39. Emily
EMILY
“Are you okay?” Oliver sits next to me on the window bench in the den. The trip to Castoria was good, but I’ve been in a twist since we got back. And now today’s the party at the Joneses’.
“I’m fine.” I play with the fringe of the pillow next to me, shake my head, and tuck the pillow neatly back against the window.
He tips my chin up to his face. “Em?”
“I hate this kind of thing. I know what I’m doing. I can do it. I can sell this. How hard can it be to make people believe I’m in love with Thayer? It’s a quick party.” I twist Thayer’s grandmother’s ring on my finger.
He nods. “They’re harmless, really. But I’ve spent my life doing them. Trotting out like the good show pony I am, being put away until the next one.”
“That’s awful.”
“I’m playing the poor little prince card; it’s not that bad. My parents made me have balance.”
“The fast-food job.”
“Well, that was another pony show I extended. But yeah, they didn’t stop me. Didn’t stop me from becoming a deckhand either. So it’s a sort of weird, swinging balance.”
“I had to do these parties in the Hamptons with Susan—Miami Beach to some extent too. Flirt with the son of the person they were trying to make a deal with. It’s so fake.”
“It doesn’t have to be fake if you don’t want it to be.”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“The party, not the . . .” He touches the ring on my hand.
“Right.”
“Sutton’s coming. She’s a good deflector.”
“That’s . . .” There’s a twist in my stomach.
“I see the look on your pretty face. You don’t have to feel sorry for her. When I say deflector, I mean protector. It’s part of her spirit. To protect the people she cares about.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“Yet she cares.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. Oliver pulls out his phone and shows me the last text from Sutton.
Sutton
Plane lands in an hour. I’m coming to Havenwood Hall first. I want to spend more time with Emily. She’s lovely. Don’t hurt her.
“That’s really nice of her. Tell her I’m looking forward to spending more time with her too.”
“You can tell her yourself.” He glances out the window. “She should be here soon. The royal guards are here already. They arrived while you were in the shower to do a sweep of the house.” Oliver holds out his hand for me.
We wait under the portico with Holloway’s guards and ten men wearing royal guard uniforms. Oliver nods at them. “Good to see you again.”
“Damien Oliver George Arthur Whitehall,” an older man says and shakes Oliver’s hand.
Oliver beams. “Major Benton was part of my team during college. This is Emily Rockwell.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” He nods, but his focus is on the gate. A car turns in, and Major Benton inclines his head and steps back to the driveway.
“He’s familiar with the house and not keen on being back here,” Oliver says, watching the limo with two Castoria flags fluttering in the wind as it pulls up. The guards stand at attention when the limo stops.
Sutton steps out looking red-carpet-ready, a Kelly bag hooked over her arm. When I fly, I look like I’ve just finished three all-nighters while studying for the final of a class I never went to.
“Emily!” Sutton greets the rest of the men under the portico while simultaneously heading straight to me.
She pulls me into her arms; she smells sweet and tangy.
“Brother.” She pulls back from me and gives Oliver a hug.
“Twice in such a short amount of time. I’d tease you and say I don’t like it, but I do. You look good. Happy almost.”
“I’m always happy,” Oliver retorts. Holloway’s men and the royal guards withdraw to where I can’t see them.
“No, you’re always smiling; there’s a difference,” she says in hushed tones.
Oliver cocks his head. “I don’t know what the difference is.”
“Well, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Sutton loops her arm with mine. “I hope you don’t mind my coming over to get ready here. I didn’t want to stay two nights. It makes things crazy at home if I’m away too long.”
“I . . . Of course.”
“Because it’s your house. Or rather, it will be soon, right?”
“Yes, once we’re married. I suppose you’re right.”
“How’s the prenup coming?” Sutton asks as we glide in the door.
“Sis, you—”
“You do have a prenup?”
“Sutton.”
“Oliver.”
We come to a halt in the foyer. The oldest and youngest Whitehall siblings glare at each other across me.
“Of course, we’re working on one,” I say. But I make a mental note to call my lawyer in the morning.
Sutton takes my hand. “Now where can I park myself while I get ready?”
“In my room.”
“Lovely, let’s go.” Sutton makes a face at Oliver. I’m not sure what it means, but I recognize sibling communication when I see it.
Sutton’s a half-step ahead of us, and Oliver’s eyes go wide behind Sutton’s back. “Your room?” he mouths at me.
I shrug. “Or I can get you settled in a guest room.”
“Oh, I’m staying at Juliana’s house tonight. I just need a quick change and a place to powder my nose. No point in getting another room all dirty.”
“Okay, this way.” I lead her down the hall to Thayer’s suite.
And the memory of leaving my workout clothes on the floor and my bra hanging over the doorknob to irk Thayer hits me.
Not to mention my ice cream bowl and three to five half-filled water glasses and travel mugs around the room.
I pause on the threshold. “Please excuse the mess.”
“I shared a room with my sister for years. Nothing can surprise me.” She follows me in and pivots with speed. “Ollie dear, can you ask if my dress was brought up here? Thanks.” She shuts the door in his face before he answers.
I’m not big on Halloween haunted houses. I did one once where I was locked in a room with an actor covered in blood carrying a chainsaw. I have the same feeling now, only she’s a future queen and the chainsaw’s been replaced with a chic Hermès bag.
She wanders around the room—a room that has been tidied, even though I’ve asked the housekeeper to stop picking up after me—and props herself on the window ledge, setting her bag down next to her.
“So?” Sutton’s eyebrows rise.
“So . . . I had a nice time at Winterborn Palace.”
“It was wonderful having you there.” She nods. “My brother . . .” She glances out the window. Her chest rises and falls, and she puts her hand on her belly.
“He’s a wonderful man.”
“Yes. He’s never really fit anywhere. I think that’s why he’s always tested the boundaries so well.
Driving fast, fencing, skydiving, working on your father’s yacht.
And his friendship with Thayer.” Sutton glances at the open walk-in closet where Thayer’s suits are lined up in perfect order.
“Being in danger makes him feel alive, you know?”
“I suppose I do.”
“You’re good friends?”
“Yes.”
“My parents were happy when he and Thayer went their separate ways. They thought Thayer had corrupted my brother. But really, it was the other way around. He’d been doing . . . well, never mind.” She stares at me. “You have feelings for them?”
I close my eyes because hate is a feeling, right? When I open them again, Sutton’s standing next to me.
“Never mind. Don’t let them hurt you.”
My frozen face and lack of denial give her everything she needs to know.
“No one else at Winterborn knows. It’s just something about the spring in Ollie’s step. I’m glad you make him happy. And of course, your business is yours. I’ll keep it to myself. But I’m serious about the prenup. If you need a lawyer, let me know.”
“Thanks. Lawyers my family has tenfold these days.”
“So, can I ask you a question?” Sutton gives me a closed-lip smile.
I hold my stomach muscles tight because I know what she’s going to ask. Why Thayer after everything that happened? “Sure,” slides out of me before I can pull it back in.
“When’s your hen party?”
“My . . .” I know it’s a bachelorette party, but it hasn’t even crossed my mind that we’re going to have to do all the wedding things. I’m not sure why . . . No, that’s a lie. It’s crossed my mind, but I’ve been focusing on not thinking about it. Pushing it out of the way. “I don’t know.”
“Oh right? I’m sure your maid of honor will want to plan it.” Sutton smiles.
Crap. “I haven’t . . . I mean yes, I think she might. But I don’t want a huge Vegas trip with matching T-shirts and a tiara. Not that there’s anything wrong with tiaras.”
Her brow furrows. “They can be heavy.”
Panic rises up from my toes. I’ve insulted Oliver’s sister, a future queen.
“I’m joking. Though I’m not joking—they can give you a headache. But no, I don’t see you as a plastic tiara and matching T-shirts kind of gal.”
“I’m not. But I will have to ask her.” I stare off into the distance. As in, ask Lilith to be my maid of honor.
“You’re not thinking about the hen party anymore, are you?”
“Are you a freaking witch?” I cover my mouth with my hands. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean that.”
Sutton laughs. “Not a witch, but years of training have made me observant. I have a minor in psychology. Body language gives away a lot.”
I nod. “You remind me a lot of my best friend, Lilith. You’d like her.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
“Would you like to come to my hen party?” I lean closer to Sutton.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Are you sure we’re in Surrey?” Oliver leans over me; his linen suit hugs his shoulders nicely. He snags two drinks from a server’s tray. “Thank you.”
“You would know better than me.”
The Joneses’ estate brings new meaning to keeping up with the Joneses. There’s not a leaf out of place in their remarkable gardens. A small orchestra plays on a slate stone terrace, which looks out over a reflecting pool. It’s stunning and reminds me of a public garden.
Two hundred or more people twirl around the garden; this is more over the top than any Hampton party Susan dragged me to. And if I didn’t have to put on a show in a little while, I’d happily sink back against a wall and people-watch.
“It can’t be. What’s that thing in the sky?” Oliver asks.
“It can be sunny in England. You’re perpetuating a stereotype.” My hand pops on my hip.
“It’s true; the tourism bureau told me it’s out.” Oliver rounds me and stands on my opposite side. “Incoming.”
My head snaps to the stairs that descend to the garden from one of the many terraces.
“Damien!” A woman in a flowered mint-green dress weaves her way to Oliver.
“Juliana,” he says, kissing each of her cheeks. “Juliana Jones, this is Emily Rockwell, my dear friend.”
“Darling Emily,” she says, kissing both my cheeks, and grabs my hand. “Oh, so nice to meet you. Is it true?” Her eyes take in Sofia’s ring on my hand. “It’s true. Why, I never thought Thayer would settle on a wife.”
“He didn’t settle,” Oliver growls. I want to pinch his arm.
“Of course not. And you’re American? How charming.”
“It’s such a beautiful garden; your hibiscuses are doing so well. And your hydrangeas are lovely.”
“You’re into botany and horticulture. How lovely.”
“Not really, but my sister-in-law is, and she once pointed one out to me and explained how they shouldn’t grow here.” Not really a sister-in-law, but I’m not getting into the semantic weeds with Juliana.
“It takes a lot to keep it going. But I love them.”
I nod and smile because I’ve gotten her off the subject of both my nationality and Thayer.
And I shouldn’t have thought about him because the second I do—he’s behind Juliana, bouncing down the stairs with the grace of a ballroom dancer.
It might be the sunlight highlighting his dark hair, but the man looks yummy.
“Emily,” he says, approaching with his hand outstretched. Without the orchestra playing versions of pop songs, Thayer could be a duke from a historical novel. His hair’s slicked back, his suit’s crisp, and the top button of his shirt is undone.
“Speak of the devil—we were just talking about you,” Juliana says.
Thayer nods at her, but his eyes haven’t left mine.
He got a call right as we were ready to leave and had to take it.
Oliver, Sutton, Ryder, Anders, and I came together.
Sutton didn’t want to arrive too late. “My apologies, sweetheart.” He takes my hand and presses a light kiss to my lips before turning to the others. “Juliana, you look radiant as ever.”
“Thank you; you two make a lovely match.”
My eyes flick to Thayer.
“We do, don’t we?” He wraps a possessive arm around my waist.
“When is the big day?” Juliana asks as a server holds a tray of drinks out.
“No, thank you.” I smile at the tuxedoed young woman.
Juliana’s eyes flash. “Please get Ms. Rockwell a non-alcoholic beverage.” Juliana turns back to me with a smirk on her lips. I don’t think we’re going to have to announce anything about my scone belly. The Jones network will take care of that for us.