Page 6 of Silks

I met his eyes, refusing to look away as I took a swig of my mint julep.

God, they sucked.

“She’s right,” Teddy said coldly, still looking at me but dismissing her with a wave. “I don’t remember your middle name. Marie? Gertrude? Just block my number.”

Cressida stomped away as my brother reached for another glass, muttering over her shoulder that she’d expect an apology.

“You should be nicer to your girlfriends,” I said. “It’s a good thing you’re rich.”

My brother took another sip of his whiskey.

“I have a big cock,” he said.

“You mean you have a big trust fund and that magically inflates your cock,” I retorted.

Teddy’s face was still immovable. He said nothing.

I squinted up my eyes and forced myself to slug the rest of the drink.

“Slow down, Ophelia,” he said.

“I won’t,” I snapped.

Then my brother pushed off the table and took two steps toward me, plucking the glass from my hands. “Yes, you will.”

I raised my hand to slap his arrogant face, but he captured my wrist easily, his big fingers trapping me with an easy, casual power.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Anger rose like bile in my throat.

“What’s so strange about me coming to the Derby? I used to come all the time.”

“Did you forget how you left two years ago and went no contact with everyone?” he demanded.

He hadn’t backed up and he was way too close to me. He’d always been Mr. Perfect. Short white-blonde hair in perfect surfer waves, those bright blue eyes and gleaming mega-watt smile. The big broad shoulders. The way he towered over everyone else. My entire life he’d been the star quarterback, class president, valedictorian all rolled into one and multiplied by 10 since he was also filthy rich.

I was always the pugnacious dirty hippie trying to chain myself to the same fucking tree Dad was bulldozing because it made money.

Once I thought Teddy might be different, but really he was the same as every other uncaring asshole in the family.

“And here I was thinking you’d say you missed me,” I laughed off-handedly, trying to ignore that prickle of irritation.

“I did miss you,” he growled. “Look at me.”

His big hand tightened around my wrist. But now that he wanted me to look at him, of course I refused to.

“Let me go,” I said as his fingers spread up my arm. His skin felt heated, like he was running a fever.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my texts or calls?” he asked.

I tried to pull out of his grip, avoiding his eyes. “I was just busy.”

“Bullshit, Ophelia,” Teddy said, and my brother’s voice was like steel.

But I was saved from having to answer or hit him over the head with a planter when Mom and Dad suddenly came out of nowhere.

My Dad was a tall rich asshole in his 50s with silvery-gray hair, a lot of very white teeth, a shirt that cost more than my rent for the whole year, and a stable of much younger mistresses.