Page 75 of Deceit

A notification from my phone pulls me out of my thoughts as I grab my phone and glance at the screen. Irritation instantly rises in me as I see who it is.

Asshole Fiancé: Dinner at my father’s house tomorrow. Be ready by six. Wear something he will like.

Oh, fucking great.

I must make a displeased noise, because Ronan’s brows furrow as he looks at me.

“What’s wrong?”

I wave my phone at him and grimace.

“Looks like I’m having dinner with Asher and your brother tomorrow night.”

Instantly, he tenses. His hand on the wheel becomes stiff, and the hand that is cupping my knee tightens. I understand feeling on edge about Christopher, but Ronan is his brother. Surely, he can’t feel the same level of intimidation that I do, or even that Asher clearly does but won’t admit.

“Did he say why?” Ronan asks carefully.

“No, why?”

He presses his lips together in a firm line and doesn’t speak for a few moments.

“I’ll see if I can attend, don’t worry.”

I frown at that.

“Why should I worry? Is there something that I should be worried about?”

His icy blue eyes find mine as we come up to a stop light.

“When it comes to my brother? Always.”

A foreboding feeling settles low in my stomach. Well, great. I wasn’t worried before, just irritated that I’d have to spend an entire evening with Asher. Now I’m really worried as to what the night could be about.

“Do you think he knows? About you and me? Or me and Liam? Or, well, both?”

Ronan shakes his head immediately, giving me at least a semblance of relief.

“If he did, Liam and I would be rotting deep in the earth already.”

My face pinches at that.

“But, you’re his brother.”

“And if he finds out I plan on desecrating a match made by the Brethren, he’ll likely pull the trigger himself,” Ronan finishes.

I’m quiet for several seconds before I speak.

“You plan on desecrating our match?”

Ronan turns into a long road, mansions on either side of us as we cruise to the very end.

“Yes.”

“How?”

He lets out a heavy breath as we pull up to the house at the very end. A wrought iron gate swings open, allowing us inside before revealing a beautiful house. It’s not over the top and pretentious like my father’s home or Putnam manor. It’s elegant, without being ostentatious. The large pillars encasing the front porch are black, and as my eyes skate over the entirety of the house I realize that the entire thing is black. Such a stark comparison to all the typical crisp white homes I’ve seen so far. It’s beautiful in a gothic kind of way.

My admiration for the home is cut short, when he continues speaking.

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