Repent. Seriously? Wow.
“You’ll marry in the next six months,” he continues. “And you’ll stay married for at least a year.”
“And why would we want to do that?” Blake asks.
“Because”—Dad’s smile turns angelic, and goosebumps rise on the back of my neck; he only smiles like that before he goes for the jugular—“if you don’t, I’m going to donate your grandfather’s portraits of you to museums all over the world. You will never be able to own them.”
There is a moment of absolute stillness in the room. My mind runs like a speeding train about to derail. The painting…the painting that I set aside a special place for in my home for the time it would finally be mine. No way is Dad going to give it away! Over my dead fucking body!
All of us erupt at once, like a nuke landing on a volcano.
“You can’t do that!” Elliot shouts.
“What the fu—” Lucas bites off the rest.
“That’s preposterous,” Elizabeth says.
“Be reasonable, for fuck’s sake,” I say. “We can’t marry for something like this!” Despite my best effort, my voice rises at the end anyway, along with my fury and panic level.
“I’m going to have my attorney contact yours.” That comes from Blake, whose eyes have turned to something resembling black ice.
“I am being reasonable, and your lawyers won’t contact anybody. If there’s any legal interference, I’ll personally set the paintings on fire in the backyard and barbecue the juiciest steak I can find over the flames. Don’t think I won’t.”
I stare at Dad. The absolute certainty that he will do as he threatens sinks into me. I clench my hands and angle them discreetly so he can’t see them. I will not betray myself in front of him.
“You think you’re so clever and above reproach…” He sneers. “You think it’s easy to put yourself out there for love?”
“I’m sure it’s gotten easier. Practice makes perfect and all that,” I say.
“Don’t you dare judge me. You have a Facebook support group for all the women you’ve slept with and cast off like so many old socks!”
I grimace. That damn group. If I ever got dumped by someone, joining a Facebook group to talk about it with others who’d been dumped by the same person is the last thing I’d do. No, I’d fuck everything in sight and move on. That’s what the post-breakup script for Ryder the Actor calls for.
“All of you will learn some respect,” Dad says quietly.
It sends shivers down my back. He’s plotting something nasty. I can tell.
“One other thing,” Dad continues. “I know some of you are stubborn enough not to play ball, so nobody gets the paintings until all of you fulfill the conditions.”
“That’s bullshit!” Lucas yells, the scar starkly white on his face.
Dad merely smirks, but the joy radiating off of him is palpable. Wife Number Six, meanwhile, cringes away like the imperfection on Lucas’s face offends her.
Bitch.
“How do I know you’re going to keep your end of the bargain?” Elliot asks.
“I guess you’ll have to trust me on this, won’t you?” Dad gives us his signature smile—full of teeth and lacking in warmth. “Just like I trusted all of you to show up at my wedding.”
Chapter Four
Ryder
Julian and Wife Number Six leave, taking all the smugness out of the room. I stay behind with my siblings.
How could I have been so stupid as to believe Dad wouldn’t find a way to use the portraits against us? He loves to fuck with us, just to show that we’re nothing.
I don’t give a damn about any of the material stuff Dad has, but Grandpa’s paintings are another matter.
I realize I’m actually starting to panic a little. That isn’t like me, and it won’t solve anything. I force myself to relax. “Think it’s too late to sue?”
“Grandpa passed away seven years ago,” Elizabeth says. “Of course it’s too late to contest the will now.”
“There’s no surefire legal defense for patricide, is there?” Blake has a speculative look on his face.
“Maybe you just need a better lawyer.” My attempt at a joke falls flat.
“Be serious,” Elliot says. “What do we do?”
“Grandpa painted the portraits for us,” I say. “Us. Specifically. They’re our legacy from him.” Grandpa was the only one in the family who actually loved us unconditionally. Without him, we might’ve turned out like our cousin Iain—who used to get into cages and beat people up for shits and giggles—or Dane, god forbid, whose face shows up under the dictionary entries for asshole, cold-hearted and borderline sociopath.
“So we just get married for a year and hope that he hands them over?” Elliot says, even as his gaze slides in Lucas’s direction.
Of the five of us, Lucas is the one who might balk at playing ball…even if it means nobody inherits Grandpa’s legacy. It isn’t because he doesn’t care about Grandpa. Lucas adored him, just like rest of us. But ever since his accident, he’s changed—withdrawn and harsh.
None of us knows what happened, not even Elliot, but it kills me a little bit to see him like that. Lucas used to be so much more fun, bright and happy despite all the bullshit we had to grow up with.
“I’m having my attorney draft an agreement to ensure he actually hands them over.” Blake glares at Dad’s chair. “I don’t trust him…or his new wife.”
“If she knows how much they’re worth, she might talk Julian into not giving them up,” I say. Our grandfather, Thomas Reed, was a world-renowned painter. Each of the portraits is probably worth at least fifty million. “He sure knows how to pick them.”
Elizabeth sighs. “His wives are getting younger, greedier and dumber.”
“It doesn’t matter. This is nothing but mental masturbation,” Lucas says. “I’m not doing it.”
“You’re not?” She stares at him. “But you heard him. If you don’t do it, none of us has a chance.”
“Sorry. I know it’s important to you, but marriage isn’t something I can handle.”
“You don’t have to marry for real,” Elliot says. “Just get a good prenup in place, and you can ditch her after a year.”
Lucas grimaces. “Look how that’s working out for Uncle Salazar.”
“That’s a different situation. Prenups are working fine for our father,” I say. I have no idea what the hell’s going on with Salazar’s marriage, but I’m not letting it mess with Lucas’s head. He’s already messed up enough. “I can even recommend a good lawyer for that kind of stuff.”
“No. It’s not like that.” Lucas gets up. “Sorry I can’t. I gotta go. I have a plane to catch.” He walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Elliot drags his thick, blunt fingers through his shaggy hair. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around. I’ll talk with him later.”
“You sure?” Elizabeth says, a frown pinching her brow.