Page 21 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

I whisked Aria away, not sparing a backward glance. “That went well, don’t you think?”

She hummed as her heel twisted, but I kept my grip firm and she didn’t stumble. “Damn heels.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

“You do and you die. Now . . . let’s find some champagne.”

I raised a hand to signal one of the waiters carrying a tray full of flutes. “Pace yourself. This will be a marathon not a—”

“Broderick.”

I cringed at my full name and the voice delivering it. Christ. Was it too much to ask for just one minute between confrontations? Yes. Grandmother wasn’t one to give anyone a break, especially her eldest grandson.

She appeared in a flourish. Her jacquard dress and matching jacket were patterned with silver and pale green. Diamond earrings dripped from her ears. A matching pendant hung from her neck. Her white hair had been swept away from her face and twisted into an elegant knot.

“Grandmother.” I let go of Aria to take Grandmother’s hands in my own. Then I bent and brushed a kiss to her cheek.

“You missed the ceremony,” she scolded, shaking her hands free from my grip.

“Apologies.” Of course she didn’t know I hadn’t been invited. Alastair or Heather would have lied.

She tsked, her green eyes scrutinizing me from head to toe.

In my life, only two people had learned to rattle me with a single look. My grandfather. And my grandmother.

My skin itched and I struggled not to squirm as she stared. Then she whipped that cunning gaze to Aria.

I panicked. I should have warned Aria first. Clara knew about my grandmother, had put up with her for years, but this was all new to Aria.

“Who are you?” Grandmother’s words were spoken with deliberate breaks, like there was a harsh period between the spaces.

“I am Aria Saint-James.” Aria’s tone matched Grandmother’s, her enunciation nearly as precise and the tone as haughty.

And here I’d been worried for nothing. The knot in my gut eased. I should have expected Aria to meet attitude with attitude. She was not a woman to shrivel like so many dates had in the past under Grandmother’s examination.

“You’re not Clara,” Grandmother declared.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then who are you?”

“My date,” I answered.

Grandmother frowned. “Your taste continues to worsen. Clara might be your employee, but at least the girl can stand up straight and doesn’t need to drape herself all over you in public.”

“Oh, Brody. You didn’t tell me your grandmother was so charming and kind.”

Grandmother harumphed. “And she’s rude.”

“Rude can’t be helped.” Aria shrugged. “When we drew straws in the womb, Clara picked the ones for poise and grace. That left me with sass and sarcasm.”

“You are Clara’s twin sister?” Grandmother’s gaze moved to me. “Why would you bring her here?”

“Because Clara is sick. Aria volunteered to be my guest.”

Aria fixed on a sweet smile. “Clara has been telling me for years about Brody’s family. The stories seemed so cliché. I mean . . . certainly rich people couldn’t really be that shallow. When she got sick, I figured I could come here and see for myself. Per her usual, my sister was right.”

I choked on my own spit. Oh, fuck.