I slap the dashboard. “Shut up and drive.”
He obediently puts the truck in gear and peels down the driveway toward the massive steel gates that block the mansion from the main road. “Why? Who’s after us? Is it Steve?”
Even though Steve is now living with Dinah in their suite of hotel rooms at the Hallow Oaks, he’s still lurking around the mansion all the time. He puts Callum in a good mood, but I feel awkward around him and try to avoid spending time with him. I guess that hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice.
“It’s Reed,” I reply. “He didn’t want me to go today.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled about me going, either.”
I glance out the back window to make sure Reed isn’t running after the truck or anything. He was unhappy when I left, but like I told him the other night, too bad. I plan on scoping out every single person who attends Brooke’s service today.
Besides, someone needs to be there with Callum today while his fiancée is being buried. I can’t let him do that alone, and since Reed is out of the question and the twins refused, that leaves me and Easton. Callum went on ahead of us with his driver, Durand, because he has business in the city after the service.
“So what’d you do? Sex him into submission? Is he passed out in orgasmic bliss?”
“Shut up.” I find my girl power mix on my phone and plug the music in.
But that doesn’t silence Easton. Instead, he just shouts over the lyrics. “Are you still not putting out? Poor guy’s balls are probably purple by now.”
“I’m not talking about my sex life with you,” I inform him, and turn the music up even higher.
Easton spends the next five miles laughing.
The sad truth is, Reed’s the one who’s torturing us. For the last three nights, he’s slept in my bed again and we’ve fooled around a ton. He’s fine with me touching him everywhere. He loves it when I go down on him and he’s equally generous in return. Heck, he’d spend hours with his head between my legs if I let him. But the final deed? That’s off the table until “this Brooke thing,” as he calls it, isn’t hanging over our heads.
I’m in a weird state of satisfaction and anticipation. Reed’s giving me nearly everything, but it’s not enough. Still, I know that if our situations were reserved, he’d totally respect my wishes. So I have to respect his. Which sucks.
When we arrive at the funeral home, Callum is waiting for us at the entrance. He’s wearing a black suit that probably cost more than my car, and his hair is slicked back away from his face, which makes him look younger.
“You didn’t have to wait for us,” I say when we reach him.
He shakes his head. “You heard Halston—we need to show family unity. So if we’re going to be here together, then everyone will leave believing we’re a happy, non-guilty group.”
I don’t say it out loud, but I’m pretty sure no one in there is going to be impressed with a Royal show of strength, considering we’re all members of the alleged murderer’s family.
The three of us enter the somber-looking building, and Callum leads us to an arched doorway to our left. Inside is a small chapel with rows of polished wooden pews, a raised area with a podium, and…
A casket.
My pulse speeds up at the sight. Oh my God. I can’t believe Brooke is actually in there.
As a morbid thought occurs to me, I stand on my tiptoes to whisper in Callum’s ear. “Did they do an autopsy on her?”
He responds with a grim nod. “Results haven’t come back yet.” He pauses. “I assume they’ll conduct DNA testing on the, ah, fetus, as well.”
The thought makes me sick, because for the first time since this all started, it suddenly occurs to me that two people died in that penthouse. Brooke…and an innocent baby.
Swallowing a rush of bile, I force my gaze away from the sleek black box. Instead, I stare at the huge framed photograph that sits on an easel beside it.
Brooke might have been an awful person, but even I can’t deny that she was beautiful. The picture they picked shows a smiling Brooke in a pretty patterned sundress. Her blonde hair is loose and her blue eyes are sparkling as she beams at the camera. She looks gorgeous.
“Shit. This is depressing,” Easton mumbles.
It totally is.
I was so poor growing up that I couldn’t afford a funeral for my mom. The memorial service was twice the cost of the cremation, so I decided not to have a service. No one would’ve attended it anyway. Mom would’ve liked it, though.
“Coming?” Easton prompts, nodding his head toward the front.
I follow his gaze to the casket. It’s open, but I refuse to go up. So I shake my head and find a seat near the middle while Easton ambles up the center aisle, hands tucked into his pockets. His suit coat strains across his broad shoulders as he leans forward. I wonder what he sees.