Page 30 of Crave

He didn’t sigh. He never did. He looked at me with that calm, devastating scrutiny he used in court to make witnesses forget their own names.

“The law is a family profession, Tristan. It isn’t a side project. I accepted your decision to take a Master’s after your call to the Bar. To break tradition. I even tolerated your relationship with a Montgomery. But I will not stand by while you waste the advantage your name affords you.”

I smiled without warmth. “Then perhaps I’ll see you across the Well someday. You can test how far that advantage gets you.”

The silence following had the weight of a verdict waiting to be read.

Mother’s smile wavered; Amelia bit back a grin. Father’s jaw flexed once, a small betrayal of control. The rest of the morning slipped back into its usual choreography.

“Now, now, gentlemen.” Mother rose, gathering the leftover pastries. “Play nicely.”

She carried them to the counter, setting them down for Mrs Linton, who would undoubtedly relocate them the moment we left.

“Eat up, Milly, darling. We have shopping.”

Amelia shovelled in the last of her fruit and yogurt.

“How did you hear, anyway?” I asked her.

“It was on the group chat.”

“Group chat? Who’s in this group chat?”

She licked the spoon clean. “Pearl, Tatiana, Lila, Arabella.” She smiled. “And me.”

“Right.” I tutted. “Wonderful.”

Pearl was Oliver’s old pal from preschool days, Tatiana was someone else in his circle, bringing it to Lila who roamed St Mary’s with my sister. News really does travel fast in our circles.

“Don’t worry.” Amelia hopped off her stool. “You came out fine. Everyone knows he cheated.”

I glanced at Father. His expression hadn’t shifted, but the judgment was clear. Not anger at the betrayal itself, but profound distaste that it had happened to a Hale-Fitzroy. Especially at the hands of a Montgomery, a boy whose family dealt in investment funds and thought a few million made them equals. In our world, the pecking order was rigid. And I’d been discarded by someone several rungs below.

Mother came up behind me, settling her cool, manicured hands on my shoulders as she pressed a quick kiss to my hair. “How about a little retail therapy with me and your sister? Harrods, then lunch. She needs new school shoes, and you”—she ruffled my hair—“could certainly do with a fresh cut. Nothing like looking good for the grand revenge, hmm?”

“I’d planned on doing some laps.” I peered up to witness the disappointment that I hadn't immediately signed up for her healing ritual. “Maybe the gym. A facemask.”

“You can do that after. We’ll do it together.” She gave my shoulders a proprietary squeeze. “I’ll book Raquel. Massages, too. Oh, it will be like old times!” She clapped her hands, airy and bright.

At least I was my mother’s second favourite.

I was definitely my father’s least.

Especially now, as I met his gaze across the marble tabletop.

“Or you could join Marcus and I?” Father’s lips twitched. “He’ll be over later to discuss some business.”

Business. Meaning Marcus, my elder brother who worked for the Home Office, was liaising with my father, a King's Counsel, to secure a complex prosecution. Likely involving Organised Crime or National Security. A high-profile case requiring direct counsel and coordination between government policy and the Crown Prosecution Service. They were working to put someone unsavoury away for a very long time.

But I hadn’t come home to be useful.

Or taught.

So I nodded up to Mother. She grinned. Winked at Father.

Maybe she was right. What better way to scrub off the last twenty-four hours than to trade the stale stink of an East London alley for the sharp scent of eucalyptus oil and a silk robe?

If anything could scrub away the phantom touch of rough hands on me, it was an overpriced hour of Mayfair absolution.