Page 35 of False God

I swear he milks being the baby of the family every chance he gets. Mom’s an only child, so the three of us are Gigi’s only grandchildren.

“I invited a few more guests, Josephine,” Grandfather declares.

We all glance at Gigi, whose lips are tightly pursed.

“You did what?”

“I was playing golf with William Waldorf, and he invited Derek Barclay to join us. Tonight’s festivities came up, and it would have been rude not to extend an invitation.”

Gigi huffs dramatically, then reaches for her portfolio and makes a note.

Grandfather sighs. “You ordered enough food for the entire East Coast. A few more people won’t be much of an imposition.”

My family is entirely silent. This is Gigi’s day. And her Red, White, and Blue party is the event she prioritizes over everything else. Everyone—most of all Grandfather—knows she doesn’t take well to last-minute changes made without her explicit authorization.

“A few more? How many people did you invite, Hanson?” With each word, Gigi’s tone climbs closer to shrill.

Another heavy sigh from Grandfather.

For the most part, he and Gigi have a symbiotic relationship. He has his priorities, and she has hers. This overlap is equivalent to her showing up on the fairway and telling him which club to choose.

“He said his wife would be coming. And that his stepson is visiting from England and would likely join them.”

“The duke?” Bash asks.

A cold weight drops in my stomach.Fuck no.

“Elizabeth!” Gigi exclaims. “What unbecoming language.”

That loud exclamation that was supposed to stay in my head? Turns out, I said it aloud.

“Sorry, Gigi,” I mutter.

Bash’s staring at me. So is everyone else. “You know Charles?”

“Youknow Charles?”

“I met him yesterday at the club,” Bash tells me. “Seems like a cool guy. Only knew he was a duke because his cousin talks about it.”

“How well acquainted are you with this aristocrat?” Gigi asks me, tilting her head to the side. Her neat chignon doesn’t so much as wobble with the movement.

“Could we not discuss Lili’s se—I mean, love life while I’m eating?” Kit drawls.

“Christopher,” Mom chides.

Following her disciplining, I don’t miss the flash of curiosity on her face. I told Mom I broke up with Lawrence—the lawyer I was dating in Chicago—but haven’t mentioned anyone since. Because there’s no onetomention.

“I’m not acquainted—I hardly know him. Not even hardly. I don’t know him.” The truth comes out more defensive than emphatic.

“He ghosted you, huh?”

“Christopher.” Dad this time.

“He did not.” I glare at my brother.

It should have occurred to me that Charlie might wind up at my grandparents’ party tonight. In the past two days, we’ve ended up in the same place three times. There was no advance warning at Kensington Consolidated or Number 34 or Atlantic Crest though. And those encounters were all prior to me informing Charlie I’d overheard him insulting me last summer.

I saw the look on Charlie’s face before I walked away yesterday—he got the message loud and clear. Rather than my feeling triumphant, the thought of seeing him later fills me with trepidation. Any outcome is far from ideal. Either he addresses what happened and I lose the armor of categorizing him as a smug snob, or he ignores it and I’ll have to act the part of polite hostess while watching everyone else fawn over him.

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