Brutal Prince Bonus Scene (Brutal Birthright, #1.5)(18)

“Don’t be a martyr just cause my leg got fucked,“ Sebastian says. “You marrying that psychopath isn’t going to fix it.”

“It won’t fix your knee,” I say, “but it might stop anything else from happening.”

There’s silence between us for a minute, and then I say, “I’m really sorry that—”

“Don’t apologize again,” he says. “I mean it. First off, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was.”

“No, it wasn’t. We all chose to go to the party. You didn’t make that meathead stomp on me. And second, even if it was your fault, I wouldn’t care. I’ve got two knees, but only one sister.”

I can’t help snorting at that.

“That’s really sweet, Seb.”

“It’s true. So come here.”

I come closer to the bed so Sebastian can give me a side-arm hug. I rest my chin on his hair, which is the messier and curlier than ever. It feels like lamb’s wool against my skin.

“Quit beating yourself up about it. I’ll be fine. You just figure out a way to get along with the Griffins. Because going into this like you’re going into battle is only going to make things harder,” Seb says.

That’s the only way I know how to do it, though—head down, covered in armor. I approach everything as a fight.

“When can you leave?” I ask Sebastian. “Cause apparently I’m supposed to have an engagement party tomorrow night . . .”

“I wish I could come,” Sebastian says wistfully. “Them and us, all forced to dress up fancy and be nice to each other. I’d love to see it. Take pictures for me, at least.”

“I don’t think they’ll show up in a photo,” I tell him. “Bunch of blood-sucking vampires.”

Sebastian just shakes his head at me.

“You want any water or anything before I go?” I ask him.

“Nah,” he says. “But if the hot redheaded nurse is out there, tell her I look all pale and sweaty and I probably need a sponge bath.”

“No way,” I tell him. “And also, still gross.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says, leaning back against his pillow with his arms propping up his head.





All too soon, it’s time for the Griffins’ stupid engagement party. I feel like these people would throw a party for the opening of an envelope. They’re so ridiculous and showy.

Still, I know I’m supposed to behave myself and put on a good face for it. This will be the first test of my compliance.

I wish I had someone to get ready with. I loved growing up with all brothers, but it’s times like this that a little feminine company wouldn’t go amiss.

It would be nice if I had someone to assure me that I don’t look like half-melted sherbet in this stupid dress I bought. It’s yellow with scallops along the hem. It looked alright on the mannequin, but now that I’m trying it on at home, I feel like a little kid all dressed up for Easter. All I need is a straw basket over my arm.

At least Papa nods in approval when he sees it.

“Good,” he says.

He’s wearing a suit. Dante has on a black t-shirt and jeans, and Nero’s wearing a leather jacket.

My brothers are refusing to dress up on principle. A silent protest. I wish I could do the same.

We drive together to Shoreside, where the Griffins are hosting the party. The restaurant is already packed with guests. I recognize more of the people than I expected—our families run in some of the same circles, and I did go to the same school as Nessa and Riona, though I was between the two of them and not in the same grade.

I wonder for a moment if Callum went there, too. Then I crush that thought. I don’t care where Callum went. I’m not curious about him in the slightest.

Our upcoming nuptials don’t seem real to me at all. I feel like the punishment is the lead-up—the pretense that this is actually going to happen. Surely one or both of our families will call it off at the last minute, when they see that we’ve learned our lesson.

Until that happens, I just have to grin and bear it. Put on a phony face of cooperation so they can see I’ve had my wrist successfully slapped.

The only thing keeping me going is my morbid amusement that Callum Griffin is going to have to pretend to be in love with me tonight, just like I’m going to have to do to him.

It’s a joke to me, but I get the impression that for a stuck-up bastard like him, where image is everything, this will be pure torture. He probably thought he was going to marry some perfect prissy Hilton or Rockefeller heir. Instead he gets me on his arm. He has to pretend to adore me, while the whole time he’s dying to wring my neck.

Actually, this could be the perfect opportunity to put the screws to him. He won’t be able to do anything in front of all these people. I should see how far I can push him before he snaps.

First, I need a little refreshment to get me through this pony show.

I shake off my father and brothers, heading straight to the bar. Shoreside may be a bit snooty, but it’s got a fun resort kinda vibe, and they’re famous for their summery cocktails. Especially the Kentucky Kiss, which is bourbon, lemon, fresh strawberry purée, and a splash of maple syrup, poured over ice with a dumb little paper umbrella on top.