Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 14267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
I sweep my gaze around the room and find our parents holding court by the stage. From the outside, they look like the perfect couple—good stature, plenty of zeroes in their bank accounts, a massive house, a yacht, and Mom’s trunk full of jewelry.
Caroline and I know better, though.
This is all for show. They’re the type of people who will smile, laugh, and be good-natured in public, but behind closed doors, they’ll ignore each other. After all, what’s the point of pretending when there’s no audience?
“Are we supposed to pretend to be one big happy family?” she whispers to me, clutching my arm and setting me on fire with a simple, innocent touch.
I squeeze her small hand, not missing the way she tries to suppress a shudder. The way the energy flows between us both ways will always be amusing. She’s just as lost in me as I am in her, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. “Mom’s an expert at that. I always thought she missed her calling as an actress.”
“Same with Dad because validation is the only thing that matters. He would throw his own child under the bus if it meant he could keep his money and status.”
I chuckle at that as Caroline clears her throat. I scan the area and spot the bar, all the seats filled, the two bartenders mixing drinks nonstop. “I’ll go get you a drink.”
She nods. “Non-alcoholic, please.”
“Aye, aye, madame.” I give her a two-finger salute, and she playfully shoves me back.
I weave my way through the crowd, nodding and smiling at people whose faces barely register with me. As I reach the bar, I hold up two fingers and order a Shirley Temple and a mojito mocktail. This is not the kind of party where we can get drunk and let loose. If anything, it’s one we have to tolerate and drag ourselves through.
Glancing at Caroline over my shoulder, a flicker of heat spreads through my skull. A man in a suit is standing way too close to her, his posture too relaxed, his grin too familiar, his face too punchable.
Caroline laughs at something he says, and something tightens in my chest.
Oh, hell no.
A burning sensation flares within me, and my stomach hardens. My breath comes coarser and faster, and I push myself off the bar, heading back to her at a brisk pace.
I have never felt as angry as I do now. Spots appear in my vision, and a gnawing unease claws at me. What if someone else wants her for himself? What if she realizes all this risk isn’t worth it? That I’m not worth it?
This jealousy is foreign and unfamiliar to me. It knocks me off-balance, and I feel a primal territorial pull that I can’t let go of or ignore.
By the time I get to them, the guy’s phone is out, and he asks for Caroline’s number. In an instant, all her earlier friendliness is gone and replaced by cool indifference. That’s my girl.
“I’ll call you,” he says, inching ever closer to her.
“Nah, I don’t think so.” Caroline crosses her arms over her chest and begins inspecting her nails as if those are the most interesting things in the world.
“Come on. My friends and I are going on a trip to the Bahamas later this year. I could bring you as my plus one.”
“No, thanks.”
“But you’d look so good in a bikini, and—”
The moment he touches her elbow, I snap.
Jealousy morphs into fury—white-hot anger raging just beneath my skin. My hands curl into fists, and the only thing stopping me from turning his face into mush is Caroline’s wide-eyed warning.
Even as every instinct screams for me to clock him, I settle on a simple shove. Unfortunately, I underestimated my strength … or not. Who knows?
The guy staggers backward, arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance. A towering glass sculpture is just behind him, and his back hits it with a dull thud. The sculpture, which looks like a rising wave or a clamshell, wobbles for a few seconds before tipping.
The crash is so deafening that everyone else quiets and turns to the source of the sound. Shards of glass scatter on the floor, and those nearest give the three of us a wide berth. The room has fallen silent, amplifying the sharp click of heels behind me.
I don’t need to look to know who it is.
Mom. Of fucking course.
She offers a faint, brittle smile to the onlookers, but when her gaze snaps to me, it’s a different story. “What the hell is this, Callum?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it’s loaded with barely concealed fury.
Other people would have withered under the glare she casts on me, but I have years of experience, years of dealing with the demon inside her. “Nothing, Mother. He was being too touchy; it was making Caroline uncomfortable.” I shrug and give her the sweetest smile I can muster. “I was just trying to be a dutiful, attentive, and protective brother.”