Glorious Rivals(57)

“I take it the older, unkind sister is likewise tested, fails, and gets a curse and toads?” Savannah cut straight to the chase. She was the first-born twin, the older sister to a little sister who was very kind.

“Toads,” Brady confirmed. “And snakes.”

“And it’s assumed, of course,” Savannah said, “that it’s better to be a girl who spits diamonds than snakes.”

Rohan could picture her, shaking her head in a way that would have set her braid singing, back when her platinum blond hair came down to her waist.

“But how much would you like to wager, Mr. Daniels,” Savannah continued, just a hint of tantalizing anger working its way into her tone, “that no one ever really listened to either of those girls again?”

If Brady Daniels had been hoping to get the measure of Savannah Grayson—well, he had it now.

“Is that what you want?” Brady asked her. “To be listened to?”

That was exactly what she wanted—far too close, Rohan suspected, for Savannah’s comfort. She wanted to win the Grandest Game so that she could tell the world that her father was dead and point a finger at the Hawthorne heiress on a livestream with hordes of people watching.

Or at least, that was the plan as she’d described it to him.

“I want to win.” Savannah was quite skilled at masking one truth by telling another. “You obviously want the same.” Savannah made another move then. “Do exactly as I say. The game must go on. Ensure that it does. Someone is pulling your strings. Whoever it is sounds a bit threatening, if you ask me.”

Oh, Rohan wished he could see the expression on Brady’s face now. Well played, Savvy.

“Does Rohan know?” Brady asked finally.

“About your sponsor? About the way that sponsor is communicating with you?” Savannah said. “No. Are you interested in having an ally in this game, Mr. Daniels? Because I won’t be asking again.”

“I’m listening,” Brady said, and Rohan knew that he hadn’t chosen those words on accident.

“I’ll stay quiet about the photographs, about your sponsor and any rules that you might or might not have already broken. I’ll aid you in the game and you will do the same for me—until the end.”

“I assume the terms of your alliance with Rohan are similar,” Brady said, “and that you’ll continue to work with him as well, pitting the two of us against each other if and when it suits you.”

“Why is it,” Savannah replied, “that men can make the prospect of a woman doing what suits her sound like a cardinal sin? I’m making you an offer, Mr. Daniels. If it doesn’t suit you, then by all means, decline.”

A large wave hit the side of the yacht, soaking Rohan’s tuxedo. As focused as he was, he shouldn’t have even felt it, the same way he wasn’t feeling the pain of staying in position, clinging to the yacht.

But the water was cold, and the ocean was velvety black beneath him, and he never had learned how to swim all that well.

Not. Now.

“Before we make a deal”—Brady’s voice came to Rohan as if across a great distance—“you should ask me what I have to offer, Ms. Grayson.”

Rohan listened for Savannah’s voice, listened like his life and his sanity depended on it.

“What you have to offer?” Savannah said. “Or what your sponsor does?”

Pain seeped into Rohan’s muscles as they cramped—but pain was good. Pain kept the memories at bay, even as it also threatened his grip on the side of the boat. Still, Rohan refused to go in, refused to move.

“My sponsor knows where the body is buried,” Brady said. Rohan presumed he was talking about Calla Thorp’s body. And yet… Brady had previously used the present tense in referring to her.

“The body?” Savannah said coolly.

“Your father’s.” Brady’s voice was far too calm. “My sponsor knows how and where they disposed of his remains. Proof, Savannah, of what befell your father, and you don’t have to be my ally to earn that information. You don’t have to help me win. All you have to do is find a way to take Rohan out of the game.”

Chapter 49

GIGI

Smile, honey.”

Gigi blinked. Repeatedly. On some level, she knew she was dreaming. She had to be. “Dad?” Gigi’s father was dead, but he was also right there. He reached out a hand to touch her hair. “There’s my happy girl.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Gigi told her father, “but you’re… less than alive.”

Sheffield Grayson gave Gigi an indulgent look. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Right,” Gigi said, her heart twisting. “Because I’m not the one who worries. I’m not the serious twin, the one who thinks too much—or at all, right?” She swallowed. “I’m not the one who wins.”

Why was she even arguing with him about this?

“And you,” Gigi said softly, “are a murderer.” He was dead, and he’d died doing awful things—but he was also right there, and this time, when Gigi’s father looked at her, there was absolutely nothing indulgent in his expression.

There was a warning. “Smile, Juliet.”

“Juliet.” Another voice spoke behind Gigi, and she whirled. Just like that, her father was gone, and she was looking up into another familiar face. Square jaw, deep brown skin, eyes that missed nothing.