And with that, he looks to Eddie, who’s smiling like he’s been handed the keys to the kingdom just for being born and breathing oxygen.

Chapter 24

Colton

There’s yelling and arguing, there’s negotiation and discussion, and then there’s the verbal weapons of mass destruction my father and Eddie unleash on me. To be fair, I do the same to them. Everyone else listens as we bicker with sharp barbs, bringing up everything from childhood wrongs to business mismanagement.

Mum’s head initially ping-pongs as she tries to soothe the anger flowing like lava between her menfolk, but eventually, she wilts under the weight of so much hostility and her head falls, her eyes locked on the napkin in her lap.

Nan and Lizzie seem shocked at first, but their delight at someone finally standing up to Father is a buoying lift that keeps me going. They have had to keep their mouths shut for far too long in the name of manners and power dynamics, and if I’m the one to take him on, then so be it.

He has no hold on me. Not anymore. I have finally outgrown him. I don’t need to prove myself to him. I don’t need to impress him. Perhaps I thought I did when I began this journey and wanted to throw my success in his face as revenge, but listening to him rant brings home one lesson loud and clear. He is as weak as his power over me is. My desire for his approval, his affection, his love is naught but the past.

There is power in the freedom.

Mid-bluster, Father’s vein bulging dangerously, I simply get up. Elle startles, probably thinking I’m going to amp this up to a more physical altercation, but I pull her chair out. Helping her up, I take her hand and walk to the doorway.

“This is pointless. You can’t stop this from happening. This is a mere formality, a nicety because we are family. You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t consider me family, however, so perhaps we will continue this as professionals only. I’ll be in touch.”

I don’t let him respond, walking out before he can have the last word. But from behind me, I hear Eddie whining. “Father, you said it would be mine. What is going on? Do something.”

A victorious smile takes my face. I might not need Father’s approval, but it sure does feel good to throw a wrench in their plans, their very existence.

Alfred escorts us out, opening the front door for us. “Oliver has been well cared for while waiting for you, Master Colton.” Lower, he whispers. “You do know how to rouse a ruckus, don’t you, sir?” His pride and glee are a resounding job-well-done, and it feels more important than my father’s.

Right as we step outside, Lizzie runs up. “Coltie! Fuckin’ hell, you handed Father his arse! Bloody brilliant.” Thankfully, the front door is far enough away from the parlor that no one besides us can hear her. No one would care about her course language, but the sentiment would be considered near-blasphemy. And Lizzie is still a child, still subjected to Father’s whims and whimsies, unfortunately.

I take her hands. “Lizzie, watch yourself. It’s one thing for me to piss Father off, quite another for you. Please just keep calm and carry on. I’ll be in touch soon.” I kiss her forehead, and she nods, giddy excitement still shining bright in her eyes. I hope she can keep it in check long enough for this to be handled with Father.

Oliver pulls down the long drive, and I can’t help but stare out the window into the coming darkness. Even without the light of day, I know the rolling green hills like the back of my hands, each scar and line a story. Of my boxing fights, of my ancestors’ fights for the land and for a living.

Elle breaks into my thoughts as she addresses our driver. “Oliver, you’re about to hear things that you’re not gonna hear. You feel me? Like some driver-passenger confidentiality thing, ’kay?”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror as he answers Elle. “Yes, ma’am.”

She’s not done. “And I’m about to basically go bat-shit crazy. I don’t want you to judge all Americans by what I’m about to do. Understand?”

“Bat. Shit. Crazy?” he mouths, confusion written in his knitted brows. But he holds the car steady, joining traffic with experienced ease.

“I’ve found that Americans have a fondness for idioms based on animals. Just say yes. It’s safer for you that way.” I try to reassure him with a smile, but his quiet ‘yes’ is more question than affirmation.

“Good. We understand each other.” Elle’s summarization couldn’t be less true. Oliver has no idea what she’s talking about. But I do.

I try to prepare myself for a verbal battle that feels more important than the one I just had with my father. I’m not ready when she smacks my arm over and over, two-handed catfight style with her hair flipping back and forth as she flails.

“What the fuck was that, Wolfe? You’re such a bloody bastard! I could smack the ever-loving shit out of you right now! You’ve got some explaining to do, mister, so get to it before I . . . ugh!”

Her voice has gone on a journey from screech to hysterical high-pitch squeal and back down to a growly snarl as she pushes at my chest. With the seat behind me, I don’t move in the slightest, which seems to piss her off even more.

The whole production is hilarious and makes me want to smile. Wisely, I purse my lips and don’t do so.

“I’m sorry, Elle.” An apology seems like the best place to start, but she amps right back up.

“You should be!” She’s smacking me again. This time, I gather her hands in mine and kiss her.

She fights it for one long heartbeat and then she kisses me back, hard and fierce. It’s not passionate. It’s punishment. “You scared the shit out of me, Wolfe.”

“Why are you calling me ‘Wolfe’?” I ask, my lips still pressed against hers.

She smacks me once more, with her lips, not her hands, and answers with a smile. “I don’t know, because I’m mad at you, I guess.” But she seems less so than a moment ago.

“You said ‘bloody’. I think I’m rubbing off on you a bit.” A dangerous observation, but it goes over well with her smile growing slightly. “You ready to hear it now? Or do you need to smack me a bit more?”

She sits back, crossing her arms over chest as she orders, “Let’s hear it.”

“Ages ago, my family invested very heavily in land and got right jammy when they got a contract to supply the Army and Navy with rations. In fact, later on, our bully beef and condensed milk were the Tommies’ favorite rations in the trenches, compared to the Maconochie.”

“The what . . . never mind. I take it the basic gist is that your family got richer?” She rolls her hand at the wrist, telling me to get on with it.

“Yes . . . the Depression put a crimp in that, but come World War II, we were right back making rations for our boys and the Yanks, too. The Estate has an airfield nearby, and during the war, it was a base for American planes and their escorts. The whole time they were in England, they enjoyed our family’s products. And we just kept growing from there . . . bigger and bigger.”

“And you gave it all up?” Elle asks suspiciously. “Why?”

“I figured that would be obvious to you, of all people. Your father could hand you a position easily, same as I could take up an executive level position in our family offices. Father and Eddie have certainly chosen that path, and it’s done them no favors. They squander their days playing at being businessmen, all the while mismanaging trusts, wasting money on sports teams they know nothing about, and throwing about their perceived power like gormless twats.”