Page 52 of Cruel Dynasty

My smile drooped. “Well, I love scones, so it was no hardship.”

“Who doesn’t? But probably best to moderate considering,” he said as he picked up his phone.

“Considering?” I repeated.

“With the wedding. Don’t brides go on crazy diets?”

I swallowed the bite of egg I’d just taken. It slid uneasily down my throat. “I suppose.”

“Sorry,” he said swiftly, looking up from his mobile to find me frowning at him, “I didn’t mean to offend you. That was a stupid thing to say.”

“It’s fine,” I said mildly, and we both fell silent. “How are things in London? Your grandfather?”

“He’ll outlive us all,” he predicted as a plate of toast was laid on the table before us. He looked up at the man who’d delivered it. “Scones please.”

At least, he wasn’t going to force me into some diet.

“I hope Holden didn’t bother you too much,” Spencer said as I nibbled on my toast.

“No. We even drove into Haworth together.” It was only partially true. Holden hadn’t bothered me in the way that Spencer meant, but he had gotten under my skin.

Spencer groaned and rolled his eyes. “He took you to Jane Austen’s home? I’m sorry.”

“It was the Brontë’s home, actually,” I corrected him. “And I enjoyed it, especially the moors.”

“You sound as hopelessly romantic as he is.”

“Hopelessly romantic? Holden?” I cocked an eyebrow at Spencer. “Are we talking about the same person?”

“Romantic in the way he sees the world. The sky isn’t cloudy, it’s shadowed,” Spencer mocked. “Do yourself a favor and never go to a museum with him. He never shuts up.”

“Noted.” The platter of scones arrived. I picked one up and took a bite. It crumbled, dry and flavorless, on my tongue.

“We’ll do something fun today, I promise,” he continued, taking a sip of his tea.

“We had plenty of fun while you were gone,” Holden announced as he joined us on the veranda. He pulled out a chair and sat across the table from me. “Didn’t we, dirty girl?”

Spencer’s bemused grin fell from his face. “As charming as the anecdote behind that pet name is, I think it’s best that you stop using it. We wouldn’t want others to ask, would we, darling?”

He was looking at his brother, but it was clear he was speaking to me. I stared between them, but neither indicated I was there. They were locked in an aggressive stare. I had to make a choice. Spencer was drawing a line and asking me to step to one side.

But he also wanted them to take me to bed—together.

There was no reason behind any of it. I was expected to act one way in public and behave another way in private. I needed to be the portrait of the perfect fiancée on his arm and his willing whore in the bedroom. A week ago, I’d been fine with that arrangement.

Because a week ago, I thought it was my choice.

Suddenly, I wasn’t so certain.

“If it bothers you, ask him to stop,” I finally said.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Spencer pressed, his eyes still glued to his brother.

It did. I had asked Holden to stop. But something about Spencer’s demeanor kept me from admitting that.

“You two can sort this out,” I said. Both their heads swiveled to me. Spencer looked shocked. Holden smirked. “Keep me out of your pissing contests.”

Because that’s what this was—a pissing contest—and I was the ultimate prize.