father? What does her financial status have to do with anything?”
Charles motioned toward the socialite, who looked down her nose at me. It took everything in me to not roll my eyes at her spoiled, overdone ass.
“Amelia is new blood. Good blood.”
“Good for her,” Atticus said through clenched teeth.
I didn’t know what possessed me to do it, but I reached out and tapped his jaw. His head swung toward me, his hard eyes swirling with so many fiery emotions. Every muscle was rigid, but when I reached up to cup his face, he relaxed into my touch.
It was all for show…right? I wanted to think so, but his reaction felt so guttural, I was having trouble believing so.
“We never found out when or how you two met,” Vera said, breaking the bubble we’d unintentionally formed. “And why is it we’ve never heard of this relationship before?”
“Because it wasn’t any of your business.” Any relaxation I’d given him turned back to stone.
“My son in love is none of my business?” She turned to Rhys. “Since my son is so tight lipped, perhaps my nephew would enlighten the table?”
Nephew? That explained something.
“Aunt Vera, as Atticus’s lawyer—”
She huffed and looked away. “If I didn’t know you were being entirely serious, I would think you were trying to be funny.”
“We met last June, on my birthday. Atticus and Rhys were at Angelino, and invited me to join them at their table,” I said, hating the way they couldn’t just talk to one another. Every conversation seemed to be a constant battle. It wasn’t dinner, it was a multiplayer chess match, and I may have just exposed my king.
Hamilton arched a brow. “Atticus at a club?”
“It happens. Not at the ones you frequent,” Atticus explained.
“Doesn’t Rhys own Angelino?” Genevieve asked.
My eyes widened, and
I looked to Rhys.
“I do, and you’re not allowed in,” he said to his cousin.
“Why not?”
He steeled his gaze on her. “Because the last thing I need is bad press because you and your friends got shitfaced and fucked up my business.”
“I woul—”
He leaned forward and held his hand up. “Let me stop you right there, little cousin. Don’t even start to say you wouldn’t when you did to Hamilton’s bar.”
“Do you all own bars?” I grumbled.
“No,” a soft voice said from beside me. I blinked at the blonde, completely forgetting she was beside me because she’d remained so quiet. “The boys just like to have a place to play.”
“What about the girls?”
“Elizabeth owns a wine bar. I have a coffee shop that features my cousin’s coffee.”
“Your cousin’s coffee?” I asked.
Penelope gave me a slight smile. “Black Spell Brew?”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them.”
“Will is the brains behind them, and my half-dozen cafés help spread his product in New York.”
“Do you run all of your cafés?”
She shook her head. “No, they’re all managed. I’m a cellist.”
Given her slight figure, I expected the cello weighed more than she did.
“Do you play with an orchestra?”
“No, I make my own.”
“What about you?” I turned to Atticus, who I found engaged in another heated argument with Gen.
He turned to me, his gaze still narrowed. “I’m sorry?”
“Everyone seems to own some smaller businesses. What about you?”
“You already know I own at least one restaurant.”
Thankfully, once the main course was on our plates, the conversation thankfully died down, though there were still outbursts.
An hour later we were finishing dessert, and soon thereafter the room began to clear.
“That went well,” Rhys said once everyone was done and we began to disperse.
I shook my head. “That was well?” All illusions I held about the richest family in the country were wiped out in minutes. Dysfunctional at best. Then again, they all held strong personalities as well as egos, with the exception of the small blonde who sat quietly beside me all evening. There was something subdued about her, a juxtaposition from the rest of her boisterous family.
