Chapter 13

The brunette sits on a wooden chair as she toys with a button on her shirt, her hair already mussed up from what probably was a long night here on the Rose floors within The Orchid. She looks straight at me as though she could see me, but I know she can’t because the glass has a one-sided view unless I hit the button on the wall panel to turn it double-sided or even eliminate the glass all together.

But as I stare at her, I find myself shifting in my seat in discomfort. I’m removed from the situation, looking at her like an art critic would over a piece at a gallery—cold, dispassionate, objective.

My dick doesn’t even twitch.

After the intense meeting with Belle, where I acted like a complete bastard and laid out my requirements as if she were a luxury property I was purchasing, she stormed out of The Menagerie in a fit of anger.

I couldn’t blame her when every part of me wanted to chase after her, fall to my knees, and ask for her forgiveness.

To do anything to see her sweet smile directed at me again.

To taste those addictive lips again.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I spent another grueling week at work and in the studio, attempting to paint the same portrait of the woman in the rose garden, but this time, the woman’s silhouette was no longer blank and in its place was a very rough sketch of someone with a graceful, lithe frame, long, flowing raven hair, elegant nose tipped toward the sun, and a beauty mark under her eye .

When I realized what I had done—sketched her in the masterpiece I’d been trying to complete all my life, I recoiled in horror and came here to The Lilith, the voyeur and exhibitionist room within the Rose floors. It was a vice I felt comfortable in indulging once or twice a year in the past, where any sexual encounters, were it to happen, would be initiated only when I was comfortable, where I could otherwise sit in the shadows and just…watch.

For those lucky enough to gain membership at The Orchid, which includes forking over an obscene fee and enduring rigorous interviews, their every whim and desire will be met within these walls.

But my need will never be fulfilled here.

It was a mistake to come tonight.

The nagging want in my chest resurges, and with a frustrated growl, I stand up and pick up the phone in the suite.

“Mr. Anderson, how may I help you?” an attendant asks.

“Please give my apologies to the lady, but I’ll be cutting my night short.”

“Yes, sir.”

Exiting the luxurious suite, I turn right and stride down a long corridor of rooms made of special, one-way glass, where one can watch the action inside the rooms.

The tie around my neck feels like a noose as I ignore the amorous displays in the rooms and make a left, past an open space filled with leather sofas, swings, and other structures. People are gathering in various stages of undress, the occasional moans and sounds of skin slapping against skin piercing through the sultry jazz background music.

I feel soiled and about to crawl out of my skin, like I’ve somehow violated my oath to Belle by being here, even though we haven’t said our vows yet.

Huffing a deep breath, I push through the thick door separating the lobby of The Lilith and the play space.

As I exit The Lilith and step onto the marbled floors of the central floor, I hear the unmistakable voice of my brother calling out to me .

“His Majesty frequenting the Rose floors. That isn’t on my bingo card for tonight. Either it’s the end of the world or some other shit, or you’ve finally seen the wisdom in my ways?”

I look up and inwardly groan. Of course, I’d bump into Rex, or Mr. C, as he sometimes likes to call himself. My parents have alphabetized our middle names by age, with mine being Angus, Ryland being Benedict, all the way to Lana, the youngest of the immediate family, and our half sisters, Grace with Felicity and Taylor with Gianna.

He has a wide, shit-eating grin on his face as he saunters toward me with a grumbling Ethan and a smirking Charles in tow.

“Rex.” I roll my eyes, unable to stop my jokester of a brother from waggling his eyebrows like a deranged clown and pulling me into a bear hug.

“Our fearless leader. Are you here to sample the forbidden fruits the Rose floors have to offer? In case you haven’t been here in a while, allow me to introduce you to these five floors of heaven on earth.” He’s in his dramatic element. I roll my eyes as he slings an arm over my shoulder and leads me to God knows where.

“There’s Noire, our indoor forest if you’re interested in primal play or outdoor pleasures, Trésor, our tasteful, luxurious burlesque club, The Lilith, our exhibition and voyeur rooms. There’s something for every kink. Not to mention our beautiful companions. I’ve sampled all the rooms and personally, I like—”

“Fuck, Rex. Do you enjoy listening to the sound of your own voice? Like Maxwell won’t know what’s on every single floor here when he approves all the financial reports and project plans.” Ethan runs his fingers through his thick hair and shakes his head, acting like he’s older than Rex, instead of the other way around.

Charles chuckles beside him, his blond hair glimmering in the dim light.

“I’m just saying. His dick is probably moldy and nonfunctional, living like the monk that he is. Thought I’d be helpful,” Rex quips and winks .

“I’m fine, and my dick is not your concern.” It just appears to only stir for the woman I’m not allowed to develop feelings for.

Rex leans in. “So, why are you up here today?” His voice quiets, no doubt so that other patrons can’t hear us. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything is fine. Business as usual.” Guilt prickles my chest. I haven’t told them about finalizing my arranged marriage yet because they’d feel guilty for no reason or try to talk me out of it. My jaw twitches as I look toward the elevator bay.

Rex lets out a sigh and slings his arm back over my shoulder. “Sorry, boys. It looks like our evening of debauchery has come to an end. Let’s go down to the gentlemen’s club to find out what has ruffled the feathers of our fearless leader.”

“Thank God. I didn’t even want to be here in the first place,” Ethan murmurs, and Charles barks out a laugh.

“Look, I’d rather be left alone—”

“Shut up. Even I can tell you need a stiff drink and I’m not even related to you.” Charles shoots me a quelling look.

Ten minutes later, we are gathered in the spacious suite perpetually reserved for my family within the gentlemen’s club. Like everywhere else in The Orchid, the furnishings are top of the line and luxurious, from the plush leather sofas and navy wingback chairs, the dark wood floors imported from abroad, to the thick, velvet drapes adorning the windows.

I sit in one of the navy chairs facing the fireplace, which isn’t lit on this warm summer night. My mind is a mess, much like the black soot marring the brick walls of the hearth, layers of charcoal and grime no amount of scrubbing can erase.

“So, are you going to tell us what’s going on?” A glass of whiskey is thrusted in my line of sight and I turn toward Ryland, who has just arrived.

He sits on the sofa and unclasps a button on his shirt, no tie to be seen. He’s eschewed ties since deciding to become a full-time professor.

I survey the room, noticing Charles propped up against the floor-to-ceiling windows, a pensive glimmer in his blue eyes, Ethan playing with his wallet by the dining area, Rex sprawled on the other sofa, a lazy grin on his face that is belied by the sharpness in his eyes.

Steven Kingsley, our other good friend and soon to be brother-in-law when he marries our half sister, Grace, takes a sip of alcohol from his tumbler, his brows furrowed. He came in with Ryland.

“I may get married soon,” I hedge, not ready to tell them I’ve decided to get married…to someone I can’t stop thinking about.

“What!” Rex exclaims from his corner.

Ryland is silent, his identical gray eyes searching my face, no doubt trying to figure out what I’m not saying. As my fraternal twin, he has the uncanny ability to read me sometimes. Fucking twin-sense.

I take a sip from my glass and look away, not wanting Ryland to peer into my soul any more than he already does.

“We need the good press for Fleur after my…” My voice trails off as shame washes over me.

“You don’t need to take on the public. I’m more than happy to do it for you,” Ethan says. “Don’t get married just for good publicity.”

No. I’m done hiding and shirking my responsibilities. And they know I’m not marrying only because of the press.

Shaking my head, I reply, “Even without my fuck up at the press conference, you guys know it’s going to happen eventually. That’s the way things are done.”

I don’t mention the curse since Charles doesn’t know about it, and it’s something we try to keep under wraps within our family. We’ve only recently clued Steven into the situation, seeing as he’s going to become part of our family soon.

“What if you don’t need to, Maxwell? What if everything is just coincidence, a bad stroke of luck?” Ryland murmurs quietly.

“A bad stroke lasting centuries?” I snort and take another fortifying gulp of alcohol. “I don’t think so. I’m not superstitious, but even I can’t deny the facts.”

There are simply no surviving female Andersons who are married to the eldest son in the family and part of a love match. Not since our family set foot on American shores in the eighteen hundreds. The only women in our family are Lana and our half sisters, Grace and Taylor.

Sydney’s face floats to my mind.

No one is safe.

“But, what if—”

“You forget what happened to Sydney?” I turn toward my twin and his brows pinch, but the expression is quickly wiped away. I lean toward Ryland, clasping my hand on his knee, and squeeze softly. “Because I didn’t.”