Page 172 of One Wealthy Wedding

“No,” I say as calmly as I can. “This is what I’ve always wanted.”

He snorts. “You’re going to change your tune within six months. You don’t have the fortitude, girl. You should have left the running of the company to those suited to do it.”

Men, he doesn’t say.

That crumpling feeling turns rapidly to anger.

“You mean those who are more interested in lining their pockets than running a business?” I ask sweetly. “If you ever turn against me publicly again, I’ll sue you, and I’ll take this house.”

“You can’t do that. You’re no one.” His face is reddening rapidly, his jowls shaking. He takes a step forward, and Theo immediately steps in front of me.

“I told her to kick you out, you leech. She refused. Your existence is dependent on my wife’s good graces. I suggest you do everything in your power to avoid pissing her off. Because if you do, I promise you, getting kicked out of your home will be the least of your problems.” His voice is low and vicious, and my father’s eyes widen.

“Get what you need and get out,” my father says.

We rush upstairs, down hallways I wish I didn’t know, until we reach my childhood bedroom. I push open the door to a space that’s been completely changed. I stop short. Theo’s hands land on my shoulders.

“Every trace of me has been erased.” My voice comes out shaky and weak.

“Let’s get what we need and go,” Theo says gently.

“If it’s even here,” I respond. It might not be. They might have thrown it away along with everything else. And that, more than anything, makes me want to cry.

But they didn’t. The box is still there, in the top of my closet. I pull it out with shaking hands. I pass it to Theo, not trusting myself to keep it safe.

“This is it?” He cradles it against his chest.

I nod. “That’s it. Let’s go.”

He hustles me out of the house with an arm around my shoulders, and I don’t take a full breath until we’re back in the car.

“Thank you,” I say as I try and fail to buckle myself. “Fuck. I can’t—” I press my palms to my eyes, hunching in on myself.

“Let me,” Theo says.

And then my husband is there, gently buckling the seat belt and checking to see that it’s secured, pressing a kiss to my forehead, placing the precious box on my lap.

“Do you want to stop at your house here?” I ask. “I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask. I’m sorry, Theo.”

He shakes his head and starts the car. “I never want to come here again. Let’s go home, princess.” He gives me that crooked smile.

“Home,” I say. “I’ve never heard a better word.”

Theo drives us all the way to the Montauk house that night. I wake to him lifting me out of the car, the box still in my arms.

“Theo,” I say. “You smell good.” Like man and pine and home.

“I have you, baby. Go back to sleep.” His voice rumbles under me as his shoes crunch over the gravel. He somehow unlocks the house with one hand, and then he’s laying me on the couch and firing up the gas fireplace.

I sit up and blink sleep from my eyes. “I want to open the box,” I say.

“Tonight?” Theo looks at me with concern. It’s the look he’s been wearing all evening. He keeps touching me, like he’s scared I’m going to break if he doesn’t hold me together.

It’s not far from the truth.

“I need to,” I tell him before I pull off the lid to the old shoebox. Inside are the things most precious to me in the world. My mom’s diary, her old jewelry, and one photo. Of me and her. I’m six years old and sitting on her lap, and I’m smiling like nothing in the world can harm me.

I pass it to Theo with shaking hands.

---