Page 71 of Ruled By Rivalry

“I still cannot believe he’s making you do that.” Mariette clearly wasn’t a fan. Fair enough. She seemed like the spoiling type. The doting and loving mother who’d get her children the moon and the stars, if they wanted them.

And they did.

“It’s fine, Mom.” His head shook gently. “Really.”

“It was one video,” she went on. “Years ago. Investors never cared about what I did when I was your age. And the board certainly had no say in it, whether they cared or not.”

When Mariette headed back inside, she rightfully assumed we would follow. The door led straight into the living room—or dining area? kitchen?—leaving the evening breeze on the terrace behind. Open floor plan was an understatement for their place.

In the kitchen, one thing sizzled in a pan, another bubbled in hot water, and . . . it was Rowen maneuvering around the stove like he did nothing with his time but cook elaborate meals. With his back to us, he tossed a salad, stirred a sauce, and then returned to the dressing. Elliot didn’t pay his brother much attention, and I didn’t want to distract him from what already smelled heavenly.

“Things change.” Elliot shrugged in response to his mother’s complaints, nudging me toward the dining table. “And we can’t all be America’s Luxury Darling.”

“Ha!” She threw her head back in a boisterous laugh that screamed money. “No, that’s true.” Across her shoulder, she sent me a wink that made it obvious where Elliot got the habit from. “That’s why he’s my favorite. Don’t tell the rest of them.”

“Don’t tell us what?” A boy with familiar blond hair, just curlier than Elliot’s, descended the stairs from the gallery. Tattoos covered his arms, and a Henley fit tightly around his biceps as he crossed his arms the same way his brother always did. Like he was guarding something close to his heart.

“Nothing, nothing.” She waved him off, an amused gleam in her eyes as one hand curled around the back of a chair. “Your brother brought a friend, Alex.”

“A colleague,” Elliot corrected from beside me. Although the way his hand found the small of my back so effortlessly, delicately nudging me toward one of the empty chairs, didn’t seem very . . . collegial.

But “colleague” was better than “girl I’m trying to have sex with.” Especially when it was his family he was introducing me to.

“I cannot believe my little brother is a working man,” Alex teased. His eyes fell down my dress, an appreciating gleam in them when they met mine again. Skipping the last two steps, he stood but a foot away from us, holding out his hand. “Alexander,” he said by way of greeting. His gaze flicked to Elliot, just for a second, before he added, “Seems like he did something right for once.”

The man beside me ignored the dig. “I’m a year younger than you,” he reminded.

“Which technically, legally, and any other way, still makes you my little brother. Something wrong with that statement?” Alex’s brows rose in challenge.

Elliot sighed in defeat, gesturing toward the chair opposite his. “Just sit.”

As if on cue, the chime of what must’ve been a very old grandfather clock echoed—yes, it literally echoed—off the walls, the fan was turned off in the kitchen, and a server brought two large bowls of salad to the table.

So far, I’d managed to push the reality of the situation far enough away not to freak out. But sitting at a table with Alexander, Elliot, and Mariette Ashwood made playing it cool significantly harder.

“Rowen cooked?” Elliot asked no one in particular, and it gave me something other than Alex’s curious glances to ponder.

If their sounds of agreement weren’t confirmation enough, “He did” came from behind us. In the same second, Rowen rounded the table. “Just once a month, I’d like to actually use our kitchen.”

“I literally didn’t say anything.” But there was an undertone in Elliot’s voice that suggested he had, at least once at some point, and whatever he’d said hadn’t been flattering.

“I know you were about to,” Rowen shot back. “Shouldn’t you be happy to be eating anything other than instant ramen after Hunter kicked you out, Elli?” He batted his eyes innocently, a sweet smile on his lips as he sat down opposite me, next to Alex. “Hi, Maeve.”

“Three years ago.” Elliot sighed. “I didn’t like something you cooked three years ago. Will you ever let me live that down?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Will you ever stop being a spoiled brat?”

“Boys!” Mariette. “We have company. Please.” Behave was the word she didn’t say.

Wine bottle number one was opened, and I was starting to understand why Elliot said he wouldn’t survive a family dinner without it.

“Hey.” Just like the rest of them, Alex ignored their mother’s pleading tone. He pointed at Rowen, offended. “How come he’s met Elliot’s girlfriend already and I haven’t?”

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have taken a sip right when someone as unpredictable as Alexander Ashwood was in the middle of saying something. That way, maybe I wouldn’t have sprayed the entire table in wine.

But I had taken a sip, and I did spray the table.

“Colleague!” I gasped for air, face as red as my hair and as hot as the summers back home. “I’m so sorry.”