Page 7

That whole thing about presenting a united front was bullshit. How had I missed that?

My anxiety soars, knocking the wind out of me.

“Watch out, I got her.” Weston takes the place of whoever was at my door, his touch lacking the gentleness of the one before it.

His hand lands heavy on my skin, tightening in a death grip before his clipped words burst my stunned bubble.

“Get out of the fucking car, Delilah.”

“Wes…wait, what?—”

My words falter when he pulls me out of the passenger seat, yanking me against his body until my feet are planted firmly on the stone beneath us. I grip my small handbag in my left hand, sucking in a gasp when his fingers clinch the area above my elbow like a vise.

“Stop being dramatic and let’s go.”

Dramatic?

I swallow a thousand words and blink at him, forcing my eyes to say what I can’t right now.

Please don’t make me do this.

I’ll do anything else.

Wes doesn’t blink at the plea in my gaze and roughs meup a second time before releasing a breath that smells too much like whiskey for someone who just spent an hour behind the wheel.

“You are not going to fucking embarrass me.” One strong shove away from him and I stumble back on my heels just in time to catch the eye of the attendant who tried to help me out the car.

The woman is dressed in a crisp white shirt and black vest to match her slacks. Her vacuous stare sends a shiver creeping over me.

Before me, Weston adjusts his suit jacket, his jaw flexing while he cuts his cold eyes in my direction.

Without a word, I fall in stride beside him. Tall hedges line the front of the manor, lights tucked away at their bases, lighting the way to the entrance of the building.

Unfortunately, I can’t appreciate the beauty of the landscaping because all my brainpower is trained on making sure the tremble in my legs doesn’t send me tumbling in these heels.

Thirty-two steps. That’s how many I count before Weston pulls up short in front of the grand entrance.

The weight of his hold slips from my upper arm to my wrist. His hand wraps around it effortlessly, shackling me in place beside him.

“This innocent act don’t mean shit to me, so you can cut it out.” He skims his eyes over me, zeroing in on my unshed tears. “Now fix your face. You will not fucking embarrass me tonight,” he repeats. “We clear on that,sis?”

Every time he calls me that, a sick feeling overwhelms me. I don’t answer. I can’t.

“Please, Wes…” My plea is cut short when the massive door swings open, revealing a vacant smile and another set of vacuous eyes. The man they’re attached to has on a three-piece suit with a single rose affixed to his lapel. All I notice is that the rose is positioned upside down.

My face falls. I don’t remember my father wearing a rose like that. Then again, there’s no shortage of things about him I’m always trying to forget, so maybe it escaped me. A quick scan of my brother’s attire leaves more questions pooling in my mind.

No rose.

“Mr. Rose, welcome back. Ms. Rose, good to see you.”

My brother squeezes my wrist in warning, and I nod with a faint smile in greeting.

“Your devices, please.” In our direction, the man holds out a tall, blue sleeve with a zipper on top, waiting for our obedience.

Weston reaches into his breast pocket before dropping his phone inside without hesitation.

“Ms. Rose?” the attendant prompts when I stand there, unmoving.