Red Thorns (Thorns Duet #1) by Rina Kent

“Brian.” Grandma reaches her hand out and he taps it reassuringly, then she offers me her pressed smile. “Who was she, darling?”

I swallow down my mouthful of food, letting the slightly greasy taste settle in my stomach. I’ve been raised by these people since I was six. Fifteen years later, and I still feel like I’m a subject of scrutinization.

However, Nate taught me the best way to win over my grandparents—tell them what they want to hear.

“She’s no one.” I take a sip of wine, even though I dislike the stuff. “Just a ruse of a moment.”

Grandpa halts eating. “You want me to believe that you’d do such a thing?”

“He’s at college and a star quarterback,” Nate speaks while cutting his steak. “Kids his age do such things all the time.”

Thank you, Nate.

“Not my grandson.” Grandpa’s voice hardens as his entire focus zeroes in on me. “You’re a Weaver and you’ll act as such. The family’s future relies on you now that your uncle didn’t choose politics.”

“Slick, Dad. But in case you haven’t noticed, not everyone likes politics. Ever thought about asking Sebastian what he wants to do?”

“You took away his right to decide that when you chose to work for strangers instead of following in my footsteps.”

“If you mean screwing people over to get to the top, then no thanks. I have no intention of following in your blood-stained footsteps.”

“Those blood-stained footsteps put a roof over your head and gave you the name you don’t deserve, you ungrateful brat.”

Nate opens his mouth to retort, but Grandma clinks her fork on the plate loud enough that everyone’s attention slides to her. “Now, this is supposed to be a peaceful family dinner, not a place for throwing jabs.”

Nate grunts as he goes back to eating, but Grandpa ignores his beloved meat and fixes me with his furious stare. “No such stunts are allowed in the future. Got it?”

“Yes,” I say the only thing I’m allowed to under the circumstances.

Grandpa is right. By choosing law over politics, Nate took away my right to live my life. Now, everything needs to go per Brian and Debra Weaver’s plan. After all, they didn’t raise the offspring of the son they disowned for the prettiness of my eyes.

I’m here because I serve a role in the line of this family. The NFL? In my dreams. And if I had an actual dream? They’d turn that into a nightmare if they caught whiff of it.

That’s why I have to keep up pretenses and wear a constant mask. If I like something, they should never, under no circumstances, find out about it. If I covet anything, I need to do my hardest to keep it hidden. Otherwise, they’ll smash it to pieces just to keep me under their influence.

Sometimes, I resent Nate for escaping this fate and intentionally—or unintentionally—shoving me in it, but at the same time, I’m well aware I would’ve done the same if I were in his shoes.

Survival of the fittest is a motto in this family. One that Dad lost.

“Is she from class?” Grandma picks back up the conversation nonchalantly, almost as if she’s talking about the weather when she’s, in fact, fishing for any change in my demeanor.

“No.” I pour myself a glass of water.

“She looked like a cheerleader.”

“She is.”

“What do her parents do?”

“Mom,” Nate mutters, shaking his head.

“What? I’m just asking.”

“Her mother owns an haute couture house,” I say because it’s better to answer Grandma’s questions. She’ll find out anyway, so I’d rather gain brownie points than hide facts from her.

She beams at my answer, but I recognize her fake smiles. After all, I learned from the best. “What about her father?”

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Doesn’t have one?” She places a hand on her chest. “Poor thing.”

Give me a break.

I’m out.

Retrieving my phone, I furrow my brow and pretend I’m checking something important.

“No phones at the table, darling,” Grandma says.

“It’s the coach. He needs us for an urgent meeting.”

“Go ahead then,” Grandpa says.

Nate leans into my side and whispers, “You’re leaving me alone behind enemy lines?”

“I’ll make it up to you next time,” I whisper back.

“Worst wingman of the year award.”

I stand and go to kiss Grandma’s cheek. She pats my hand and smiles. “I’m glad you’re doing well, darling, and that she was nothing. A seamstress’s daughter isn’t suitable for you.”

I want to correct her, but I don’t bother as I nod at Grandpa and leave. I couldn’t escape this house faster if I wanted to.

It doesn’t take me long to drive to The Grill. I slip through the back entrance to avoid any celebratory rounds Chad is planning tonight.

One of the staff tells me that our usual booth is empty, so I sit there and bring out my phone.

I wait and wait, but there’s no sign of Naomi.

I text her at the number Reina gave me.

Sebastian: I’m here. You’re not.

The reply is immediate.

Naomi: Never said I would be. Better luck next time.