Page 135 of Some Like It Hot

“I have no idea because I didn’t tell her that I actually want to love, honor, and cherish her as long as we both shall live before I married her.”

CHAPTER 32

Simon

As I listen to an old codger, aka my father, drone on angrily about dividends, I stare at him and the rest of the board of Armstrong Enterprises in total irritation.

This could have been a fucking Zoom call.

I did not need to fly back to London to hear doomsday bullshit from old men.

I’m excellent in my position, in spite of my sometimes casual attitude. I can be a shark when I need to be, but I’ve always found I gain more traction using my charm than playing the heavy. My father is the opposite of me and he never trusts my abilities.

It’s always frustrating, but even more so right now when I would much prefer to be back in Chicago in bed with my boyfriend and Elise.

And Wilder too, if he wants to be there.

I can never tell what exactly that man is thinking.

“Simon, you’ll take the lead on that,” my father says.

“Of course.” My phone starts vibrating in my jacket pocket.

I pull it out and hide it under the table. We’re in a private dining room at an exclusive club the Armstrongs have belonged to for generations. Dinner is laid out in front of each man or woman around the table, though no one is really eating. They’re too busy getting worked up into a panicked frenzy over a dip in the market.

I glance at my phone. It’s Aidan, calling me.

I frown. He’s supposed to be at work. He doesn’t usually call when he’s at the firehouse. It’s early afternoon in Chicago. I don’t answer because my father’s head will explode if I do, but I text Aidan surreptitiously.

In a meeting. Everything okay?

Not really. This happened.

An image suddenly pops up.

It’s two hands, a woman’s laying over top of a man’s. That’s Elise’s hand, with the engagement ring Blake gave her. I’m used to seeing it now on her finger.

But that is also Blake’s hand, next to hers, and he’s wearing a wedding band.

The caption below from @OfficialBlakeWilder says, “Did a thing today…”

I stand up so fast my knees hit the underside of the table and everyone’s silverware and glasses rattle.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” my father asks, astonished.

“I have an emergency. I need to make a phone call.”

I’m striding out the door before he can even respond.

“My heavens,” Dorothy Wilkinson, who has to be at least a thousand years old and has more money than God, says. “These young bucks today are just shockingly rude.”

I don’t even take the time to appreciate being called a young buck before I’m calling Aidan back.

“They got married?” I demand, when he gives a rough hello. “When the devil did they do that?”

“Apparently a few hours ago.” Aidan says. “They didn’t think it was a big deal, according to Wilder.”

“You talked to him?” I am heading for the front door of the club before I’m even really aware that’s what I’m doing. “How could he justify not telling us?”

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