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“Not surprising, seeing as I saw you last night. And you already told me what you knew.”
Scarlett’s standing there, holding the coffee she clearly doesn’t want, looking how I feel. I catch her gaze and there’s a world of questions there I can’t even begin to answer. But I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like whatever it is my brother’s going to say next.
“Yeah, but…”
“But?” I wait.
Ryder sighs. “But this isn’t as easy as you thought.”
“What does that mean?” Scarlett’s voice is tight, with panic just beneath the surface. “I need to give a kidney?”
“Worse,” he mutters.
“We need to get married for real?”
I raise an eyebrow at the horror in her voice. “That’s not happening. But it wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“Really?” Ryder’s looking at me with real interest.
They are both beginning to annoy me. For very different reasons. Scarlett’s intimation it would be a fate worse than death is insulting and Ryder’s expression… But I push that away, and I mutter, “Fake engagement, fake marriage, whatever. It’s a piece of paper and fixable. What’s the issue here?”
“Right, right.” He pulls a croissant out of the bag and takes a bite, chews, and swallows. And I’m ready to throttle him. “There’s going to be a test, Hudson.”
“I figured,” I say.
“For both of you.”
“Again, I kind of figured it wouldn’t be as simple as here’s my fiancé. Give me what’s mine.”
Ryder breathes out slowly and he looks me in the eye. “There’s more to it, Hud. Seems if you don’t pass, it’s not only that you don’t get what you want, it seems that Sinclair, the family flagship, our birthright, it seems that might well be lost, too.”
His mouth thins. “To all of us.”
Chapter Eighteen
Scarlett
The word horror seems way too pallid a word to describe how I feel.
I mean, Hudson has said this is important, but his brother’s words change things. And I don’t want to be there for that.
If this falls apart because of little white lies, he loses part of himself.
That sounds melodramatic, but it’s true.
And it would be my fault.
My screw up.
My little white lies.
I try to stall to talk to him, but he’s looking at his watch and shaking his head. And I don’t catch what they say to each other through the roaring in my head. I want to faint or hyperventilate or scream.
But I don’t. I am a monolith of strength. Well, I keep it together as he hustles us all into the elevator and out onto the street.
Hudson turns to me, not looking overly concerned, but that’s him. He’s got that kind of poker face. The morning sun catches his dark hair and makes it shine. I swallow, remembering how it was damp with sweat last night when I gripped tightly when he was— “Do you want a car?”
“No!” I blurt the word, trying to rid myself of memories that have no right appearing right now. They’re not a help.
