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She shakes her head, a shriek of laughter bubbling from her throat. “That won’t be necessary. Really, it was only a suggestion. I’m okay with whatever you choose. I’m not marrying you for your money.”
Of course she is. And the worst part is, I know I’m not going to deny her. Test her—sure. But I’ll never follow through. She will get what she wants. I will write her into my will, and vice versa.
“Grace.”
“Yes, my love?” She attempts a weak smile. Fails.
“We’ll visit my lawyer this week and make the necessary changes.”
Her shoulders sag in relief. She smiles—really smiles now—her entire features brightening up, like a flower angled up toward the sun on the first day of spring. I’ve never made her smile like this before.
A rush of possessiveness and desire courses through me.
She is mine. Her bony fingers. Her shrewd eyes. Her black heart. All mine.
“Thank you for trusting me.” She reaches across the table, grabs my hand, squeezes. Her hand is cold and dry. “I love you.”
I promise myself not to drink or eat anything she makes in the future unless she takes a first sip or bite.
“Love you too.”
And I do. I love her. I’m sure of it.
But I also know one thing for sure—a leopard never changes its spots.
CHAPTER NINE
ARSÈNE, SEVENTEEN
I was home for Christmas. Or at least, at the place technically referred to as my home. If it were up to me, I’d have stayed at Andrew Dexter. With that moron Riggs, who was probably looking for creative ways to set himself on fire or jump from roof to roof to pass the time. Or Nicky. Quiet and reserved and sad as he might have been, he didn’t make a bad companion. He wasn’t a complete idiot either. Always a plus in my book.
The truth of the matter was, these two orphans felt more like my family than the heartless creatures occupying this mansion.
Said creatures were now bursting into the dining room, completely ignoring the fact that I was sitting there eating my breakfast while enjoying an astronomy book.
“You’re a selfish bastard, Doug! That’s what you are.” Miranda sank her claws into the back of an upholstered dining chair, spitting fumes and fire at my dad, who—of course—had chased her here.
“Takes one to know one, honey. What’d you think, that I’d just let you hand over that estate to your mother?”
Uh-huh. Miranda crossed a line here. Never mess with a Corbin’s property without permission. We were a stingy bunch. I flipped a page in my book.
“She had nowhere to live!” Miranda shrieked.
“We could’ve rented her a place. I have people leasing the property! Paying customers. What were you thinking?”
In other news, they were still completely oblivious to my presence. Not that I was surprised. I wondered where Gracelynn was. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet since I got there, no doubt thinking of ways to kill me without leaving traces.
“I was thinking I’d have my husband’s support! Sue me for making the assumption.” Miranda grabbed a vase from the center of the table and hurled it at him. He dodged artfully—expertly—reminding me that throwing objects at one another was a daily occurrence in this house, akin to passing the jam across the table at breakfast.
“Well, you now stand corrected. I used to care. I no longer do. You’re not even half as beautiful as you were when we met, and twice as temperamental and problematic. I’m done.”
I suspected Miranda and my father were on the brink of divorce. Not because she was terrible to him. She’d always been that. But because he was starting to notice, for a change, and it didn’t look like he was as agreeable to her mood swings and demands.
Miranda stared at him with a combination of panic and disbelief. I sat back. I was enjoying this. Why shouldn’t I? This woman had been nothing but horrible to me, and it looked like she was finally getting hers. As for my father, he was no angel, either, and watching him grow old alone was a sight I’d relish.
“What are you saying, Doug?” Miranda inhaled.
“I think you should spend Christmas away.” He pushed off the wall, heading toward the door.
“Are you serious?” She rushed after him now.
“Yes. The kids can stay with me. The cook’s making a big enough meal, and I don’t want the food wasted.”
Ho, ho, ho. Merry fucking Christmas. From my dysfunctional family to yours.
“One of them is sitting right here,” I said blandly, highlighting a passage in my book. No one acknowledged me. “Speaking of food, you’re ruining my appetite.”
“I’ll ask Gracelynn what she wants to do. I bet she wouldn’t want to spend the holiday with you!” Miranda said spitefully.
“Don’t be so sure,” Doug replied, already halfway through the door. “She’s fond of me, and I know for a fact she hates your guts.”
