Even better than Jonnie in high school, though, is the Jonnie I reconnected with last fall at Christopher and Bella’s surprise wedding. He showed me around the Shangri-la—almost as if he wanted my approval. His excitement and enthusiasm were contagious, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s even more handsome than he was in school. His hard, muscular body has filled out and his eyes are still a mesmerizing blue that make my panties wet. I was glued to his side the whole weekend, and after the wedding, we landed in bed, which fulfilled a lifetime of fantasies for me—and more. I was innocent in so many ways, and he was kind and gentle. I couldn’t have asked for a more kind and patient lover.
And since then, I’ve talked to him via text or phone every single day. Until now. That’s likely over, and I’m heartbroken that my duty as a Reinhardt daughter has officially eclipsed my ability to manage my personal life.
I one-hundred-percent hate this, though I do adore Alex Walker. He’s been my best friend since we were in kindergarten, and I’ve known since second grade that he likes boys—just like I do. I love him regardless, but I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want a loveless marriage that’s nothing more than a business transaction.
I fucking hate my mother.
I hate the situation she and Alex’s father have created for us.
When Richard pulls up in front of the house, I remain in the car. I’m still not quite ready to get out and face my future. After a moment, Richard comes around and patiently holds the door open. I finally check my makeup, and as predicted, it’s a mess. I take a moment to fix it, as I don’t need additional criticism from my mother. She has a comment about everything I do—what I wear, my makeup, my hair, how I spend my free time, and the color of my nail polish.
Eventually I exit the car, stand next to Richard, and take a deep breath.
“You can do this,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear.
I adore this man. I reach for his hand, and he gives me a comforting squeeze.
When I reach the door, I enter to find my mother standing in the foyer in her navy blue St. John knit suit, which is impeccably tailored to her petite frame. She’s also wearing stockings and Ferragamo ballet flats, and predictably, every hair in her bob is perfect, despite the humidity. There’s nothing out of place behind her false smile.
She looks at me with one eyebrow up.
“I’m home,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Good. I have some wedding details to go over with you. We have the photographers coming. We need to make the official announcement in the society papers so no one thinks we’re rushing this and you’re pregnant.”
I snicker. Alex once told me a vagina looked like a closet with the curtains poking out and smelled like a fish market. There’s no way we’ll ever consummate our marriage.
“—and the right people must be able to plan and save the date,” my mother prattles on. “This is going to be the society event not only here in Minneapolis, but across the country.”
“Yes, Mother.” There is so much I’d rather say to her, but my heart aches, and I don’t have the energy to fight with her right now. Since my father’s death, she has become more and more difficult, and I’ve realized how much my father tempered her.
“I have a few things to manage for the Foundation, but I’ll circle back with you this evening.”
Before she can comment further, I go to my room, shut the door, and crawl into my bed. I hug my pillow and cry until I fall asleep.
Chapter 3
Jonathan
I can feel myself tapping my toe, though I’m trying not to be obvious about how irritated I am that I have to be part of this meeting between Queen Diva and her decorator. Apparently she won’t go on stage until we solve this problem—which isn’t actually a problem as far as I’m concerned.
We opened the Shangri-la less than six months ago, and she picked all of her colors and fabrics for the interior design of her space at the time. Unfortunately, she’s now figured out what works and what doesn’t when you have the same dressing room day-in and day-out.
Rather than just have her decorator put together a proposal and then together we determine who is going to pay for what, she’s decided to hold me hostage—like she does—until I agree to pay for it out of my budget and on her time frame. I should get major points for not freaking out immediately. I’m trying to sit and listen as her designer walks us through.
I’m not a designer, but I’ve just built a three-thousand room hotel, and I know what things cost. This is easily a half-million-dollar redecoration of her dressing room. Good grief.
Queen Diva brings in more than enough money, but I still need to keep the creditors from snapping at our heels.
When the designer starts in on fabrics and the color palette, I suddenly, painfully realize I don’t care about silk and damask and subtle shades of gray and silver.
I can’t focus on this right now. Maggie is in my apartment, and I need to figure out why she’s getting married—to Alex of all people. He doesn’t even like women.
“Queen Diva consistently performs to a sold-out crowd, and her shows are sold out through the end of the year. She needs an oasis, a place where she can take a soothing break from the stressors of being a high-caliber performer,” the designer continues.
“Whatever she wants,” I snap. “Just tell me what it’s going to cost, and we’ll figure it out. We’ll do our best to make it happen.” I manage to leave it at that, though I want to yell, My life is falling apart while I’m listening to a decorator ramble about something that is not urgent!
I’m finally able to extricate myself after two fucking hours of this crap. My bodyguard Caden is close behind, but with every step I take toward my apartment, something else comes up. I jog through the casino as several employees try to catch my attention.
“I’ll be back,” I yell. “I have something I have to tend to.”
Why does every single one of my area managers need something from me? I know these guys handle more in a day than I ever could, but really? Why now?
“The new washing machines have blown the circuits, so not only are we sitting in the dark, but we don’t have any way to run the machines. The electricians are working on it, but they have to ship a part in from Los Angeles. What should we do?”
I need a vacation—that’s all there is to it. I need a break, physically separate from this place. That’s the only way.
“We have a highly intoxicated person who we’re sure is staying here at the hotel, but we can’t tell what room. He passed out in the casino. We’ve moved him to the infirmary and are watching his vitals. Should we let him sleep it off or call an ambulance?”
I dart around crowds, rushing to get to Maggie.
“Roulette table four seems to be triggering black thirty-seven one out of ten times. It’s also running black 80 percent of the time. All the tables are full, but should we close it down and have maintenance check it? It’s just on the border of the Nevada Gaming Commission radar for non-compliance.”
I shake my head and don’t slow down. When I’m finally free of the questions and mini emergencies, I race the rest of the way to my apartment. This is the one time I really wish it wasn’t so secluded.