Prologue
Mason and Melody's First Meeting
At King Compound, I lean my head on my fist and tear my eyes from the two story windows showcasing the dusky evening, watching Isobel go to her knees in front of my mother and take baby Vi into her arms. I'mutterlybored, itching to be anywhere but here. In my peripheral, Hendrix's eyes snap to mine, waiting for me to acknowledge him, but I don't, averting my eyes.
I greet his ass every week. He'll be okay if we skip one.
I do, however, give Isobel a small smile when she turns her head to me and says hello. My beef isn't with her, just her fucking husband.
Hendrix sits down on the couch near Isobel, and gets this look on his face that informs me he's completely whipped. Bending my elbow, I look at my watch on an eye roll just as Father leans towards me.
"Mason, have you thought any more about the talk that your brother and I had with you about the family business?" I slowly turn my head to the side, and as I meet Father's blue eyes, I find myself searching for even a hint of something that I'm more than just a work horse for this family's reputation. A futile effort as usual, because there's nothing.
All his affection is reserved for Mama, Teresa, and now Isobel, apparently. Typical Richard King.
I hesitate answering because this is bullshit. I could be on a beach in Bora Bora right now with my friends for two weeks, but Father forced me to cancel my trip because we're supposed to be meeting Isobel's family. Now, whyIhave to meet them makes no sense to me. They're not my in-laws; they're Hendrix's. But, as the Golden Child, the world will continue to evolve around him.
"Well?"Father says, arching an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his whiskey.
"I'm interested in the finance aspect-" I cut my words off at the disgusted expression that slides over Father's features, looking away from the familiar stern stare that lets me know I should have just kept my mouth shut, because it doesn't matter what I want. It never has.
"I thought I'd told you that I'd already given you my answer regarding that, Mason. To put you over the King Dynasty financial future after you've done nothing to earn that spot isn't going to fly. No. Find something else."
A surge of anger rises up in me, so vicious that my eyes narrow. "But thisiswhat I'm good at, Father. There is nothing else."
Not for me.
"Anythingelse," Father stresses as his brow pulls low in that all-too-familiar stare that lets me know I need to rethink how I push back at him. "Just find something that doesn't involve you in the forefront of billions of dollars of our company and client's assets," he says sternly. "It's not exactly a hard request, Mason."
A muscle ticks in my jaw at the request because finance is theonlything I'm good at. Numbers, stocks, bonds; the green shit that makes the world go around.
It's why I wanted in with Balducci. The money I could have made there, theconnections,would have been unlimited. Helping the underground families further their financial interests would have propelled me even higher than Richard King's status, and would have aligned me with the world's most powerful. I wouldn't have been limited to Richard King's Dynasty.
I could have had my own.
And the fact that I was foiled at every attempt burns my ass up in a way I can't even verbalize, so I keep my mouth shut for the most part. Not a hard feat, as they never want to hear from me anyway. I'm the family's black sheep. I wonder how they'd take it if Ibaaedat them instead of talking.
Maybe I'll bleat at Hendrix next week, instead of saying hello.
Just then, my parent's butler comes into the room announcing the presence of Isobel's mother and sister, Donna and Melody. Thankful for the distraction, I look up, seeing a beautiful African American woman with tiny, intricate locks that are twisted up in a rather elegant crown on top of her head. Some escape out to frame her face, hanging past her breasts. My first perception of her is, simply put,shocking.
She'syoung.Maybe around forty or so? Whatever her age, Donna does not look near old enough to have a child Isobel's age.
My interest piques just about as high as my brows raise as I take in the woman's physique; her skin gleams, showcasing delicate collarbones that flow into impressive arms of steel. She's dressed in a lavender dress and sandals. This is not what I expected Isobel's mother to look like, honestly.
"Hello, everybody!" Donna greets us all with a reserved smile.
She must think we're all idiots because we're all struck rather dumb at the statuesque woman, and no one says anything at first. Suddenly, a movement behind her draws my attention. As my eyes cut to the flash of blue fabric, both the blood and common sense leaves my body as I lock eyes with the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life whohasto be Melody.
I can't think straight.
She doesn't look like her sister.
Whereas Isobel has light skin, cat-shaped hazel eyes, deep auburn hair, and a curvaceous body, Melody has hip-length dark-brown hair, darker skin, almond-shaped eyes, and freckles all over her face. My eyes tear from hers, dragging down her body to take in her slender arms. Her mid-thigh length dress showcases the toned legs of an obvious athlete. She's got an inverted A-frame body type with breasts on the smaller side.
And she looks…shy.
She hasn't said a word yet, which is fine because neither have I. My eyes snap back to hers, seeing she's blushing furiously.
