Page 36 of False God

None of it should matter. After tonight, there’s a good chance I’ll never seen him again. According to Fran, he’s in a relationship—poor girl.

But I’m still bothered.

“If you don’t know him, why don’t you like him?”

I glower at Bash, who’s decided to battle Kit for the title of Most Annoying Brother this morning. “I find him … pretentious.”

And rude and condescending and entitled and haughty and … fascinating.

“Well, heisa duke,” Gigi says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for any character flaw.

Two servers enter the dining room with fresh plates of food. Once they return to the kitchen, Gigi launches into today’s schedule.

I try to pay attention, but mostly focus on my plate.

Hundreds of people will be attending the patriotic party tonight. If I decide to, I’ll be able to avoid Charlie entirely.

9

I’m halfway down the stairs when the front door opens and Charles Marlborough strolls into the entryway. My foot fumbles on a step, the point of the heel slipping to the left. I tighten my grip on the railing as I swear under my breath.

A thousand guests and another hundred staff are at this event, and we’re the only two people in the soaring entryway.

I can’t go back upstairs without him seeing me. I can’t continue downstairs without him seeing me. I’m screwed either way.

My chin lifts, and I avoid Charlie’s eyes as I carefully descend the rest of the curved staircase. The last thing this moment needs is me falling flat on my face.

I don’t need to look at him. I already memorized his appearance—the shade of his suit and the variety of flowers in the beautiful bouquet he’s holding. He abided by the patriotic dress code, wearing a blue suit and a crisp white button-down. No tie. Two buttons undone to show off the twin curves of his collarbone and tease at the tan skin of his chest.

Fuck him for being so good-looking.

I’m regretting my choice of red dress. Together, we look … coordinated. Complete.

I reach the marble floor, forced to face him.

He speaks first, shattering the deafening silence. “Elizabeth.”

“Charles.”

His gaze doesn’t stray away from my face, ignoring the low neckline of my dress and the opulent furnishings of my grandparents’ summer home.

“You’re supposed to head straight into the backyard,” I inform him haughtily. “Not come inside.”

The sole job of five of the hundred employees my grandmother has working this event is to direct foot traffic from the parking area straight toward the patio and tent.

“I asked to put these in water.” Charlie lifts the flowers a couple of inches. “Figured they would wilt fast in this heat.”

They would. It’s blazing hot out. I’m dreading leaving the air-conditioning to go mingle by the pool, barely recovered from the tennis match earlier. I had to shower twice to feel like I was sweat-free.

A vent blasts the sweet perfume of the bouquet straight into my face, mixed with the intoxicating aroma of whatever musky aftershave or cologne Charlie wears. Some scent that makes me want to inhale deeper.

I hold a hand out, wiggling my fingers impatiently. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well,Ido,” I snap.

He studies me for a few seconds, then takes one step closer.

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