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CHAPTER27
Owen
I arrived at the Dalton family home without an appetite, and I know I’m going to leave with a churning stomach. I stir a fork through the mashed potatoes on my plate, my eyes on my sister Rylee, sitting across the table from me with a radiant smile on her face.
It’s not her fault she’s happy. But it irks me that she has it so easy. She’s sixteen—which means she can do whatever the fuck she wants and no one will call her out for it.
Of course, that will change when she turns eighteen… but she still has two glorious years of freedom left.
My father, Jet, stands, grimly silent as he buttons up his jacket. “Owen, a word?” He must have seen me glaring at my sister.
He walks out of the dining room without waiting to see if I’ll follow.
As if I have a fucking choice.
Unlike Rylee, I’m bound by very strict standards.
My father walks to the courtyard surrounded by our glass-fronted house. This mid-century modern stylish home was built to maximize the view of Pinecrest Valley, so I don’t know why my father prefers spending his evenings inside this courtyard, smoking a cigarette, sipping at his drink, and staring at the massive oak tree contained within.
I figure this place is a sanctuary. This courtyard, the tree, the way the walls reflect inward, blocking out everything except the sky… it’s serene. Peaceful.
The moon is out already, peeking over the top of the house. It bathes the top of the oak tree in silver.
Jet studies me for a long moment as he lights a cigarette, pulls at it. Then he beckons me closer.
“What brought you here tonight, son?”
I shrug. “Now I can’t visit my own family?”
“We’ve been asking you to come over for lunch for weeks now.”
I take another swallow of whiskey. It’s not Liam’s thirty-year-old Macallan he likes to show off, but honestly, I prefer the taste of my father’s Dalmore Cigar Malt Reserve. It reminds me of home… and I’m not about to tell them that it’s the reason I’m here.
I couldn’t stay at the Walsh House tonight. Evie was still out by midday, and the place felt as empty as a fucking tomb. And since I knew I wouldn’t be getting any answers from her, it seemed pointless to hang around until she decided to show up.
The other Royals had all gone back home for their monthly check-ins with their families… so I thought why the fuck not.
“I’ve been busy.”
“With Willow?”
I throw my father a long-suffering stare. Of course they’d have heard the news. “Was there an article in theGazette?”
My father has eyes and ears everywhere in this town. Hehasto know what’s happening at all times. His business—and this family’s security—depends on it.
Jet cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’m pleased. A marriage like this could keep you out of trouble… and put the Hopes in our pocket.”
I grunt into my glass of whiskey.
Of course.
The Hopes hold high-level positions in government. My father would kill—literally—for a chance to get his claws into them.
Which is probably why the thought of taking her to the Firefly Ball is so damn unappealing. Sterling was right, of course. I did it to piss off Evie. And for all I know, it’s the only reason why we spent the night together.
It might even explain why she took the collar I kept in my nightstand drawer.
“Don’t send out wedding invitations yet,” I tell him dryly. “I still have plenty of options to consider.”
