My hands tighten on her arms as I lean back, wanting to shake her. “You can’t walk around the city without security, Olivia.”

She just looks at me with that same blank expression. “No, I can. You can’t, but I can.”

“I’ve been going out of my mind!”

Her voice is colorless. Drained. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why? I’m just in-house American pussy that you’re not tired of yet.”

Horror slams into me like a sledgehammer, punching the air from my lungs, choking off my response.

“Just a cunt your friend is welcome to have at, but not until you’re finished because you don’t share.”

“Olivia, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean for me to hear? Yeah, I got that.” She shakes out of my arms and backs away, her eyes hard and distrustful. “How could you say those things?”

“I didn’t mean them.”

“I don’t care if you meant them, you said them! Is that how you talk about me with your friends, Nicholas?” She points at Simon.

And I don’t give a fuck that we have an audience.

I approach her and hiss, “Lancaster is not my friend.”

“He sounded like your friend.”

“He’s not! It’s just…it’s just the way things are here.”

Olivia shakes her head and her voice becomes clogged, strained with the effort of holding back tears. “If that’s how it is, then I’m going home. I thought I could do this, but…I don’t want to anymore.”

When she turns, I yell, “Stop!”

She doesn’t bother to turn around. “Fuck off!”

I grab her arm. And then she does swing around. Slapping me so hard my head snaps to the side and my cheek throbs.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Olivia faces me, her feet shoulder-width apart, hands curved into claws, eyes darting—like a beautiful, wild, cornered animal—that’s been wounded.

“Let me explain.”

“I’m leaving!” she screeches.

My face goes hard, tight, and anger sharpens my words—because she won’t goddamn listen.

“Clue in, love—the car’s mine, the house is mine, the whole fucking country is mine! You’re not going anywhere because I’ll tell them not to take you anywhere.”

She lifts her chin, shoulders back. “Then I’ll walk to the airport.”

“It’s too far—you can’t walk.”

“Watch me!”

Franny’s voice, musical and calm, like a preschool teacher’s, comes between us.

“Children, children…that’s enough of that.”

She takes both of Olivia’s hands in hers, turning her back to me. “Olivia, Nicholas is right—it’s dreadful outside; you can’t walk anywhere. And you look terrible—you can’t go out like this!”

She turns to Fergus. “Fergus, have a bath drawn and bring a bottle of Courvoisier to Olivia’s room.”

Franny pushes Olivia’s hair back, the way you would for a sad little child. “A nice hot bath, a good drink, and if you still want to leave in the morning, I’ll drive you myself.” Her dark eyes glare at me pointedly. “I have my own car.”

Olivia shudders when she inhales, like she’s on the verge of tears—and the sound is tearing at me.

“Go on now,” Franny tells her. “I’ll be up in a moment.”

When Olivia leaves the room, I move to follow, but Franny steps into my path.

“Oh no, you stay here.”

“Simon,” I say with a scowl, “collect your wife before I say something I’ll regret.”

But Franny just tilts her head, appraising me. “I used to think you were a selfish bastard, but I’m starting to believe you’re just a fool. A double-damned idiot. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“Then I guess it’s good that I don’t give a turtle’s arse-crack about your opinion of me.”

The only indication that she heard me is the sharp lift of one side of her pink mouth.

“I think you like her clueless—it makes her dependent on you. And it keeps her innocent. Untainted by this cesspool the rest of us swim around in every day. But you’ve left her vulnerable. She doesn’t understand the rules. She doesn’t even know the name of the game.”

“So, you’ll what?” I growl. “Teach her to play?”

Franny’s dark eyes blaze.

“Oh no, silly boy—I’ll teach her to win.”

I’ve never tasted brandy before. When Franny handed me my first glass, she warned me to sip, not gulp. The first taste felt hot in my mouth and burned its way down my throat. But now—three glasses later—it’s like drinking a melted peach in a glass, thick and sweet.

The combination of liquor and a hot bath has made me feel calmer. No, that’s not right—I feel numb. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse for me and Nicholas, but I’m not thinking about him right now. Because Franny has kept me busy.

I’m tucked into the snow-white couch, engulfed in an oversized cashmere robe, my hair down and wet—curling around me as it dries. I have Franny’s iPhone in my hand, looking through the pictures on her Instagram account. It’s a veritable who’s who of Wessco’s rich and famous, and Franny’s been filling me in on their dirty not-so-secret secrets and sins.

“Meth-head Bitch.” Franny paces behind the couch like a drill instructor. “She tried cooking up her own batch and almost burned her family’s castle to the ground.”