Brutal Prince Bonus Scene (Brutal Birthright, #1.5)(19)

But when I order it, the bartender shakes his head regretfully.

“Sorry, no Kentucky Kisses.”

“What about a strawberry daiquiri?”

“No can do. We can’t make anything with strawberries.”

“Did your truck get hijacked on the way up from Mexico?”

“Nah,” he fills a shaker with ice and starts making a martini for somebody else while I scan down the drink menu. “It’s just for this party—I guess the dude is allergic?”

“What dude?”

“The one gettin married.”

I set my menu down, alight with interest.

“He is?”

“Yeah, his mom was makin a big deal out of it. Sayin no strawberries for anybody in the whole place. Like someone’s gonna try and hide one in his drink.”

Well, now they might . . .

“Very interesting,” I say. “I’ll take one of those martinis, then.”

He pours the chilled vodka into a glass and slides it over to me.

“Here, take this one. I can make another.”

“Thanks,” I say, holding it up in a cheers motion.

I leave him a five-dollar bill as a tip, tickled to think that the political robot has a weakness after all. Red shiny kryptonite. Another thing to needle him about.

That’s my plan, until I actually see Callum.

He really does remind me of a vampire. Lean, pale, dark suit, eyes that are inhumanly blue. An expression both keenly sharp and highly disdainful. It must be difficult for him to try to be charming for his work. I wonder if he watches actual humans and tries to emulate them. If he does, he’s failing miserably. Everyone around him is chatting and laughing, while he’s gripping his drink like he wants to crush it in his hand. He’s got large hands, long, slim fingers.

When he catches sight of me, he shows some emotion at last—pure, unadulterated hatred. It burns out of him, in a straight line directly into me.

I walk right up to him, bold as brass, so he knows he can’t intimidate me.

“Better watch it, my love,” I whisper to him. “We’re supposed to be celebrating our engagement. Yet you look completely miserable.”

“Aida Gallo,” he hisses back at me. “I’m relieved to see that you’re at least aware of the concept of dressing up, even if your execution is trash.”

I keep my smile firmly plastered in place, not letting him see that stung a little. I hadn’t realized until I walked right up to him how much he was going to tower over me, even with these stupid heels on. I’m kind of wishing I hadn’t stood so close. But I’m not going to take a step back now. That would show weakness.

And anyway, I’m used to scary-looking men, thanks to my brothers. In fact, Callum Griffin doesn’t have any of the scars or permanently swollen knuckles that hint at what my brothers get up to. His hands are perfectly smooth. He’s just a rich kid, after all. I have to remember that.

His eye is drawn to the showy ring on my left hand. I put it on for the first time tonight, and I already feel strangled by it. I hate what it means, and I hate how it draws attention. Callum’s lips almost disappear as they tighten and blanch at the sight of it. He looks mildly nauseated.

Well, good. I’m glad it makes him suffer, too.

Without warning, Callum wraps his arm around my waist and jerks me close. It’s so sudden and unexpected that I almost haul off and smack him, thinking he’s attacking me. It’s only after a squealing blonde girl runs up to us that I catch on to his game.

She’s about 5’2, wearing a pink sundress with a matching silk scarf around her neck. She’s trailed by a bearded man carrying a large Hermès bag that I can only assume doesn’t belong to him, since it really doesn’t match his polo shirt.

“Cal!” she cries, grabbing his arms and stretching up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

All of this is par for the course at Shoreside. It’s Callum’s reaction that astonishes me.

His chilly expression transforms into a charming smile and he says, “There they are! My favorite newlyweds. Any tips for us now that you’re on the other side?”

It really is incredible, how the politician’s mask slides into place on his handsome face. It looks totally natural—except for the rigidness of his smile. I had no idea he was so good at this.

Makes sense, I guess. But it’s disturbing how easily he puts on the cheerfulness and charm. I’ve never seen anything like it.

The woman laughs, resting her manicured hand lightly on Callum’s arm. I can see her engagement ring, the rock almost tipping her hand over sideways. Jesus Christ, I think I just found the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

“Oh, Cal!” she says with a twittering laugh. “It’s only been a month for us, so all I’ve learned so far is that you shouldn’t register at Kneen & Co! What a nightmare trying to return the things we didn’t want. I asked for the Marie Daage Aloe custom dinnerware, but I immediately regretted it once I saw the new spring pattern. Of course, you don’t care about that—you’ll probably leave it all to your fiancée to handle.”

Now she spares me a glance, and the tiniest of lines struggle to appear between her eyebrows, valiantly fighting against the mass amounts of Botox attempting to smooth it back out again.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” she says. “I’m Christina Huntley-Hart. This is my husband, Geoffrey Hart.”