“We’ll be at Mansion on the Hill, in case you need to get hold of us,”

she continued, clearly speaking to me as her eyes roamed the junk food contaminating her pristine kitchen.

“And, of course, your father will have his cell phone on.”

“Aww, Mom,” Ethan said, stepping up behind her to lay a heavy arm across her shoulders. “She may be a spoiled brat, but she’s old enough to take care of herself for a couple of hours.”

“Yes, of course you’re old enough,” my mother continued. She smiled at me and patted Ethan’s hand affectionately where it rested on her shoulder. “Old habits die hard sometimes.”

My mother was a study in contradiction. Petite, prim, and delicate, she was the embodiment of feminine grace, with a backbone of pure steel. She was both overbearing and soft-spoken, hiding the power she’d once wielded on the Territorial Council behind the facade of a cultured 1950s model housewife.

“Come on, Ethan, we’re going to be late,” Jace cal ed from the hallway, his footsteps clomping toward the front door. He was dating again, and would smile back at me if I smiled at him first, but we were never alone together anymore, and he’d stopped teasing me entirely.

Things between us had not been the same since I told him I was in love with Marc, and as sad as that made me, it seemed to be a necessary sacrifice for the peace of the household.

“Don’t forget, your father wants you both in the barn by nine-forty-five,” Mom said, trying to brush the wrinkles from Ethan’s shirt.

He frowned and swiped at her hand. “We’ll be there. Eventually.”

Jace stepped into sight behind them both and smacked Ethan’s head, sending straight black locks flying. “We’ll be early.” He pulled Ethan toward the front door by one arm, never quite making eye contact with any of the rest of us. “Save me some pizza.”

“Get your own!” Vic yelled as the front door closed.

“Pizza again?” Mom came closer to inspect. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt the three of you to take a bite of something green every now and then.”

Grinning, I grabbed my “salad” from the counter behind me and popped a piece of lettuce into my mouth, crunching it loudly as I chewed.

“There.” I set the bowl down and crossed my arms beneath my breasts, leaning against the counter to smile at her. “Happy now?”

“It’s a start,” she conceded, refusing to rise to my bait. “But next time add some tomatoes and carrots.”

“But I didn’t make—”

“Karen!” my father bellowed from across the house, cutting off my protest.

“There’s no reason to shout, Greg. I can hear you even when you whisper.” My mother shot me a conspiratorial eye roll, as if we shared some kind of special experience by virtue of tolerating the male sex.

I took another bite of Marc’s pizza, ignoring her. I refused to willingly bond with her unless she could pick an activity that didn’t require me to use my feminine wiles. I’d misplaced them sometime during adolescence.

My father appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a black three-piece, which showed off the tall, athletic figure he’d kept even in his midfifties. The silver vest and tie brought out streaks of silver in his hair. His eyes, the same vibrant green as Ethan’s, contrasted bril iantly with the monochromatic formality.

“You look great, Dad,” I said, wishing I could hug him without getting pizza grease all over his clothes.

“I agree.” My mother wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder as her hands snuck beneath the material of his jacket to snake around his back. My heart ached as I watched them, recognizing a pose Marc and I had struck countless times. But surely we’d never looked as in love, as picturesque, as they did.

In that moment, I was absolutely sure I’d done the right thing by keeping my mother’s secret. They should look like that forever, and her secret, while it probably wouldn’t end their marriage, would end the possibility of any more embraces like that.

“Where are you two going all dressed up like movie stars?” Vic asked.

My mother shot us a tight, suffer-in-silence smile. “We’re meeting with the head of the Dallas City Planning Commission.”

“You’ll never be back by nine-thirty,” Marc said, vocalizing almost my exact thought. “We can always meet in the morning, instead.”

“No.” My father didn’t even hesitate. “We are not going to leave a corpse to rot in the barn because of a business dinner. Any business dinner.”

I smiled at my father’s resolve, wiping pizza grease from my chin with a paper towel. His career depended upon him making and keeping the right connections, but he would let nothing get in the way of Pride business.

“Your mother will develop a migraine around eight, and we’ll have to excuse ourselves to take care of her. So don’t risk being late because you think I won’t make it. I will.”

None of us doubted it. My father didn’t make plans he couldn’t keep.

Nor did he bluff. He was a horrible poker player, but one of the best Alphas in the entire world. I should know. I’d been on the receiving end of his wisdom and guidance more often than anyone else in the Pride. He was hoping some of it would rub off.

I wasn’t holding my breath.

Chapter Nine

Three and a half hours later, the pizza was gone, the kitchen was clean, and Parker was back from New Orleans, having stashed the van in the barn without bothering to remove the body first. Not that I could blame him.