8. You Did Vow to Disembowel Him
ALICE
Wedding Bells for Billionaire CEO?
Love in the Limelight: Greyson Hart’s Assistant Sporting Mystery Ring
PDA-filled Stroll Fuels Engagement Rumors: Is America’s Most Eligible Bachelor Off The Market?
From Boss To Bride: Everything You Need To Know About Alessandra Rhodes
Max
Looking good, beautiful. You gonna fill me in?
Rhyett
If you don’t answer soon, I’m booking tickets. Pick up the phone, Alice.
Elora
So help me, god, if you don’t answer someone, I’m going to have a stroke, sissy.
Hadlee
So. Uh. Congrats? Care to bring us up to speed?
Maverick
This certainly gives a new meaning to slaying the dragon.
We leaked the first photo twenty-four hours after Leighton barged into Greyson’s basement with me on her heels, and my phone had been buzzing ever since.
It was a meticulously arranged image, made to look candid with grain and a slight blur, shot through a plant and patio table as we exited the limo. Me, in a sophisticated white dress, hair professionally styled—a girl could get used to the decadence of being pampered every day. Greyson wore a signature navy Armani suit, the jacket tossed over his arm, where he’d unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them to the elbow. The top button of his shirt was undone, giving him a dashingly debonair yet disheveled vibe that generally came with being relaxed. Not that the man knew that word. He sure pulled it off for the camera well enough, though.
Greyson’s hand was at the small of my back, his eyes on the side of my face with deceptive endearment, lips subtly upturned in a cocky little smile. My left hand—now sporting the world’s most ridiculous sapphire and diamond engagement ring—was adjusting flashy sunglasses that concealed the anxiety eating my soul for dinner. Social media sites lost their mind, with speculations that the rock was larger than Kate Middleton’s.
Royal American wedding, indeed.
By the time Friday came back around, there wasn’t a gossip rag or newspaper worth their salt that hadn’t printed headlines about the illustrious Greyson Hart, speculating that he was the one who’d put the rock on my finger. However, we’d yet to confirm to any member of the mob of paparazzi now planting roots in the sidewalk outside our homes and office building.
The next step? An official announcement. Which was why I now had a posse of assistants working on my face and hair like a hive of freakishly proficient bees. Their mission? Wrangle my thick, two feet of hair into a posh updo I’d never electively don, paint my skin into the perfect vogue-worthy contour that would make me look more like a skeleton than a human female because pronounced cheekbones are a fashion requirement, not a sign of malnourishment. They’d also buffed away my dip nails because my usual bold fuchsia was too much of a statement, while French tips would supposedly tell the world this small-town Alaskan had some semblance of class .
I wanted to be mad as I was plucked, groomed, and tweezed within an inch of my life, but the publicists had been my idea, as had the photo at the bistro. I’d been spinning the media for this man’s clients for years. Now, it was his turn.
The persistent buzz of my phone drew the first sigh from my lungs as my stylists—Lina and Sandra—leaned back to survey their handiwork. Lina arched a light ginger brow as she asked, “Need to get that?”
“No,” I breathed back. I knew who was calling, and she wasn’t about to stop.
“She’s just going to show up,” Leighton drawled ominously from where she was perched in one of two armchairs like an irritated cat. I was almost entirely certain she hadn’t turned the page in her thriller in at least thirty minutes.
She knew the bulk of Greyson’s proposal, though not the entirety. Whatever made his extracurriculars worth hiding below mountains of code wasn’t likely something I wanted my baby sister involved in. Personally, I highly suspected some sort of mercenary operation, although what mission would twist Greyson Hart into such a tightly wound knot, he risked his family empire…I hadn’t figured out. Even as it was—mysterious operation aside—Leighton didn’t hide her disapproval, and I couldn’t blame her.
Lying to our family? That might just kill us both.
Worst of all? She was right.
“Maybe,” I amended apologetically. My eyes darted to Elora’s name, where a picture of us from her wedding illuminated my screen. Our big sister was a formidable force of nature—entrepreneur turned business coach, turned best-selling author, and soon-to-be reality television host. We usually talked almost daily.
A week of radio silence would have her foaming at the mouth. A week of radio silence while the media created a frenzy around my alleged engagement?
I blew every scrap of tense air from my lungs to my cheeks. The fact that the woman hadn’t flown across the country and barged in here in a gorgeous pencil skirt, three-inch heels, and a bold blazer was a freaking miracle.
“I know,” I mumbled, bracing myself. With a pained sigh, I swiped my phone, slid the answer button before I could talk myself out of it, and brought it to my ear.
“ Alessandra Lennon Rhodes. Where have you been?”
“Right here, sissy.”
As if she didn’t hear me, she bulldozed on, “What in the hell is going on? Mom, James, Rhyett, and I have been calling you for four days . Leighton only gives us one-word answers when she bothers to pop onto the thread and refuses to answer questions about this PR nightmare. So help me god, if that no good, narcissistic miscreant has had you in that office this whole week trying to cover up these bullshit rumors spurred on by his lecherous hand on your body, I will personally see to it that the fish are particularly well fed this week.”
The longer Elora snarled, the broader Leighton’s smirk inched up her face, making me think of The Grinch —you know, the cartoon version where his hair uncurls with his smile.
“Oh good,” I breathed when she finally took a beat to inhale. “So, you’ve seen.”
“The engagement fodder? Yeah . I think the entire country has seen—congratulations on the debut of your face on every news column in the nation, by the way. So much for keeping a low profile as his assistant. What the hell do these people get off on, anyway?” Before I could answer, she snorted, then scoffed, “ Never mind . Nobody with a life worth living wastes their time following around people actually doing something. Pathetic batch of parasites. Now. Why didn’t you tell me Greyson’s been sexually harassing you for years? How have I not seen these photos?”
I grimaced but kept my voice even. “It’s not harassment if it’s consensual, sissy.”
“ Consensual ?!” she barked, voice reaching a decibel only dogs could hear as she pressed, “Those photos were from years ago—your hair was half a foot shorter. What business could your boss possibly have touching you? Holding your hand? And girl —the hand on the lower back thing all the time? What the fuck.”
As it turned out, we had multiple images to choose from in that department. I’d been so busy resenting the man I hadn’t noticed how often he guided me through crowds while I dug through folders in my case or hashed out details of a campaign with our admin. “He was helping me out of the car, Elly.”
“Helping you—” her protest was cut off by choking like she’d inhaled saliva, which honestly was probably close to the truth. This was all bad. What in the hell was I thinking, signing on to help him, much less marry the bastard?
“Relax, sissy. Stress isn’t good for the baby.” Low blow to use my unborn nephew as a shield? Maybe. But he might be the only thing to get through to Elora Rhodes-Allen on a warpath.
Still coughing, she bit back, “Neither is an auntie that goes AWOL when the press has a field day spinning bullshit about her.”
Holding my hand up, I scrunched my face in a grimace, asking the girls for a minute. Lina and Sandra both walked away. Sighing, I responded, “It’s not bullshit, sissy.” The line went so suspiciously quiet that I double-checked to make sure it hadn’t disconnected. When her voice came through again, it was in the territory of a growl.
“What’s. Not. Bullshit. Alice?”
Was it possible for each sigh to grow longer and more exasperated than the last? Because this was just the beginning, and it was already exhausting me. “Look. I would’ve talked to you, but the media went crazy when they caught wind of things, and I wasn’t sure how to tell you guys.” Dead silence. Seriously, I needed a defibrillator for my phone. “It’s real, sissy. The engagement, the ring.” I eyed the monstrosity perched so proudly on my finger. Only Greyson Hart could discreetly get his hands on a national monument without notice. I’d fall right to the ocean floor if I went overboard these days. “Hell, I have to do extra reps on my right side to keep my muscle mass even…sissy?”
“Sorry, I’m looking at my calendar, but no , it’s not April first.”
“Very funny.”
“ I’m very funny. What are you playing at? Last month, you were drunkenly threatening his life at my bachelorette party because he wouldn’t let you enjoy your trip home.”
Leighton’s delighted snicker from the armchair had my eyes snapping to her, and her glee earned an ensuing middle finger. Which, of course, sent her guffawing into her hands.
“And you and Broderick bicker like cats and dogs,” I argued feebly.
“ Playfully bickering with a man who loves and respects me is not the same thing as actively wishing another human would meet an unfortunate end for two consecutive years, and you know it.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“You did vow to disembowel him.”
Point taken . “Okay, so we got off on the wrong foot, but that doesn’t mean we’ve stayed that way.”
“Got off!? Got off on the wrong foot? Try six hundred consecutive wrong feet.”
“Look, sissy. I can’t stay on the phone?—”
“Alice,” she cut me off. “We’re worried about you. You’ve gotta give us something.”
Sucking down air like my life depended on it, I steeled my spine and declared, “Things change, El. People change. You and Brod are evidence of that. Now. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman, and did it occur to you that I might not be calling because I knew how you’d react and didn’t want to dim the excitement of this chapter of my life with your judgment?”
I could practically hear her mouth gape in the silence as the lies bittered on my tongue. While guilt slithered through my intestines like a snake, I held to the statement's truth. Of all my siblings, Elora would be the hardest to convince.
Because, of all my siblings, she was the one I turned to to bitch about him most frequently. She knew better because I told her everything. Which meant I had to make it worse before I could make it better.
“Look, I appreciate that you want to protect me, but I’m not a baby anymore, and I can make my own decisions.”
“Of course…Alice, you…you could’ve talked to me if things were changing. I…I just hope you know what you’re doing. Blink twice if he has you held against your will.”
“I’ll blink twice if things go belly up, I swear. And then you and James and Pax can fly in and play vigilante all you want.” Probably poor word choice, but that was an unfortunate side effect of just spitting out what was top of mind as panic and guilt did the horizontal tango in my chest.
“I love you, sissy.”
“Love you, too.” Slowly, I disconnected, steadying myself with a deep breath as I looked around at the exquisite bathroom Greyson set aside for me. Everything about this space was elegant. Luxuriously thick rugs adorned the marble floor that was so sparkly, I wasn’t sure if they’d legitimately crushed diamonds into the stone, beautiful pale blue patterned drapes, and a view worth selling a few organs for. The ornate vanity was reminiscent of movies set in Cape Cod or Martha’s Vineyard.
But it certainly wasn’t mine .
I’d been enjoying the excuse of returning to my apartment every night, but that all ended tonight.
Tonight, Greyson’s ridiculously expensive movers would bring in my things, and we’d officially confirm the suspicions we’d planted with an announcement of our own and a formal portrait on his expansive deck. Today, the performance of my life would begin. All I could do was pray I’d sell it well.
Women had married for less.
It’s not like I had any legitimate prospects. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been interested in a man. And the ‘swipe right’ scene was just not for me. In my experience in a world determined to label me as odd, solitude was a far more comforting companion than forcing on a mask to earn the approval of others, much less trick a man into loving the idea of you. Eventually, my facade would tire and crack, leaving him with the real thing. The mask could delay rejection, but it could never eliminate it.
Hell, I kept reminding myself that women had married for pettier reasons at the whims of men much worse than Greyson Hart. At least, that’s what I was telling myself as Matilda emerged from a bathroom cabinet.
“Can we get pizza?” she asked as if Leighton hadn’t just rocketed to her feet like she was prepared to bolt for her life. Mattie’s spontaneous appearances had lost their effect over the last few years, although this one was particularly untimely.
“Aren’t you supposed to be home?” I lamented without any real bite to my tone. If I was honest, her peculiarities were rather endearing.
She wrinkled her nose. “Nanny quit again.”
“Mattie,” I scolded. “What happened this time?”
“Don’t look at me; look at Beau.”
“Where is Beau?”
“Upstairs with Daddy and Uncle Grey.” She shrugged nonchalantly before liquefying onto the floor like a limp ribbon. “ I need pepperoni .”
“I’m sorry,” Leighton blinked. “You’re Greyson’s niece ?”
“Matilda Hart,” she supplied dreamily before releasing a pent-up sigh and adding, “at your service. Technically , I’m asking one of you to be at my service because Daddy took my phone away again, and I need someone to order dinner.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying very hard not to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Which grew harder as Mattie extended her little hand as if to shake, and Leighton accepted with narrowed eyes.
“Leighton Rhodes. I’m Alice’s sister.”
“I could tell by the nose. And the hair. And the skin. You have pretty skin in your family. Did you know that skin is the largest organ, yet it’s the one most people neglect?”
“I did, actually,” Leighton answered, a tentative smile stretching over her cheeks.
“And did you know that it absorbs toxins within thirty seconds? I think that’s why middle-class housewives die so much—all the bleach and chemicals, you know?” Her little nose wrinkled with distaste despite her tone staying entirely matter-of-fact.
Chuckling, Leighton pulled her further onto the floor before hoisting her to her feet. “Well. That’s a very intriguing theory. What other theories do you have bouncing around in there?”
“So many. But first, I’ll show you the good pizza places online.”
Leighton’s laugh trailed back to me as she was towed away by the strangest preteen I’d ever had the pleasure of adoring. But my amusement was cut short by the figure in the threshold.
Greyson . Leaning against the doorframe in his signature navy suit.
“They seemed to hit it off rather quickly,” he noted with amusement.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Leighton’s always been awesome with kids, and she’s never been easy to rattle.”
“Mattie will love that.” He pushed off the frame and stepped into my bathroom, which is when I noticed the long, slender black box in his hands, my stomach somersaulting. “I have something for you.”
“Oh?” I managed, incapable of straightening my ducks. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I even had ducks anymore—just a whole blender of chaos in my skull. The entire scenario was still too surreal.
Me in Greyson’s house.
Me, engaged to my boss.
Me , sitting on a pedestal, with professional stylists catering to my appearance, and Greyson Hart being kind for the sixth consecutive day because I finally—albeit unwittingly—had the man by the balls.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said sternly, stepping behind me until our eyes locked in the mirror before me, his hands fiddling out of view with the subtle slide of cardboard and fabric.
“Another demand— why, I’m shocked, Mr. Hart ,” I replied, bringing a hand to my chest. The irritation in his eyes was more satisfying than it should’ve been. He’d been nagging me all week to call him Greyson, but I liked it better this way. Regardless of the frustration that evidently earned a long, steady exhale as though that could replenish his control, his hands came around either side of my neck with a reverent kind of gentleness. I was still enamored that they were calloused, even though the man spent sixty hours a week at his desk. What was he doing in those off hours out of sight? Rough fingers softly slid over my clavicle, and my eyes found a delicate gold chain glinting in the mirror as he wrapped it around my neck to fasten it.
My fingers settled against the beautiful gold cross at its center. I’d never been religious, but the piece was intricately woven—art in the form of ancient sacrifice.
“You’ll have to stop flinching when I touch you if people are going to believe you’re in love with me, Ms. Rhodes.”
“You’re going to have to stop calling me by my last name, Greyson .”
Chuckling, he gave the necklace a little tug. “Touché. Now, I need you to wear this, always. If something happens to me, it will lead you to the necessary answers.” Gently, he skimmed over the line of my neck, hazel eyes watching my reaction in the glass as I fought back the need to close my eyes at the touch. It wasn’t a flinch. Not that he needed to know that.
“I’ve never been one to pray to be saved.”
“Some secrets are hidden in plain sight.”
Curious phrasing. “Is it a tracker or something?”
“Or something.” One hand settled on my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze, in prompting or reassurance, I wasn’t sure. The other trailed back down my neck before he stepped away abruptly and waved in the stylists, who had just bustled into the bedroom beyond the doorway with coffees in hand. “Wear it for me?”
I nodded, unsure of the significance or whether my words would hold the gusto I needed. There were so many questions, so few answers.
Greyson lifted his chin to the girls before curtly greeting them, “Lina, Sandra.” He wound one of my face-framing curls around his finger, and I didn’t have to fake how my breath got trapped in my chest. “What exactly are we going for with this…look? Prom ?” he asked, eyes on mine, which meant he didn’t see how both of their faces drained of color before their mouths caught up.
“Timeless,” Lina exclaimed, then added, “Sophisticated.”
“Elegant?” Sandra supplied, hopefully, more a question than an answer.
He grunted, the sound blatantly displeased. When I turned to face him, his expression was pensive. “Let’s tone it down, shall we?”
“Tone it down?” Lina squeaked, rushing to set her coffee on the counter and reclaiming her tools as if donning armor for battle.
“I’m not my father,” he stated firmly. When two sets of round eyes blinked back at him, he clarified with a sigh, “This is giving first lady, White House Barbie . Nothing brings me to my knees faster than this woman with her hair down. Let’s ease up on the Skeletor cheekbones, and I’d like to see the freckles over her nose. I happen to love that she’s not waifish.” Gently brushing a knuckle down the side of my face, he smiled softly, evidently unaware that my entire body was tracking that point of contact. “She should look like herself.”
“Yes, sir,” Sandra blurted, diving for the sink like her life depended on it. I guessed in this world, keeping Greyson Hart happy might be the same thing.
“Of course!” Lina promised, immediately shoving her hands into my hair to start pulling pins. “Sorry, Mr. Hart.”
“You’ll make it right,” he assured with a gentle smile. The man walked from the room like he hadn’t just sent three grown women scrambling for their composure.
Albeit mine was the result of a very different kind of fear.