Page 31 of One Wealthy Wedding

“It’s original?” Cat asks.

I nod. “One of the few remaining rooms with the original decorative moldings and marble. I bought the mansion just a few years ago. A lot of the rooms were renovated at some point in the past. So not much of the original house remains, except for the exterior.” We pass through the hallway and into the massive living room I prefer.

Cat sucks in a breath.

“Nice, right?”

“It’s lovely.” She trails a hand over one of the couches. It’s white and looks like it’s made of giant pieces of marshmallow.

“Look at this.” I press a button, and a massive flatscreen descends from the ceiling, and a second later, the blinds on the windows descend.

“The Theo Archer decorative touch.”

“For Royals games, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmurs, still glancing around the space. “Can I, um, use this whenever I want? Assuming you don’t have people over, or I’m not bothering you.” Her words tumble over each other, like she’s pretty sure I’ll say no.

I cock my head. “Why would you be bothering me?”

Her gaze cuts to mine before she looks away. “I just assumed—”

“You know what they say about that,” I say lightly. Why is she so nervous?

“Very funny.”

“Use the house, Cat. Seriously. I’m not home that much, and the mansion is laughably large.”

“I guess it is pretty big for one person,” she says slowly.

I dip my chin. At one point, a small part of me had hoped it might not be just one person here forever.

She sighs. “Theo, I think we should announce the marriage this week.”

I straighten. “I agree. I’ll have the announcement released. You can review it first if you like.”

She nods. “I’m going to tell my father too.”

My brows go up. “What’s he going to say?”

She smiles, sharp and pleased. “He’s going to lose his damn mind.”

I keep the surprise off my face. Cat’s father is a real prick, and I always knew things were strained between them, but this depth of dislike…it mirrors my own.

“What happened there?” I ask slowly. A flash of the other night comes back to me—Cat telling me she was disinherited. Her obvious hatred of her father. “You were disinherited by him, right?”

“You remember.” She doesn’t look happy about it.

“What happened?” I have to know.

Her throat works on a swallow before she tips up her chin. “My father realized I would control Peterson International if I married. He doesn’t want to lose control. This is his way of forcing my hand. Tightening the purse strings, that sort of thing.”

I nod. “Fairly typical for a family like yours, I suppose.”

Her face is unreadable. “Sure. I suppose it is.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I feel fine,” she says coolly. “My father and I were on the outs anyway. His greatest regret is that he can’t force me to change my last name.” She shrugs. “I was planning to change it myself, until I realized how badly he wanted to sever ties. I’m not sure what I would pick anyway. Nothing feels right.”

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