Chapter 3 （Ophelia）
I knew I’d have tolook at his stupid face, but it still infuriated me to see my brother leaning against the table like he thought he was hot shit because he was the Director of Barrington Industries now.
Can’t believe I once thought he was better than that.
“I heard your thoroughbred is shit this year,” I said, because the way he was looking fixedly at me was pissing me off.
For a moment, my brother didn’t speak, his big arms crossed across his chest tightly, one hand on his drink.
“It’s been a long time, Ophelia,” he said, and his voice sounded low and hoarse.
“Has it?” I asked, tossing my head. “I didn’t notice. The time away from you fairly flew by.”
I was trying to goad him, but all he said was, “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
“I didn’t want to,” I said, although I felt a stab of guilt.
I was in the right, of course. But still. I couldn’t help that stupid stab of guilt.
Must be our stupid shared blood, because I had no reason to feel guilty. If Teddy wanted to talk to me, he could have done what we agreed.
But I didn’t want to say any of that in the middle of the Barrington Selective Breeding Foundation Charity Night, so I just reached forward and grabbed the glass of whiskey from my brother’s hands.
“I’ll take that. You drink too much anyway.”
With one gulp and a defiant look at him, I downed it.
Ah, shit, I never drank whiskey, and this felt like my throat was being ripped open, strips of my flesh getting peeled off.
I gasped and closed my eyes.
“Very impressive, Ophelia,” my twin said. “Now drink a glass of water.”
I opened my eyes to him holding one out to me, a little spark of amused laughter on his face, and I knocked it away from him, the glass rolling across my parents’ glossy green lawn.
“You must be Ophelia,” someone broke in, and for the first time my eyes focused on the woman at my brother’s elbow. She was tall and thin and beautiful, with slicked-back dark hair and a dramatic backless gown. “I’m Cressida Riley-Smith.”
If I’d been in a better mood I might have felt sorry for Cressida Riley-Smith. Even though my brother might look like the perfect finance trust fund 6’5 blue-eyes, Teddy was a double-bagging casual sex bro, not the marrying type.
“But then you’ve probably heard him talk about me?” she went on, putting a laughing hand on his chest.
Christ, my twin was such an asshole of historic proportions that I’d never even heard him praise another woman.
“Actually, I haven’t,” I said, trying to goad Teddy. “But then we aren’t very close.”
I saw something flash in my brother’s blue eyes, almost like the warning look he’d shoot me when we were teenagers and something smart I said was about to get me in trouble.
Cressida looked highly offended that I hadn’t heard of her.
“I’ve heard about you,” she sniffed. “Theodore says you’re into protesting and animal rights,” she continued, as if it was a rare fungal infection. “But you’ll give all that up when he runs for Louisville mayor, won’t you? It doesn’t look good.”
Sparks of irritation shot through me, and I grabbed another repulsive mint julep. God, my parents always made them way too sweet.
“How would him being mayor affect you?” I asked. “Being mayor sounds like the logical next step for Theodore Barrington the FIFTH, but I don’t see what it has to do with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure I have some friends to see here.”
And I still was trying to be nice, except she grabbed my arm, and her smile was contemptuous. “We’ve been dating for several months,” she purred. “Let’s try to get along since we’re practically family.”
I looked down at her long nails, wrenching my arm from her grasp.
“Here’s some information for you, Cressida Riley-Smith,” I said, smiling brightly at her as I could feel the lovely bubbles of intoxication begin to swirl around me. “Theodore is never going to marry you, you’ll never be the mayor’s wife, and he probably doesn’t remember your middle name.”
My brother’s face didn’t move, but Cressida’s mouth dropped in horror. “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?” she demanded.
“Sure,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’m not going to stop her. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
Cressida looked gobsmacked and started to complain in a low tone, but in such a half-assed way that it was obviously she was nervous about actually making Teddy mad.
But he was just looking at me. I thought I saw a muscle throb in his jawline above that dark navy-blue suit and silky navy tie.
I met his eyes, refusing to look away as I took a swig of my mint julep.
God, they sucked.
“She’s right,” Teddy said coldly, still looking at me but dismissing her with a wave. “I don’t remember your middle name. Marie? Gertrude? Just block my number.”
Cressida stomped away as my brother reached for another glass, muttering over her shoulder that she’d expect an apology.
“You should be nicer to your girlfriends,” I said. “It’s a good thing you’re rich.”
My brother took another sip of his whiskey.
“I have a big cock,” he said.
“You mean you have a big trust fund and that magically inflates your cock,” I retorted.
Teddy’s face was still immovable. He said nothing.
I squinted up my eyes and forced myself to slug the rest of the drink.
“Slow down, Ophelia,” he said.
“I won’t,” I snapped.
Then my brother pushed off the table and took two steps toward me, plucking the glass from my hands. “Yes, you will.”
I raised my hand to slap his arrogant face, but he captured my wrist easily, his big fingers trapping me with an easy, casual power.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Anger rose like bile in my throat.
“What’s so strange about me coming to the Derby? I used to come all the time.”
“Did you forget how you left two years ago and went no contact with everyone?” he demanded.
He hadn’t backed up and he was way too close to me. He’d always been Mr. Perfect. Short white-blonde hair in perfect surfer waves, those bright blue eyes and gleaming mega-watt smile. The big broad shoulders. The way he towered over everyone else. My entire life he’d been the star quarterback, class president, valedictorian all rolled into one and multiplied by 10 since he was also filthy rich.
I was always the pugnacious dirty hippie trying to chain myself to the same fucking tree Dad was bulldozing because it made money.
Once I thought Teddy might be different, but really he was the same as every other uncaring asshole in the family.
“And here I was thinking you’d say you missed me,” I laughed off-handedly, trying to ignore that prickle of irritation.
“I did miss you,” he growled. “Look at me.”
His big hand tightened around my wrist. But now that he wanted me to look at him, of course I refused to.
“Let me go,” I said as his fingers spread up my arm. His skin felt heated, like he was running a fever.
“Why didn’t you answer any of my texts or calls?” he asked.
I tried to pull out of his grip, avoiding his eyes. “I was just busy.”
“Bullshit, Ophelia,” Teddy said, and my brother’s voice was like steel.
But I was saved from having to answer or hit him over the head with a planter when Mom and Dad suddenly came out of nowhere.
My Dad was a tall rich asshole in his 50s with silvery-gray hair, a lot of very white teeth, a shirt that cost more than my rent for the whole year, and a stable of much younger mistresses.
“Did you get tired of those city folk?” he asked. “Didn’t like those pencil-dicked city boys? Ready to come back home where there’s red-blooded men to marry?”
“They have big dicks in Chicago, too,” I said, but my dad was barely listening. He only patted my hand absently and reminded me that I had a job at Barrington Industries whenever I wanted.
“I don’t want to work for your soulless corporation!” I called after him, but he was already gone, working his way through the crowds as everyone turned respectfully.
Money was the only thing the filthy rich Louisville elite understood, and my father, as usual, had the most of it.
God, I had serious daddy issues.
Teddy said nothing, but I hoped I had pissed him off.
“Ophelia, honey!” Mom hissed at me. She was a stunningly beautiful woman in her late 40s with platinum blonde hair and a trim, perfect figure. I had always been approximately twice as wide as her, which she had tried to fix for years with every fad diet in the books. But my big tits, soft belly, and round ass still stubbornly stayed in place despite everything she tried.
“What are you wearing? What year is that from? It looks like an old, wrinkled bridesmaid dress.”
“I didn’t have a dress at hand,” I said at the same time as Teddy put in, “it looks fine, Mom.”
“Shut up, Teddy,” I said irritably. “Who cares what I’m wearing?”
I wasn’t going to fall into all my old patterns just because I was home. I wasn’t going to let Teddy try to fight all my battles for me.
“Your grandmother is here,” Mom said, “and you know she’s a judgy bitch. She told me I was overdoing it at the plastic surgeons.” Mom suddenly grabbed my chin. “Honey, is that a wrinkle in your forehead? It’s never too early to start Botox.”
“Stop,” Teddy rumbled behind me, and Mom threw a disgruntled look at my twin. “All I did was suggest Botox. It wasn’t meant as an insult.”
“Stop,” Teddy said again, and Mom did.
I looked around, trying to figure out where to start with my snooping. My eyes fell on Chet Farnaby.
Chet was one of the amorphously similar dark-haired corporate bro types that swam in the competitive waters at Barrington businesses, fighting for that 3rd most popular position in the company after my father and brother. I kind of remembered him having a crush on me. Well, it was either me or the fact that I was the daughter of Theodore Barrington IV.
“Is Chet single?” I asked.
He was kind of hot in a tightly-wound way. I could definitely see myself as some kind of secret agent, sleeping with Chet for a night to get information out of him, and then leaving before he insisted on a juice cleanse.
“No,” Teddy said from behind me.
“I was talking to Mom,” I snapped. “Back up, Teddy. You don’t need to follow me around all night.”
“You aren’t going to date anyone named Chet,” my brother said coolly.
“Your name is Teddy,” I retorted. “You couldn’t sound any more like the kind of douchebag who thinks talking about his boat is foreplay.”
“Does that work as foreplay in Chicago?” Teddy asked.
I huffed and ignored him.
“Stop it, you two,” Mom said, rubbing her head. “Aren’t you too old for fighting like this? You’re 27 years old, for God’s sake. Didn’t you used to be the best of friends?”
“No,” I said, and I used the cover of a passing waiter to duck away from both of them.
I hurried over to Chet.
“Ophelia Barrington,” he said, and I could see his eyes flick up and down my body.
OK, this dress might be ridiculous but I still had a halfway decent body at least, no matter what Mom said.
“Chet,” I said. “How’s it going?”
He began to talk about the company and I pretended to be fascinated, even though most of it was unintelligible to me, not to mention boring.
I could tell it wouldn’t take much effort for Chet to fuck me, though, the way he was looking at me. I would just have to wait for a good opening to ask what he knew about Mintmaker, the Barrington Stables entry into the Derby this year.
I grabbed a plate of spicy tuna rolls and popped a few in my mouth, pretending like what Chet said about his stock dividends and new car was the most fascinating thing I’d ever heard.
“I thought you were scared of the sushi,” I heard an amused voice behind me say.
I almost choked on my bite.
“Who asked you, Teddy?” I tried to say scathingly, but my mouth was full.
I felt my brother’s big fingers patting my back gently.
“Stop following me,” I choked out irritably.
Teddy didn’t answer, but I felt his hands move to my neck and his big fingers spread lightly over my shoulders.
“Go entertain Granny,” he told Chet, and his arm brushed by my cheek as he pointed at where Grandma was standing by the shrimp trays looking displeased.
Chet hesitated, and for a second it looked like he was going to refuse, but I could feel my brother’s gaze and Chet nodded and left.
“Don’t bother shaking your tits at Chet,” Teddy said.
Ignoring him, I ducked out from under his arm.
“I have to pee,” I said abruptly, heading into the big house.
I went inside Mom and Dad’s mansion, always disgruntled by the fact that you couldn’t even pee without seeing a framed picture of my brother throwing a game-winning touchdown in college.
I remembered that game very well. I had come directly from a protest covered in fake blood to watch it, but Teddy didn’t care, picking me up and twirling me around after the game, getting so much fake blood on his jersey that my mother had shrieked and wailed that every newspaper picture of him looked like he worked in a butcher shop.
That was a good memory.
But I couldn’t let myself be distracted by good memories. This weekend was about discovering how Barrington Stables planned to rig the Kentucky Derby. And avoiding my twin brother.
As I headed back outside, I saw a group of Dad’s creepy bootlicking friends in the kitchen, including Barrington Stables’ head veterinarian, Dr. Dent, who was a juiced-up looking gym bro in his late 30s with a nasty little moustache.
“How do you think Mintmaker will do this weekend?” I asked him.
“Oh, very well,” he said, winking broadly at me. “I think she’s a real champion and she’ll surprise all the haters.”
I digested this information and all these smarmy winks.
There was definitely something shady going on.
Dr. Dent had already weaseled out of one banned substances charge a few years ago. Was that what they were planning to do? Each racehorse got rigorously tested, though.
Was it possible they had some new kind of dope that was supposed to be undetectable?
If this plan involved any danger to Mintmaker I was going to throttle Teddy, then carve out his organs with a spoon.
I dug in my purse and took out my cellphone, wondering if I could record their conversations, first taking a few inconspicuous pictures with the camera.
Surely the investigators would be very interested if I could capture any hints about what the plan was.
I had barely sent off the pictures and then deleted the text thread out of an itchy paranoia when I felt my brother at my side again.
“What are you doing, Ophelia?” he asked. “Why are you taking pictures?”
“Just some selfies,” I said. “Maybe some tit pics to send to Chet later.”
“Don’t bother,” he said, stepping closer to me so I had to crane my neck to look up at my big asshole brother. “You won’t be fucking Chet.”
“I’ll fuck who I want,” I said, but I felt uneasy prickles break out all over my skin to meet my brother’s eyes.
He had always been an overbearing brother. No one was ever good enough for me, according to him. Sometimes I was pleased that his protectiveness had chased away creeps and weirdos who had wanted to date me, since nobody wanted to mess with my brother. But he also chased off perfectly nice nerds and engineers and rock-climbers, too.
Just because I was home for the weekend did not mean I was going to fall into old patterns.
I did not take pleasure in my brother chasing off Chet.
I would fuck whoever I wanted, and Teddy had to realize that.
If I had to fuck Chet to teach my brother a lesson, I would.
Teddy had shown who he really was a long time ago and I no longer gave a shit what he did as long as he left me alone.
Mom came over to us before I had a chance to say anything else. “Thank God this party is almost over. I’ve never seen so many ill-dressed people in my life.”
Since Teddy was dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit that looked like it had been molded to his powerful body, I knew she must be talking about me. But I couldn’t get into a bitch fight with my mom this time.
“I assume I’ll be in my old room,” I said, but Mom shook her head.
“Grandma’s in there. We’re all full up, honey. You should have told us you were coming! What about the couch downstairs in the rec room? Or you could share a bed with Grandma?”
Oh god, not only was Granny mean as a skunk when she was awake, but she always snuck surreptitious smokes from her noxious old cigarettes inside, and I’d probably wake up with the room on fire.
“She can sleep in my room,” Teddy said.
“Why don’t you sleep at your own condo?” I asked irritably.
“We always stayed at home during Derby Weekend,” he said, his mouth twisting up. “It’s tradition.”
“There’s only one bed in there,” I hissed in exasperation.
Teddy shrugged. “There’s a trundle bed underneath and I can sleep on that one.”
Mom looked like she couldn’t believe the Director of the company would agree to sleep on the trundle bed, but I only sighed bitchily.
“Whatever. It’s fine. Just don’t talk to me.”