“Just so you know, Elizabeth says she is going to move in with you,” Elliot says, bringing my focus back to my siblings. “I told her she’s going to ruin the lovey dovey mood between you guys, but apparently my place isn’t good enough.”
“I want a clean and non-disgusting place.” Elizabeth wrinkles her nose. “That disqualifies your porn palace.”
Elliot bursts out laughing, and I hide my grin. Our poor sister, still traumatized by the sex tape.
“How do you know? Did you watch the tape?” he asks.
“No. But I saw still shots on the Internet. How could I not? They were everywhere for a month!” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’ve never wanted to bleach my brain until that moment.”
“So.” I clear my throat to get their attention. “Why are you moving in here? Not that you aren’t welcome, but I thought you liked Virginia.”
“I do, but it’s Tiffany.”
“Who?” Elliot asks.
“Our current stepmom,” Elizabeth explains.
“Well, learn something new every day. What about Wife Number Six?”
“She wants to play at being mom. She comes over every morning to have coffee with me. Apparently she’d prefer to have a family breakfast together, but since I’m too busy to accept a daily invitation, she’s decided to invite herself over for coffee instead.”
Elliot is stroking his jaw with more force than necessary, trying not to laugh.
“It’s not funny!”
“Well, hey,” I say. “You have to drink coffee anyway, right? What’s the harm in humoring the poor woman?” There has to be more.
“She wants to advise me on dating. And men—”
“Is she giving you tips on how to snag a guy three times your age and two thousand times your net worth?” Elliot says, letting the laugh out.
Elizabeth shoots him a withering glare. “No. It’s much worse. She’s also giving me sex advice.”
“Ewww.” Normally I’d be down with two young women talking about sex…but this is my sister. “How long has this been going on?”
“Over two weeks.”
“You’re a saint,” Elliot says. “I would’ve torched my house and salted the land after two visits. Fled the fucking continent.”
“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind,” she says to me.
“Of course not. Paige’s parents are staying at the guest house, but they’re leaving soon. And there are six other suites to choose from until then.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, what’s an older brother for…” My voice trails away as I see the man I never wanted to see again.
Elliot turns his head to see what got my attention. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters under his breath.
I can never forget Anthony Blackwood.
We were friends from early childhood, our bond forged over crappy parents and their desire to keep us in one European boarding school after another. All that history went out the window, though, when things turned nasty over Lauren. Our rivalry lasted a bitter half-year, then ended abruptly with a tragic outcome. He blames me for what happened. The crappy thing is, he’s right. If it weren’t for me, Lauren would never have gotten involved in a dangerous, ugly scene for fame and fortune…and died the way she did.
“I thought the party was invitation only.” Elliot looks at me. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“That’s a good question.” I made sure to hire security to keep intruders out.
The black tux fits Anthony’s slim frame well. His dark hair is slicked back, and an air of opulence and insolence rolls off him in waves.
When I last saw him, he was materially comfortable enough, thanks to some money his grandmother left him, but didn’t have much else to his name. Although his family is filthy rich, his father made it clear he would get nothing simply because he’s the second son.
Something’s changed in the last seven years. Anthony’s amassed billions with his clubs and bars. I honestly have no idea where he even got the seed capital since everyone knew about his circumstances, but I guess the Blackwood name carries some weight among tight-fisted investors.
Anthony walks over to us. His lips smile, but his eyes stay flat. “Congratulations, Ryder. Who would’ve thought you’d marry so soon?”
“How did you get in?” If he bribed security, I’m going to sue the company into the ground.
“I was invited.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Actually, I was.” He smiles, leans forward for a stage whisper. “Ask your fiancée.”
Something cold clutches my heart, and I school my face into an unreadable mask. “Do you know Paige?”