Page 87 of Pretender

Panting, she blinks at me, touching a hand to the side of her neck. I grin and turn to wish the opponent a great round of croquet.

“Henry, good luck,” I say, stretching out my hand. He seems confused, glancing to Linnea behind me and back to me.

“I thought we were playing.”

“Me playing croquet? Hah, I’m fucking terrible. You’re playing against her.” I gesture with a thumb behind me, still waiting for him to accept my handshake.

He slowly reaches out and grasps my hand, as firmly as he can.

“Your funeral.” He sneers. “She’s never won against me.”

“I’m sure she’s never shown you how good she is.”

At this, his jaw flexes and it’s clear he’s worried I’m right.

“So,” he starts, still trying to squeeze my hand. “How does it feel knowing I’ve seen every inch of your new girlfriend? There’s nothing you will experience that I haven’t already.”

Oh, Henry… I was kind of hoping you’d go there.

I grip his hand harder, but I could actually break it, so I hold back. Just a little. His jaw flexes again, but there’s a sneer forming on his face. He thinks he got me there.

I lean in closer to his ear, intentionally looming over him.

“That’s a new low even for you, Henry. Where this hand—” I squeeze again, and he lets out a stifled grunt. “—goes tonight, that’s private, but I want you to remember how it felt on Halloween last year. How it stung and burned as I pulled you away by your ear like a little boy.” Henry attempts to yank his hand back, but I hold him tight, keeping my voice low in his ear. “I banned you from The Orion quietly, but unless you stop the slandering you’re doing, I’ll make sure you’re officially banned from all of Mayfair.” I pull back and look him in the eye. “Maybe your future father-in-law can save you from that, but he’s not here to play for you.”

Henry clears his throat, and before he can say anything poisonous or call me on my bluff, I push back.

“Your funeral,” I growl. Then I say, louder now, “Go swing that big mallet of yours, Henry. Show us what you can do with those skilful hands.” The sarcasm couldn’t be more obvious, and I hear Linnea cough behind me.

“You can start, Henry,” Linnea says, and as she moves up next to him, she shrinks into herself. Her shoulders round, and she lowers her head. It’s subtle, but obvious to me.

Shit. Stay strong, Linnea.

“I don’t need any favours. The weaker player always starts,” Henry answers, straightening up.

The comment seems to shift something in Linnea, and she does the same. When she straightens, she’s his height, short by an inch only.

He’ll regret ever underestimating her.

A crowd has gathered around the croquet field, Venetia and her group included. I hope this doesn’t make Linnea nervous. I may have been arrogant in my bet, considering I know nothing of Henry’s skills. But I recognise his type. I’ve hurt his ego, hopefully put him on edge with my impromptu threat, and when he sees Linnea owning the field, he’ll get increasingly distracted.

Linnea and Henry line up their balls by the starting peg. She has to hit her ball through six hoops and then knock the final peg. With every hoop earning an extra shot, I’m hoping she can make it far without Henry getting a single turn. But from this angle, with how the hoops are lined up, it’s hard to see how she’ll pull it off. I sure as hell wouldn’t.

Linnea knocks her ball through the first hoop, receiving a smattering of applause, but considering it’s close to the starting point, it would have been odd to miss it. Unless you hit it like I did, of course.

Now, she steps around her ball, and it looks like… Is she about to hit it backwards?

She does, clipping Henry’s ball.

I step closer to one of the observers.

“Do you know the rules? What’s she doing?”

“When you hit the opponent’s ball you get two extra shots, and she can do a croquet shot.”

“What’s a croq—” I’m about to ask but stop short when she lines her ball up next to Henry’s, and while Henry’s knuckles turn white around the handle of his mallet, Linnea knocks her ball so hard into his, it sends Henry’s flying into the taller grass by the edge while hers rolls slowly and lines up with the next hoop.

The crowd cheers, and Linnea turns to me with the widest grin.