Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
“On the basis of Ben having a terrific sense of smell,” Jane says pointedly and arches a brow, much like our father, at Charlie. “Which you can’t refute.”
“Which I’m not in the mood to,” Charlie combats sourly.
“This has really derailed from the point,” Dad says, then shifts his gaze to me. “Your mom and I look forward to meeting her.”
I nod slowly, my brain starting to spin around my plan. The roadblocks to these future paths.
“Final word,” Tom decrees to me. “Although you’re not sleeping with my enemy yet…”
My brows jut up at his pregnant pause. “Would you like me to air who you’re sleeping with during my opening?”
His smile is ginormous. “Ben Pirrip with the revenge plot.”
“The twist of the hour,” Eliot chimes in.
I cover my face in my hands and groan.
“Aim elsewhere,” Mom snaps at Tom.
“Fragile baby Ben,” Charlie notes.
I flip him off, coming out from my palms and sinking back in my chair.
“Charlie,” Dad says in a disappointed scold which always feels worse than Mom’s sharp reprimands.
“He’s fine,” I cut in, not wanting more tension at the table because of me. Then I nod Tom on. “Go ahead.”
Tom smiles softer at me. “I will not consider you being with Harry a betrayal, but rather a very blonde, very short, very great annoyance. Because I love you, brother.”
My lips begin to rise, and the rumble of feet around us makes my smile grow astronomically higher. The lively noise floods me. Fills me. Audrey even taps her spoon to the glass goblet. My bones thunder. My lungs expand. It’s hard not to be swept up in the infectious energy, especially when it’s for me.
“Merci infiniment,” I say. “Je t'aime aussi, mon frère.” Thank you infinitely. I love you too, my brother.
Tom’s smile twinkles his eyes. “But if she hurts you, she’s dead to me.” That is his final word, and he drops down into the chair.
Charlie lazily holds up a couple of fingers. “I invoke my right to pass,” he says the same words he’s used for almost every Wednesday night of his life.
Jane rises to her feet without standing on the chair or table. Embroidered lobsters are stitched into her lilac dress. The eccentric outfits have been her standard this month. “You’re all cordially invited to Maeve’s first birthday. The party is being held at The Independent.” She names the billiards bar she owns in Philly. “If you’d like to bring plus-ones, you’ll have to run it through Thatcher.” He’s in a high position in security, and I’m sure he’ll want to vet whoever attends. “We’d prefer no strangers or anyone you do not know particularly well.”
Beckett frowns a little. “Has there been any security issues recently?” He eyes Jane. “Do you have a stalker?”
“No.” She’s tense though.
My brothers and I are staring Thatcher down for the truth since Jane will try her best not to worry us.
“No stalkers,” Thatcher confirms, then looks to our dad.
From the head of the table, he informs us, “Rochester Industries is finalizing their acquisition of Celebrity Crush.”
Eliot grimaces. “The enemy of the family has been named.”
I’m so far removed from the Rochester drama. It’s beyond me, really, but I’m well aware that this affluent, assholish family has taken vested interest in us because they own a media conglomerate. And we’re a source of content. Meaning, we line their pockets every time they talk shit about us.
It doesn’t help that A.) the Rochesters are from the same area of Philadelphia. We grew up with those pricks. And B.) they’re about to own the most popular tabloid in the country.
“They might take unethical measures to gain headlines,” our dad cautions. “Just be wary who you talk to and bring around the family.”
Noted.
Jane returns to her seat, and Thatcher says, “I’m good to pass.” He’s the silent, brooding type and rarely likes to take the spotlight, even when offered. He’d prefer to watch Jane in it, I’m sure.
“Will you bring Harriet?” Audrey whispers to me. “To Maeve’s birthday?”
That’s November 15th.
I won’t be here. My muscles flex. “Maybe,” I whisper back.
“I’ll go next.” Beckett’s calm voice seizes our attention. He stabs a green bean with his fork and stares at his plate for a long, contemplative moment before his eyes lift to meet mine. “Ben.”
The way he says my name—with so much comfort and care like he could cradle those three letters for a lifetime. I’d let him. Flashes of last week cycle in my head.
The kitchen.
His arms.
My chest tightens and stomach sinks at the quick visual. I hate how one dark memory can slam to the front of my brain without warning. Without care. It feels like a violation because I didn’t ask to remember it in this gentle moment.
Beckett takes a steadying breath before he tells me, “I want to be here next Wednesday and the Wednesday after that. There’s not a moment I don’t want to be here, but it’s going to be impossible.”