It’d be easier to convince them I was going to help the Virgin Mary open a high-tech whorehouse in Amish country. “I don’t even have a ring,” I say sarcastically.
He pulls a sapphire ring out of his pants pocket. “Here. It was my mom’s. You can have it.”
Be still my heart. The setting is ugly and the stone so small that I don’t think even a pawnshop would take it. It’s got to be one his mother doesn’t want anymore.
“Put it on,” he says. “Unless you want me to go through with Plan B.”
“What Plan B?” He never said anything about another “plan.”
He sighs, full of exasperation. “Sending the video from your dad’s account. Weren’t you listening?”
“I thought that was Plan A?”
“No! Plan A is getting married. Geez!”
“Oh. Well, still. It’s called a threat, not ‘Plan B.’”
He looks pained. “Threat is such an ugly word. So crass. I’m not a thug.”
Lord, have mercy. I wonder if killing this man would be considered justifiable homicide. Now I wish I’d studied law like Hugo. But since I didn’t and I’m not sure about my options yet, I need to buy myself some time to figure out a countermove, something that Aaron hasn’t thought of.
“Whatever,” I mutter, shoving the ring on. It’s too big for my ring finger, so I put it on my middle finger. That’s the one he deserves anyway.
“You should put that on the right finger,” he complains.
“The band’s too big. Unless you want me to lose this, you need to shut up.”
His mouth tightens. “All right, all right. Don’t take it off, because I’m not buying another ring if you lose it. Anyway, one week! And don’t ignore my texts! I’m your man now.”
More like my curse. I wonder if I should go to Mass…which I haven’t done since…I can’t even remember when…and pray for a small plane to fall on him. Or maybe a military drone could make a mistake and drop a small, one-person-sized bomb right over his head.
The sapphire winks on my middle finger, and I feel my face scrunch with distaste. How the hell am I going to convince my family I like Aaron when I can’t even stand his ring? And what are my options here, really?
Chapter Seven
Edgar
Instead of reviewing the report on Blackwood Energy’s finances like I’m supposed to, I stare at the photos on my phone. The PI I hired sent them to me this morning with a note that they were taken yesterday.
Dad looks good in the pictures. The dark hair with a hint of silver at the temples. The green eyes. The solid, oaklike frame. The relaxed “the world is my oyster” attitude that can only come from not just being born to wealth but to power.
But what concerns me the most is the emotion on his face—so full of love and longing.
He shouldn’t wear that expression when he’s gazing at Mom.
The old resentment and anger resurface. Dad said he was sorry about the role Mom played in Tony and Ivy’s near-deaths, but perhaps he wasn’t that sorry. Or perhaps, for some bizarre reason, he still honestly does love Mom. The divorce was a show, designed to prevent the brewing gossip and scandal from damaging the family’s reputation.
When I approached him about it a month ago, he said, “What do you expect me to do? I’m lonely.” His gaze flickered briefly, then he looked me in the eye. “I love her.”
“Have you forgotten what she did to this family? To Tony and Ivy?” I demanded.
“It was a long time ago. It’s time we let bygones be bygones and forgive her.”
“Forgive her?” I asked. “What happened to the guilt you said you felt when Tony and Ivy nearly died because of what Mom did?”
“I do feel guilty, but what’s that going to accomplish now? They’re fine. It worked out.” He looked at me. “Don’t you love her? She’s your mother.”
I walked away from the argument because I didn’t want to stay and lose my temper. He understood. My father and I do not believe in losing control.
Still, I thought he’d do what was proper after a couple of weeks and stop seeing her. He isn’t a complete idiot, nor is he impulsive. He knows how much this is going to hurt the rest of us—his three children. He might think it’s time we all forgive the past, but I can’t. How could I? How could Tony or Court…or Ivy, for that matter?
Mom did her best to constantly remind all of us about Katherine, the little girl she lost. But that wasn’t enough; she made it crystal-clear that it was our duty to tiptoe on eggshells around her. I don’t think she ever stopped to consider the fact that the daughter she lost was also our sister—and that we grieved, too. And I’ll never forget the way Dad condoned our mother’s emotional abuse and neglect. No, it was worse. He participated in the mistreatment because of how he felt about Mom.
Love, indeed.
I put the phone on my desk, screen down. Then I lean back in my chair, looking around my sparse and functional office, trying to gather my thoughts and emotions so they don’t spiral out of control. I loosened the reins four weeks ago, and I can’t afford to do it again so soon.
What do I expect Dad to do?
I expect him to do the right thing. The honorable thing—cut Mom out of his life completely. Salvage what’s left of the family. Think about us—his remaining children—for a change.
And he needs to quit whining about love.
“Edgar, you have a meeting in three,” comes Susan’s voice over the intercom.
“Got it.”
Putting my game face on, I head to the presentation our CFO called for. Dad is at the head of the table, calm as ever in his fancy suit. Jo’s right about being able to project whatever you want with your outfit. From the way he’s dressed, you’d think he was a nice businessman with a sensible mind, which is a terrible lie. I try to ignore him because I don’t want to stew on my disappointment and resentment at work. He and Mom spending time together is a family matter.
A family matter that when you found out made you confront Dad…then drove you away to Los Angeles.
Well…not exactly away. Yuna texted me about the party she was hosting and I went because I needed to clear my head, out of the Tempérane pressure cooker. It was ridiculous and silly…
You didn’t think Jo was silly.
Heat surges at the sudden reminder. No, Jo wasn’t silly. She was fun. Sexy as hell. And…she cried my name underneath me like I was the only thing that mattered to her in that moment, her body pliant and hot and…
I shift in my seat. It’s really not good to be sporting an erection while the CFO is discussing… What is he talking about? Oh, right. The slide says, “Supply Glut and Its Impact on Our Profit Margin.” It’s a serious issue for Blackwood Energy, and my meeting wood should settle down…except it doesn’t because Jo’s “more, harder…please” is echoing in my head over one of Dad’s sycophants’ decidedly unsexy, yet overeducated voice.
Jo was amazing, and the sex was shattering. If I were younger and more idealistic, I would’ve thought myself in love.
We stayed up until just before dawn, and I couldn’t get enough of her. Even now I wish she were here so I could lose myself in her.