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"I should've guessed," I grumble.
"It was the practical choice." She laughs, her body convulsing against the railing.
Another wave of fear jolts me, prompting me to loop my arm around her waist. "That's enough." She gasps quietly, as I pull her from the ledge.
A giggle escapes her when she meets my eye. "Now, Hayden. I would've never assumed you had a fear of heights."
My lips press firmly. I don't, but it seems with you, I do. "You never know. These railings have seen better days." I shrug, appraising them, before holding back a grimace. They're wrought iron and appear freshly polished.
She hums, like I have chicken written across my forehead.
I clear my throat. "I guess I'll have to adopt your genius betting strategy next year. Just pick based on the names."
"That does seem practical."
I cringe. Oh my god, she's relentless.
She busts up laughing, the pleasant sound floating across the open air. When she peers through the binoculars again, this time at a safe distance that my heart can handle, I lock eyes with my father over her shoulder... and there's no missing the disdain in them.
He didn't appreciate our celebration at the end of the race. Said we made a spectacle of ourselves—no, wait. Correction. That I made a spectacle, and that it reflected poorly on our family. Nothing new there. I could blink the wrong way, and he'd have something to say about it. I've always known that, from a young age.
So... why am I getting worked up, just holding his stare? I can usually brush him off easily, but right now, as every second drags on, the more I'm tempted to go over there and smack that look off his face. Our connection doesn't last long, though, broken when he swings his focus back to his wife, Clara.
Wife. I nearly laugh.
I'll never understand why he insists on marriage, when he can't hold one down for longer than three years. I'd pity Clara, if she wasn't just in it for the money—and I can confidently say that, without having spoken to her for longer than ten minutes. Sure, sometimes, true love can exist despite thirty-year age gaps, but... come on. It's him, of all people. And Clara, I just know her type. Stuck up. Power hungry, in her own unique way. Although, besides her upgraded lifestyle, I'm unsure what's in it for her, long term, since she's well aware of his marriage history and signed an iron-clad prenup.
And I mean, extra iron clad. God forbid another Sylvia comes along and rakes in half my father's money. After the divorce settlement, he nearly died from a stroke outside the courthouse—that's no exaggeration. Warren Kingston would choose money and power over the air he breathes, every single time.
Which is why his marriages don't last long. He gets bored. Tempted by another brush with power, or a different woman, entirely—contrary to that of his loyal appearance.
I study him closely, as he meanders about the balcony. Flaunting his wife on one arm, he introduces her to everyone he comes across with a proud smile, including her son, Sebastian, who holds his hand.
I look away as inevitable envy flares within me.
I hate him for making me jealous of a six-year-old boy, for the explanations springing into my mind... It's all an act. He's appeasing her, slipping on a fake mask while favoring her son, just to get between her legs tonight—and tomorrow night, and so on, for a year or two. He doesn't actually care about her or that boy. That innocent, blameless child, who deserves a real, loving father figure in his life.
I loathe every one of these thoughts. Not because I know they're true and are more certain than the sun rising tomorrow morning. But because somewhere deep down inside of me, in a place mangled and charred and unrecognizable, there's a part that wants them to be true.
I'd wonder if he was purposefully provoking my jealousy, but that would imply he actually cared enough about me to do so.
"Oh my gosh! Are those the owners?!" Juliana's voice reels me back to reality. She snickers. "They're wearing cowboy hats with suits on."
I smirk. When I said she was cute, I meant it. "Those are the trainers, most likely. A lot of horse owners are just regular people looking for investments."
"You mean rich people."
"Sure, yeah, same thing. Most of them are here, in this lounge—or watched from our section."
She swivels around, shaking her head. "Hayden, Hayden, Hayden... Only you would call thirty-grand derby tickets a regular-person thing. Most people aren't billionaires, you know."
"Hey, now. I know we're in Billionaires' Row and all, but not everyone here reaches that status. Actually, I'd say most are just millionaires."
"Just millionaires?" she scoffs.
As a trail of grumbles breezes past her lips, I bite mine to keep from laughing. Nevertheless, I can't help but add, "Or they're celebrities. Well, a lot of them are both, but... You get what I'm saying."
"What??? I haven't seen any... well... I guess I've been focused on the race." Her eyes sweep across the balcony, and sure enough, in no time at all, they pause, narrowing. "Wait... is that...?"
