Chapter 26
26
ROMAN
“ W hy are we putting up with this farce?” Bram grumbles beside me.
The two of us sit in my car outside of my parents’ house. I stare at the massive manor. The history of the house has been hammered into me since I was a child. Built in 1906, it was fashioned to look like a Cotswold cottage on steroids. The sandstone siding, steeply slate-pitched roofs, and arched windows all give the home its character.
It’s all ruined by the people who live inside.
We’ve been parked for over a minute. Neither one of us is ready to face the next few hours.
“Because it’s Thanksgiving and Giana has likely spent all day making a massive meal for us. We’ll feel bad if we don’t show up.” Giana is my parents’ housekeeper and the only caring adult either of us had growing up.
My mother has zero relationships with her family, and I’ve never met them. My father’s parents died when I was too young to know them. Bram’s mother’s family is still around, but thanks to my parents, he saw very little of them growing up. Giana was always part of our house. When we skinned a knee, she was the one who bandaged it. When we were sick, she tended to us.
I don’t give a shit if I see my parents for Thanksgiving, but disappointing Giana is another thing altogether.
“Fuck,” Bram drags out the curse on an exhale. “Fine. Let’s get this night over with.” His door opens without touch, his magic whipping it ajar. That’s not a great sign of what’s to come tonight.
“Crone’s sake, don’t rip the door off my car,” I snap as I get out and follow my brother up the cobbled path to my parents’ mansion.
The scents of roast turkey, fresh bread, and all manner of dishes hit me the second we reach the door. Bram knocks, and Weatherby, the ancient butler, opens the door.
“Young sirs. The family and guests are waiting.” Weatherby’s voice wheezes like the man’s had a two-pack-a-day habit for the last seventy years. I’ve never seen him smoke, but I’ve also never heard him speak louder than a gentle indoor voice. The man may be old, but he’s sneaky as fuck. You’d better check the room a dozen times to make sure he isn’t hiding behind a curtain before you spill any secrets. Although he’s not actually malicious, just really good at his job.
Weatherby takes our coats, and Bram frowns at me. “Guests?”
“Weatherby, who else is attending tonight?” I don’t have any more information than Bram on the subject. The butler opens his mouth, but before he can wheeze out an answer, my mother’s heels are clicking through the entryway.
“It’s about time. Abraham, quit dragging your feet and making Roman late.”
“Mother,” I sigh.
Bram mocks a bow. “Of course. My sincerest apologies, Diana. My slothful ways and inability to read a clock has delayed us.”
My mother glares at Bram. I step in front of him, cutting off her direct line of sight to my brother. “Standing in the entry will only make us later, won’t it?”
That brings my mother’s glare in my direction. “Yes. Come now. It would be rude to dally any longer.”
“Dally?” Bram scoffs behind me as we follow Diana Blackthorn to the dining room.
Thanksgiving dinner at Blackthorn Manor is not a comfortable affair. My mother is wearing an evening gown with jewels adorning her neck, ears, and wrist. She may as well throw on a tiara to complete the outfit. Bram and I are both in suits, as is required. There’s no stuffing yourself until you can’t move. Nothing about this dinner will be enjoyable.
Blackthorn Manor has a formal dining room with a table long enough to seat twenty. When Bram and I enter the room, I notice that most, but not all, of the seats are filled. The table has been lavishly decorated in autumn decor. Pumpkins and gourds are interspersed with orange, red, and yellow leaves, obviously spelled to keep their color and shape and not crumble on the tablecloth.
“I wasn’t aware you were having a party this year.” I keep my voice low as I stop by my mother’s side at the entry to the room.
My mother plasters on a smile. “Yes, well, if you ever answered your phone, you might not be so surprised.”
Unlikely. My mother never would have mentioned this because she knows me too well. There’s no way Bram and I would have shown up if we’d been told all these people would be here. We would have begged Giana’s forgiveness and fucked right off.
I peer around the room, finding my father speaking with two women, his eyes fastened on the younger’s enthusiastically displayed breasts. A frown wrinkles my brow as I take in the rest of the room. Each of the families present has a daughter with them. One my mother would consider of marriageable age. The Davenports are here, the Lexingtons and, for fuck’s sake, the Millers. Does my mother not know that her husband slept with their daughter the night of the founders party?
Maybe she wasn’t invited for me.
“Is this supposed to be a setup for me?”
My mother cups my elbow, steering me into the room. I grit my teeth. She knows how much I detest being touched. The lack of feeling brings the ache to see Josephine roaring to life. The night at the cabin was the best of my life. Since then, we’ve spent every night together. Both of us sneaking around like fucking teenagers to avoid the watchful eyes of the coven, but I know we can’t keep it up for long. Someone will eventually see us. I’m starting to question why it matters. Will the coven kick me out? Will my parents strip away the hotel? Leaving it all to Bram? I imagine my mother would have strong feelings about that. And the last thing dear old dad wants is to be saddled with a full-time job when he could be out playing golf with his cronies, fucking impressionable young women, and generally giving zero shits about anything.
Josephine’s situation is another matter entirely. Jo’s mother holds sway over her. She hasn’t come right out and said it, but there have been several indications that Francesca Delvaux uses her youngest daughter to strong-arm Josephine into doing whatever she wants.
“Come, come. Let’s go sit and have dinner like civilized witches.”
I’m led to a seat in the middle of the table, where my mother leaves me with a sly smile. I sit with reluctant acceptance. The sooner we get this started, the earlier I can get out of here and go see Josephine. She was dreading her family’s Thanksgiving as much as me. I’m already looking forward to comparing notes.
Brooke Davenport sits down in the chair to my left. She smiles and bats her massive lashes. Those can’t be real. According to my mother, she's eighteen, but has this girl even graduated high school? I feel sorry for her. Her parents are likely pushing her toward me to make a strong match for their family. She should be at house parties making out with boys her own age, not trying to get the attention of a man who’s fourteen years older than her.
“Mr. Blackthorn.”
I nearly choke on the air in my lungs. Brooke’s doing her best to appear sultry and worldly, but being addressed like I’m her teacher definitely isn’t my thing. Maybe I should direct her toward Bram. I can see how he might be into that.
I nod at Brooke. I’m not a complete asshole all the time.
The chair to my right pulls out. This time, I can’t help the low groan from escaping when I see who it is. Anastasia Lexington slides into the seat, having to maneuver her body like a stiff board because her dress is so tight. I find my smiling mother at the end of the table and glare at her. She nudges her head, her brows raised as if to say, “Go on, enjoy.”
“Roman. How wonderful to see you again. I was so disappointed when you had to leave the club so suddenly last week. But imagine my delight when we were invited over for Thanksgiving dinner.” Her blonde hair is stick-straight, hanging in a long sheet down her back. She flips it over her shoulder, offering me a demure smile with the practiced action.
“I can only imagine,” I reply.
Bram is across the table from me, struggling to control his cackles. I drag my hand over my face, flipping my brother off at the same time. His laughter only gets louder.
“Really,” my mother scolds from her end of the table. Bram lifts his glass of wine and salutes her.
My father is still ogling the Miller girl’s tits.
Picking up my own wine, I down the whole thing in one long drink. My mother has hired extra staff for the night and a man appears over my shoulder to refill my glass the moment I set it down. “Keep them coming,” I grumble.
“Your family home is beautiful.” Anastasia leans in as though we’re in a crowded club, and I can’t hear her over the noise. So far, there’s only the hush of conversations. No one is even eating yet. The food hasn’t been served.
“I’m sure my mother would appreciate the compliment.” Blackthorn Manor is a beautiful home, but it’s not filled with happy memories. There’s a darkness that lingers in the corners of rooms. Shadows of the past and the curses that have been suffered here. Honestly, I feel it in all of the homes of the founding families. There are a lot of bones buried in these people's closets, and you feel it when you walk into their houses.
“Oh my gosh, I know, right.” Brooke leans forward, inserting herself into the conversation. Frankly, I would love to just push my chair back and let the two of them talk to each other. The sneer on Anastasia’s face tells me she wouldn’t feel the same. “I heard you have an indoor pool. I would love to see that. Maybe we could go swimming after dinner.”
“We wouldn’t want to get a cramp and drown,” Anastasia says, picking up her glass and doing that same weird lip fucking thing she did at the founders party. Her eyes tilt up to look at me. I think she’s trying to be sexy, but it’s more creepy than anything.
“You’ll have to ask my mother for a tour later. She loves showing off the place,” I respond to Brooke, feeling bad that she’s out of her league. Anastasia is a vicious cat, and Brooke doesn’t have claws.
Servants enter the room carrying platters full of food. Although they’re presented as though we'll eat family style, it’s actually the servers who pick up our plates and begin piling them full of turkey, cranberries, mashed potatoes, stuffing. If you don’t like something, too bad; you’re getting a plateful of it anyway.
One of the servers places a plate in front of Anastasia, and she uses it as an excuse to press into my side. Her hand lands on my thigh, uncomfortably close to my groin. I can’t feel anything, but I know it’s there.
“That certainly seems like a mouthful,” Anastasia says in a breathy tone.
“Remove your hand.” I don’t look at her or acknowledge her sad innuendo. Instead of doing as I command, Anastasia doubles down and presses her breast into my arm.
“Dinner looks incredible, but I can think of much more appetizing things to put in my mouth.”
I pick up her hand and shove it away from my leg. Anastasia gasps in affronted surprise.
“Anastasia, darling. Have you told Roman all about the work that you’re doing at your father’s company?” My mother interjects from across the table. Her eyes narrow on me as if I’m the one being rude and not the one being groped.
“Yes, I’ve been working at my father’s law firm as a junior associate. It won’t be long until the junior is dropped, though.” She laughs, and her father, who’s sitting near my father, chuckles along with her.
“You may want to brush up on sexual harassment laws. It’s pretty clear you’re unfamiliar with those kinds of cases.” Ignoring the plate of Giana’s incredible cooking, I push back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
“Roman,” my mother scolds. “We have guests.”
Bram turns to look at the woman next to him. “Didn’t you sleep with Ambrose last week?”
My mother’s face turns purple. What a fucking mess. I can’t get out of the room fast enough.