Page 22 of Break My Rules

“Oh, they did,” Imogen replies, getting up to help me adjust the tiny straps. “The amount of money that family spent on the weekend? They couldn’t call it off. Rumor has it, the special friend joined them on the honeymoon, too.”

She stands back and gives an approving nod. “We’ll say yes to this one, too.”

I swallow. We’ve been saying yes to an awful lot of expensive things, and even though I’m supposed to just wave Saint’s credit card around, I can’t help adding up the total, and coming up with a jaw-dropping figure.

Imogen must see the panic in my eyes, because she smiles. “Don’t worry. He can afford it.”

“Can he?” I venture. We’ve already picked out three gowns, two cocktail dresses, and a ton of chic pants and sweaters, not to mention the pile of boots and accessories Imogen has assembled… There must be over fifty thousand pounds of merchandise here, draped casually around the room.

“You really don’t know?”

When I turn back, Imogen is looking at me, curious. “Know what?” I reply.

“The St. Clairs are loaded,” she says, as matter-of-fact as ever.

“Yes, but Saint is just a professor,” I argue. “He’s an academic—”

“With an eight-figure trust fund he inherited the day he turned twenty-five.” Imogen finishes for me. “And that’s just for starters. I know he likes to run around acting like one of those libertine poets he teaches, you know, living off passion and pleasure alone, but the man is heir to one of the oldest, richest estates in the country. And then you have Ashford Pharma too…” she shrugs. “Look, I know us Brits like to be terribly tight-lipped about money, but you should know the situation. Especially if things are getting serious between you.”

I take a seat, processing her words. I always knew Saint was wealthy, but in a vague, distant way. I had no idea just what that really meant.

“What else should I know?” I ask finally. “About Saint, I mean. You know him better than anyone, and God knows you don’t sugarcoat the truth,” I add. Imogen is every inch the perfect debutante, but she has a direct intelligence and wit that I like. I can trust her for more than just the usual polite small talk.

Imogen takes a sip of champagne, thoughtfully assessing me. “Well, you know about his taste for wide-eyed students, I’m sure?”

I nod. “I’ve heard the stories. He has a reputation at Ashford.”

“And it’s earned. He likes variety. Fresh adventures, new conquests,” Imogen continues, rolling her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the man like a brother, but he’s never met a committed relationship he didn’t turn and run from in the opposite direction. Until you,” she adds, sounding curious. “He seems different now. Clearly, you know how to keep him on a short leash.”

I get a flash of memory from that sex club he took me to; the woman leading her partner around like a leash. I cough, spluttering over my champagne. “Sorry,” I blurt, recovering. “It’s nothing.”

Imogen seems so polished and self-contained, I’m not about to shock her with any news about Saint’s wilder side.

“I know things are rocky with his family,” I add, scoping for more information. “After what happened with Edward…”

Imogen nods, looking sadder. “Saint worshipped him. We all did. Edward was one of the good ones, and when he was killed in Afghanistan… Nobody knew how to deal with it. Out of nowhere, everything was different—for Saint especially. He’d never been expecting to inherit the title, and even now, I think he’s still in denial about what that means.”

“His younger brother, Robert, seems more suited to the role,” I say. “Saint says he’s already working at Ashford Pharma and helping out with family stuff. Why can’t he take on the official duties?”

Imogen gives me a rueful smile. “It doesn’t work that way. Unfortunately, the Ashford estate is entailed through the male line. Saint is now the oldest son, so he’s the one who’ll get it all. Whether he wants it, or not.”

“That doesn’t seem fair, on either of them.” I frown.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of the British aristocracy,” Imogen smirks. “Fairness and equality isnoton the menu, I’m afraid.”

I nod, processing. Saint isn’t just from a foreign country to me, he’s from a foreign world. One where birthrights and legacy seem to have these people locked into a destiny the moment they were born.

“His mom…” I start, hesitant. Imogen looks over. “She doesn’t seem to like me that much.”

“Aunt Lillian doesn’t like anything, except Chanel, showjumping, and her pack of Poodle Schnauzers,” Imogen jokes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“She sort of warned me off, from dating Saint,” I add, remembering the scene at the hospital, and all her icy determination.

“Of course she did.” Imogen sees my expression and softens. “Look, in this world, marriage is still seen as something of… a merger,” she declares. “Sure, nobody’s forcing us down the aisle anymore, or writing marriage contracts when we’re still in the cradle, but there’s still an awful lot of pressure to make the right choice. The right person, from the right family, with the right pedigree, who’ll bring advantage for everyone. There’s a reason Max Lancaster is marrying an aristocrat like Annabelle, who’s thirty-eighth in line for the English throne—and an even bigger billion-pound reason why she’s marrying him. And it’s not just young love. You’re an outsider, with no money or bloodlines,” Imogen continues. “You’re the last person they’re going to want for him.”

“Well… That’s just great,” I say dryly, and she laughs.

“Look, Saint doesn’t buy into any of that nonsense. So, if things are working for the two of you, don’t concern yourself with Lillian’s opinion.”

---