Page 70 of The Fiancée Farce
Gemma opened her mouth, but Brooks held up a hand.
“To be more precise, your engagement is presumably real, but yourrelationshipwith Tansy Adams is not.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She might be too tired for games, but she’d be damned if she dug her own grave. “Tansy and I are partners.”
Brooks tutted. “I’m disappointed in you, niece. You do us both a disservice by playing dumb.”
“You’re disappointed?” She laughed. “Join the club.”
Maybe she’d buy everyone T-shirts. Or pins. Some way of identifying themselves as members of theGemma van Dalen Disappointed Me Club.
Ooh, or a handshake. Everyone loves a good secret handshake.
“If you’re looking for pity from me, you won’t find it. I wrote the book on being a black sheep long before you were ever born.” His face softened. “My sympathy, on the other hand—”
“Is unwelcome.” She crossed her arms, feeling too exposed. “And I’m not attempting to pull the wool over your eyes. Tansy and Iarepartners.”
It wasn’t a lie. Partners in crime were a thing. It counted.
“I can see we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, so let’s start over.” Brooks kicked his heels up on her coffee table. “Iknow, andyouknow that I know, and right now, if you’re anything like me, you’re probably asking yourself what I plan to do with this knowledge.”
Oh, she hated him. Except she didn’t. Not even a little bit. “Hypothetically, let’s say you’re right.”
“Then, hypothetically of course, the answer to that”—Brooks stretched his arms along the back of the couch—“would be not a damn thing.”
Gemma cut her eyes. “If something seems too good to be true, it is. What do you want?”
“Well.” Brooks smirked. “I wouldn’t say no to a pony.”
Infuriating.Making her laugh at a time like this. “Be serious.”
“I am serious as the heart attack that killed my father.”
She sighed, too tired for games. “What do you really want, Brooks?”
“From you?” His brows rose and fell. “Nothing.”
“Nothing,” she repeated, still not buying it.
“I like you, Gemma. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best of a bad bunch. And while my feelings about my father are complicated, Van Dalen Publishing is his legacy, the legacy of his father before him. I would certainly rather see you in control of the destiny of that legacy than someone like Tucker.” Brooks rolled his eyes. “I know he’s my nephew, but dear Lord, that boy is an utter chucklefuck. An utter chucklefuck who seems to think he has some sort of ace up his sleeve.”
Hmm. “Meaningwhatexactly?”
“MeaningI was at the estate on Sunday, inventorying the wine cellar—”
“Stealing, you mean.”
“No one in this family appreciates a vintage Bordeaux the way I do. It’s gathering dust down there.” He sniffed. “It’ssad.”
“You speak for the wine now?”
“What? No, I—” Brooks laughed. “That was terrible.”
“It made you laugh.”
“Mypointis that I happened to be at the estate when Tucker and Sterling dropped by for a drink with your father. I overheard them discussing you and your, quote, unquote,farce of an engagement, and their plans to outwit you.”
That sounded ominous if not vague. “Outwit mehow?”
