"Surprise," Ara added weakly. "I thought this would be funnier." She spared a glance at the other guy. "No offense, Harry."
The mustache guy on the couch looked like he'd narrowly avoided being crushed by a piano from a three-story fall. "Oh, yeah." He laughed weakly. "That's funny. Really…" he swallowed convulsively, "good."
Sylvia squinted in suspicion. I knew she wouldn't buy this, but on the other hand, I was actually a catch, and not just because of my modesty. My dad had come from old money and my mom had used it to invest in a famous software company in the eighties that basically ran the world now. After divorcing mydad, she'd been living a well-earned life of high-society comfort. That made me a trust fund baby, spoiled one-percenter, and all-around D-bag, I knew that, but the fact was, I was exactly the kind of candidate I assumed Sylvia had been hoping her daughter would marry.
And I could see that in her sharpening expression. "This is… surprising," she said at last. "I wish you would have told me before I invited anotherguest."
Harry popped up from the couch like a piece of toast. "That's fine. I can… renegotiate with you some other time."
Renegotiate. Jesus, this viper had her claws in all kinds of lives, didn't she? Was that her pastime? Manipulating the lives of others to suit her own ends? I was pretty sure that was what psychopaths did if they had decided killing wasn't for them. "Thank you, Harry," Sylvia said smoothly, taking a sip of her champagne.
Harry didn't even look at us as he booked it out of there, and Arabella's gaze followed him until he walked past me, and then she flitted an uncertain glance my way. I wanted so badly to assure her that everything would be alright, that I would make sure she got out of this, but Sylvia was watching us like a hungry hawk. Arabella must have sensed that, too, because she turned her focus to her mother, her body rigid under my arm. "I assume that Spencer is enough of acatchfor you?"
Sylvia sipped her drink again, composed and smug once more. "Rather more than I hoped for. How did you manage such a thing?"
Like I was a twenty-pounder she'd reeled in. "Ah, come on, Mrs. Rook." I rubbed Ara's arm affectionately, hoping she wouldn't punch me later for it. "I've had a thing for her since we were kids." Notexactlya lie. I just hadn't allowed myself to go down that dangerous rabbit hole.
"Yes," Ara said tightly. "And I had no idea he'd been right under my nose the whole time."
Sylvia crossed one arm across her thin build, propping her elbow on it and sipping her drink. She gave us a speculative squint. "Has Ara told you the wedding is in January? I have non-refundable deposits."
"She told me," I said, entirely nonplussed despite the insanity of that statement. "Winter weddings are perfect." It was almost like sheknewher daughter was smart, and given enough time, would find a way to escape her influence, so she’d hastily concocted this last minute scheme. Nasty witch.
Ara choked quietly. "Right."
I was ready to get out of this oppressive, stiflingly lonely mansion. I didn't know whether Sylvia hoped to fill her life with something meaningful by doing all this or whether she really was just evil. But I knew, no matter her reasons, I wouldn't leave Ara in this place one second longer than we had to. "Well, now that that's settled—"
"Oh, stay," Sylvia said with a snake-like smile. Pure evil it was, then. She clearly got a kick out of having control over people.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth, giving her my best apologetic look. "My mom is expecting us. One Thanksgiving and too many families," I joked. My mom was actually in Reno visitinghermom, but Sylvia didn't need to know that.
Arabella squirmed under my hold, clearly wanting to extricate herself. I tightened my arm around her waist, keeping her in place easily.Not yet, Bee. Play along.She gave up and leaned against me. "Thanks for inviting us." Her voice was so defeated, it broke my heart. This wasn't like Arabella, but then again, now that I knew what pressure she was under, I couldn't blame her.
At the mention of my mother, Sylvia's arrogance deepened. "Do tell Dottie I say hello. We've missed her at book club."
"Of course," I lied. My mother hadn't been to book club because I'd let the truth slip about what Sylvia had done to Knox several months ago when she'd tried to forcehimto marry Gemma. The book club appeared to be migrating to different days. And times. And locations.
And along that train of thought, I had to find a way to explain this to my poor mother, because she and the other mothers in the "book club" had been scheming to get their sons married for months, now—though in less nefarious ways than Sylvia. I didn't want Mom to get the wrong idea about this "marriage" with Arabella and be overly excited. It would only last as long as it served Arabella, and I was sure it would be a paper-only arrangement, at that.
You can't abandon her.
But there was that. So unlike Rook to make a plea like that. Only the clear desperation of Arabella's predicament would incite Knox to ask that of me.
"I'll be in touch," Ara promised, giving her mother a hesitant last glance.
So would I. My mind was already conjuring plans to ensure that Sylvia Rook met her karma sooner rather than later. I kept an arm around Ara's waist loosely, letting her lead the way through the garishly appointed mansion, and I didn't remove it until we approached our cars. She pushed her arms through the sleeves of her canvas jacket, and her baby-blue eyes narrowed, a flicker of distrust crossing them. With a surreptitious glance at the giant house—and at the cameras, I assumed—she barely moved her mouth as she asked, "What. Was. That?"
The chill in the air was heavy with moisture, and I glanced at the sky, wondering if we were going to get a dusting of snow. "Hm?"
"Spencer," she hissed. Her body language said relaxed as she subtly fought with the zipper on her jacket, but her expressionpromised murder. And, dammit, she looked endearing. Maybe it was because I'd drawn her close to my body for the first time since we'd been very young, or maybe it was because I'd just declared my intent to marry her, but it felt like a gate had been opened. The lock had turned, and everything I had worked to suppress for fifteen years rushed through me in a dizzying wave.
I wasn't allowed to find her attractive…
Until I was. And right now, I realized just how stunning Arabella really was. Even furious, even confused, her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright, and it was all I could do just to keep from pulling her back into my arms.
I stepped closer to her, and our breath mingled in a dark haze. I grabbed either side of her jacket, tugged her close, and reached for the zipper. "That was me saving your ass." I zipped up the coat, grabbing the fleece collar and bending down to draw her face close to mine. The warmth of her breath mingled with mine, and her mouth parted in silent surprise. "You're welcome." I was playing with fire getting this close to her, but I couldn't seem to help myself.
Her eyes danced between mine, her expression a mixture of silent fury and confusion. As much as I wanted to assuage her worries, now wasn't the time, in front of her mother's house. "This doesn't help me. It only delays the inevitable."
