Page 65 of Threaded Lies

“You his campaign manager now?” I ask, for which I receive a withering glare. “Because that was some over-the-top bullshit.”

“Why do you always have to be like this, Rowan? Combative? Argumentative? Condescending? He’s your brother. Of course we want him to win.”

“Interesting, seeing as how Rhett informed me he already had the council seat in the bag. I figured you were the ones who helped bribe whoever needed to be bribed.”

My mom guffaws and swats a playful hand on my shoulder that I know is more for show than anything.

With a smile plastered on her face, she leans in and says, “I suggest you watch your tongue as we would do no such thing. We are upstanding citizens of this town and only want the best for it.”

Seems I’m not the only one lying tonight.

“Just as I only want the best for something our grandparents built all those years ago,” I say in rebuttal. “The two of us sharing responsibility isn’t a bad thing.”

“That’s not what your great-great-grandfather would have wanted. That’s not how he set the company up,” my mom continues.

“He also lived during a time when women couldn’t vote, so that might explain things a bit.”

“We made our decision years ago to follow his protocol,” my father says, stepping between us and startling me. I was so focused on my mother, I hadn’t seen him walk up.

“Father,” I say with a cordial nod and a strained smile.

He leans forward, presses a kiss to my cheek, and rests a hand on my lower back. “For the record, Gran agreed. To sticking with the protocol, that is.”

Probably because she had no choice. “Well, Rhett changed that protocol when he went and sold it to an outsider. Talk to him.” I shrug.

“Not necessary. Precedent is set,” he says.

“Then take it up with Holden Knight,” I counter. He stares at me, his teeth gritted and hand tensing where it rests against me.

Someone isn’t as thrilled with this deal as he let on.

“Rupert, dear,” my mom says and squeezes his hand. “Please don’t upset her now. Stress causes eating and puffiness and we can’t have a puffy, bloated bride.”

“Dear God,” I groan.

“Emmaline, the wedding is months away,” my dad says.

“Sixty-four days, to be exact. But don’t you worry about that, Rupert. The last thing we need is to raise your blood pressure any more than it already is. Remember what the doctor said about getting worked up and how that’s not good for your heart.”

“I think Caroline needs me,” I say to try to escape.

“No, she doesn’t. She’s busy with Muffy Newton.” My mom rolls her eyes dramatically. “And Rupert, we don’t have much time. Puffiness is a major concern considering we have a wedding dress appointment in the city slated for two weeks from now.”

Guess I need to add that to my calendar. I doubt the any ol’ dress from my closet will do is going to cut it this time around.

“Chad!” My mom waves him across the patio in a frantic yet giddy display of desperation.

“Momma!” he says boisterously so that the whole patio takes notice of the soon-to-be son-in-law. Of course they do, considering our wedding is now the most talked-about event of the fall. Fucking awesome.

He strides over and kisses my mother’s cheek and shakes my dad’s hand in greeting, before turning to look at me with an awkward smile. “Hi.”

“Hi there,” I say back.

“Oh, don’t be so shy.” My mom shoos her hand our way. “We appreciate the respect you have for Mr. Rothschild and me to not kiss our daughter in front of us—he’s such a gentleman,” she directs to my father, “but son, please go right ahead. A woman loves knowing she’s cherished and adored.”

Before I can utter a response, Chad’s hand is on my lower back and he pulls me in for a soft kiss on the lips.

The moment happens so fast that I don’t have much time to react—and maybe that’s for the best—because I’m more than flustered and then soon thereafter chastising myself for not expecting that was going to have to happen sooner or later.