Page 147 of Twisted Knight

“Last I checked, Chad wasn’t on the police force.”

“Honey, haven’t you figured it out yet? Westmore might as well be called Williamsmore or Rothschildmore. We’re as much a part of this town as the soil itself. Born and bred. Tried and true.” She smiles but all I see is her smugness, and the corruption she wears like a second skin. “With the Williamses being the law side and the Rothschilds being the captains of industry, this town would do anything for our families.”

I know. Believe me, I fucking know.

“Chief’s dad was a chief and his grandaddy was too. My daddy and his daddy before him have been the circuit solicitor. That’s why everyone is silently rooting for these two to get married sooner rather than later. That way, Rowan can quit that silly company and get to work on what she was born to do—give me grandchildren.” She laughs and her chest bounces with the motion. “We need a chief or another solicitor in training to be born, and fast.”

Jesus fucking Christ, this place is backward.

I’m not exactly sure how Chad’s dad being the chief has anything to do with why people are silently rooting for them but I’ve heard enough.

“And what does Rowan think about that?” I ask.

She squeals again, but this time I catch what she sees. Chad lifting an appetizer to Rowan’s mouth for her to take a bite. My hands clench.

“There you are,” Mallory says as she slides a hand around my waist and presses a kiss to my cheek.

I smile politely. “Haven’t moved,” I say, fighting the urge to look back at where Rowan and Chad are.

“We could get out of here,” she murmurs, her eyes lighting up as they meet mine. “There are plenty of other things we could be doing?”

My smile is as automatic as any man’s would be when a gorgeous woman suggests something like that, but fuck if I have any desire to leave a barbecue I was dreading coming to in the first place.

And no doubt it has to do with the woman Florence is still stalking with her eyes.

“And who is this?” Florence asks when she realizes someone is beside me.

“Florence Williams, this is Mallory Sanders,” I offer but don’t give any more of a description of who she is to me, because fuck if I know.

This is me heeding Audrey’s warning.

This is me trying to mitigate distractions.

This is me standing beside Mallory while only wanting to talk to Rowan.

The Rowan who literally locked eyes with me when I walked in, and then froze when she saw the woman on my arm. I’ve had enough scotch to dull how the hurt glancing through her eyes made me feel.

But not nearly enough to forget it.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Mallory says, her hand extended and her sultry smile as much a part of her as the air she breathes.

“I wasn’t aware you had a girlfriend,” Florence says.

“Didn’t think there was a need for a memo,” I state, not answering her question. But as my hand rests on Mallory’s lower back, my eyes flick back over to Rowan.

“It just melts my heart to see them like this,” Florence says, following my gaze as she puts a hand to her chest and coos. Fucking coos. “To watch the yarns of like start to weave themselves into a blanket of love.”

“Stop badgering the man, Florence,” Emmaline says as she walks up to us.

Saved by yet another overbearing mother who raised another entitled, pretentious prick.

“Mrs. Rothschild, you have a lovely home,” I say.

“Please, Holden. I told you both to call me Emmaline. And I do hope you are enjoying yourselves. What’s ours is yours.”

You have no fucking idea how true that is, Emmaline.

Your daughter. Your company. Your fucking future.