Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Cora’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, Landry. Nan said it was a tricky situation, but…”
“Nan is a master of understatement.” I blew out a breath.
“Does Kenji know about, uh…” She waved her hand around the historic kitchen with antique copper pots hanging from hooks and the old brass servant bells still hanging on a board by the door to the butler’s pantry. “You being the earl?”
Of course she’d figured out right away who I’d meant. It wasn’t like I’d never spoken about him to her.
“Viscount,” I said instinctively. “I am still Viscount Hawling. I won’t be earl for many years, hopefully. And no, I haven’t told him about my fucking hereditary peerage, Cora. God.” I laughed shortly. “I wanted the guy to like me. Kenji believes in working hard and achieving your due through diligence and dedication—”
“You work hard!”
“I work hard managing land and investments that were handed to me at the entrance of my mother’s cervix. That’s a bit like saying I work hard carrying all of my heavy piles of cash around.”
“Don’t be crass. You can’t help being born into wealth. It’s what you do with it that counts. And you do amazing things. This morning memo alone was a testament to your talent in structuring budgets, optimizing disbursement timing,—”
“You know how your mother believes anyone born above Hampstead Heath is a fundamentally good person? Imagine the inverse of that,” I instructed. “Kenji is a… a reverse snob. He thinks a person’s worth is directly related to how hard he works. You should hear the way he talks about our friend Zane’s sacrifices for his fans, or Dev staying up all night helping his mare deliver a foal, or Bash for winning a cutthroat negotiation, or… or… Silas for landing another new consulting gig. When I landed the Armani contract, he said, ‘I’m surprised they went for a blond when brunets are more classic.’” I ran a hand through my carefully highlighted locks and shot her an aggrieved look.
Cora bit her lip, fighting a grin. “I have often said I liked your hair better when it was—”
“Zzzzzt.” I made a cutting motion through the air. “I’ll have you know, this color takes an astronomical amount of commitment to achieve. No one outside the family would guess it’s not natural unless they’ve seen up close and personal that my carpet doesn’t match my curtains.”
Cora’s smile slowly faded. “Landry, have you considered that Kenji can’t truly love you when you haven’t let him truly know you? The real you, I mean. You are a hard worker.”
I rubbed a hand over my stomach, where hot coffee churned. “That’s just it. He has known the real me. He knows Landry Davis. And Landry Davis has made some questionable decisions.”
Kenji knew things about me that no one else did. He knew about my obscene wealth—by which I meant my second round of wealth, which had come when the Brotherhood and I had sold our software program, and the third round, which had come thanks to my modeling career—and how I liked to manage and donate it.
He knew I considered the Brotherhood my chosen family and that I sometimes cried listening to Zane’s songs—especially the happy ones he’d been writing recently—because, of all the brothers, Zane was the one I felt most protective of.
He knew about my love for cheese curls—the American snack food that might or might not contain actual cheese—a love that I would not divulge to my personal trainer or modeling agent under any circumstances.
He knew I liked classical music but hated opera, that I couldn’t sit through a movie in the theater or at home without licorice whips, and that I thought lobsters were strange and terrifying.
In other words, he knew everything about me that was important to know.
At least everything I thought was important to know.
I was aware he wouldn’t see it that way once he learned about my family.
“This—” I waved my hand around the ancient kitchen a bit desperately. “—this isn’t me, Cora. This is Everett Davencourt, Viscount Hawling. Someone I never wanted to be.”
Cora’s face softened with sympathy. As the person next in line to inherit my father’s estate if I died without a child, she knew better than anyone the responsibilities that came with this privilege. While she’d no doubt manage everything better than I would, she’d never once implied she had any desire for it to come to her instead of me.
“It is a part of you, though,” she said quietly. “You might not want the position, but being a Davencourt is as much a part of you as… as being a Yale graduate. As being a model.”
I said nothing. I wanted to argue that being a peer was over there, something that wasn’t relevant to my current life and therefore didn’t count, but we both knew it was more like an alarm clock I’d hit Snooze on one too many times.