Page 46 of Picture Perfect

"I'm working an angle with the daughter. We need an in."

"Adelaide Winthrop," he muses, tapping a finger against the desk, its sound a staccato in the silence. "Something I should know? You're awfully willing to waltz right into the lion's den for her."

"Something like that," I acknowledge, my thoughts turning inward as I picture the Ice Princess's guarded green eyes, the way she seems to shield herself even when she thinks no one's watching. She's a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, and I can't shake the feeling that solving her mysteries will lead to some kind of salvation—maybe for both of us.

Not that she deserves it.

Mason sighs, a calculated exhalation that tells me he's weighing options, outcomes, risks. "You're playing a dangerous game, nephew."

"Maybe so," I concede, "but aren't the most dangerous games often the most rewarding?" I stand firm despite the quiver in my gut because I know this play, this move, could change everything. For us. Maybe her too.

Gen speaks up from the doorway. "Something's not adding up, Daddy," she says, and I hear the unspoken alliance in her tone. She's already thrown in her lot with the Ice Princess. And, I think she means it. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm not sure how Gen will react when she realizes the angle I'm playing, because it doesn't align with hers.

"Addy's like a ghost in her own life," she continues. "I... I know this isn't how we normally play things, but I'm worried. A family dinner could give us insight into the Winthrops' world."

"Insight?" Mason echoes, arching an eyebrow. "Or leverage?"

"Maybe both." My words are steel cloaked in velvet. Then, I soften them to lean into Gen's angle, knowing Mason is more likely to feed his daughter's hero complex than my need to conquer. "We can't protect her if we're blind to the threats she faces. And, those threats may help us take down a family like the Winthrops."

Mason's fingers drum against the desk, a rhythm of contemplation. "I don't like it," he finally admits. "But if Gen sees merit in this..."

"Think of it as recon," I suggest, stepping closer, the floorboards creaking beneath my weight. "We uncover their secrets, their weaknesses. Knowledge is power, Uncle."

"Power," Mason murmurs, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "And what do you plan to do with this power if you get it?"

"Save her," I confess, the truth ringing clear even to my own ears. "And maybe save ourselves from whatever game the Winthrops are playing." That's what really mattered here, anyway.

"Alright," Mason relents with a heavy sigh, interlocking his fingers as he considers me. "I'm listening. But remember, Rhett, every step into their world is a step into quicksand. Be sure you're ready to pull yourself out if you sink too deep."

I relax marginally, the first piece moved, the game truly begun. I've laid my cards on the table, but whether they'll win me the hand or cost me everything remains to be seen.

"Understood," I reply, feeling the gravity of the potential mire I'm suggesting we tread. And, I know he's really not going to like my plan. But, it serves multiple purposes for me, and the boys. "Here's what I'm thinking..."

Chapter twenty-two

Addy

The golden hour casts an amber glow through the sheer curtains of my room, turning everything it touches into a scene from some old-world painting. My own reflection in the mirror seems softer, almost forgiving, as if the light could wash away the sharp edges of reality.

Oh, how I wish that were true. I wish I could still see the beauty in this world, but my time in this house has beat the optimism right out of me. And I hadn’t had much to be optimistic about to begin with.

"Adelaide, do you realize what you've done?" William's voice slices through the quiet, his figure appearing behind me in the reflection, a ghostly sentinel in his tailored suit.

My heart stutters in my chest as I try to figure out what I could possibly have done to upset him now. He steps forward, pressing himself into my back until I can feel him growing hard.

I turn my head to face him, desperate to hide the fear I’m feeling. "No, I'm not entirely sure I do."

His lips twitch upward, an occurrence so rare that it feels like witnessing a lunar eclipse. "You charmed the Whitmans so thoroughly Mason himself has agreed to dinner because of you. Here. Tomorrow night." The words are laced with something akin to pride, but in this house, emotions are currency, and I'm never quite sure of their worth.

"Because of me?" The question slips out, laced with genuine bewilderment. It's not like William to dole out praise, especially when it comes to something as crucial as his political chess games.

"Indeed," he confirms, and I can't help but notice the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Your charm, Adelaide, has proven quite useful."

Before I can digest the weight of his words, the door bursts open and Cheryl sweeps into my sanctuary like a hurricane dressed in silk. She beelines for my closet, throwing open the doors and diving right in.

"Adelaide, darling," Cheryl coos, her voice a singsong as she rifles through my clothes with a fervor that sends hangers clinking and fabric swishing. "We must have everything perfect for the Whitmans. They're not just any guests after all."

I stand by my desk, arms folded, watching her whirlwind descent upon my wardrobe. "Perfect," I murmur, still grappling with the sudden shift in their treatment of me.

---