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Chapter 1
Émile
Like a vampire walking into a church, I feel like my body might combust as I step foot into the Regency. Not because I don’t belong here—the opposite, actually. I’ve been raised with extreme wealth in places like this all over the world, but I don’t see the glamour in it anymore.
I wish I’d stayed in Amsterdam.
Giselle, my sister, waves wildly from down the chandelier-lit hallway, and at leastshebrings a smile to my face.
“Elle, what … what have you done?” I barely hold back my laugh. But it’s not at my sister’s expense, no, I’mimpressed. Giselle’s long blonde hair has been completely shaved off, she’s got a septum piercing, and there’s no way those rags she’s wearing are designer.
“Gran said to look our best today. I just got it done.” She clasps her hands demurely in front of her.
“Feeling rebellious, are we?”
“What the fuck does it matter?” she asks, dropping the act. “I’m not getting any of the money so she can’t hold it over me.”
Until recently, that’s exactlywhyI played their game.
Now … I can’t help wonder if it’s worth it. Unlike Elle, Iwillinherit a sizeable chunk, but the majority of the inheritance will go to our father and uncles. As always. What the hell do they need all that extra money for? What doIneed it for?
“You okay?” Elle asks.
“I’m back in Seattle, surrounded by family. What’s not to love?”
Her lips twitch, but she keeps the English composure we’ve been taught to hide behind our entire lives. “Literally every part of that sentence. I’m sorry about Pa. You two were so close.”
Emotions threaten to take over again, because wewereclose. The closest. He was the one person I could always rely on growing up, who gave me time and attention because hewantedto, not because it looked good.
I glance back over my shoulder to check we’re alone, and step closer. “I almost didn’t come back for this. If it was anyone but him, I probably wouldn’t have.”
She nods. “After this, we’ll go back to your apartment for a drink.”
I’m going to need many, many drinks.
“Ready to go in?” I ask. “Because I’m going to have to insist it’s lady first.” For no other reason than I can’t wait for my parents to see what she’s done. It might even startle a reaction out of our zombie mother.
Elle pretends to brush the hair from her shoulders and pushes her way inside.
Even though the memorial hasn’t started yet, the room is in full motion. Waitstaff are busy with table settings, and the smell of tea is already heavy in the air. Heaven help them if they get it wrong. Or god forbid—use bags instead of leaves. Gran’s always complaining about the uncultured Americans, but I must be anabomination of an Englishman because I really don’t give a fuck about tea.
We’ve lived in America for the better part of my life, so while I was raised an Englishman, I’m a bastardization of every country we hopped between while I was younger, until we eventually settled here for good.
My gaze finds where my father is following the house manager, and then flows to my mother. Face perfectly passive as ever, she shakes her head slowly, and the woman in front of her hurries to rearrange the centerpiece. Like the placement of flowers is somehow of the utmost importance.
Kill me now.
My family is … well, they’re the worst product of generational wealth. They’re obsessed with maintaining status and order, believe the rest of the world is beneath them, and think that because they have money, they deserve to be revered.
I’m convinced my mother believes she’s the American-based version of the monarchy.
We’ve been approached multiple times to film a reality TV show, but thankfully, that sort of thing is beneath the Cromwells.
If it wasn’t for Pa, I’d probably have turned out the same.
Since graduating from Cambridge, I’ve taken a gap year, and then another gap year, then … well, I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve only been home for the occasional birthday party or milestone.
My parents believe I’m gaininglife experiencebefore I learn the family business, but the only experiences I’m having are how to live away from them all.
