Page 26 of A Forgotten Promise

My brief enthusiasm deflates. “I’ll pass on both. If I’m to become an ambassador, I want a brand that is ethical, sustainable, or at least improves people’s lives. One that has a positive story behind it.”

He nods. “I’ll keep looking. I’m sure something will come up over time.”

“But I don’t really have time,” I mumble. “Who is the eager bachelor?”

“He’s a businessman who needs to clean up his image. Remember how you helped that Norwegian prince a few years back?”

“Ansfrid? Of course I remember.” I frown, not understanding how that is relevant.

Ansfrid is gay, and he needed his inheritance, but wouldn’t get it on the grounds of his sexuality, so I posed as his girlfriend.

“It would be similar this time, only you’d benefit as well.”

I cock my head, studying Vito. He’s serious about this. And the idea isn’t completely outlandish.

I would access my trust fund and get an annulment. Or a divorce, but at least I would be able to breathe.

“If I access my trust fund, wouldn’t the authorities confiscate my money because of the owed taxes?”

Vito jerks his head, assessing me with unfiltered surprise. Yeah, I’m not just a pretty face. Another thing I did this morning was to read up on all the possible outcomes of Maria’s actions.

“So you’re considering it?”

That’s what surprised him? Jesus, I need to stop assuming everyone thinks I’m incompetent and dumb. Vito has only ever supported me.

“Don’t get excited yet. Regardless of what the police find out or not, I owe taxes, don’t I?”

He soothes his dark green pocket square. “Yes, you do. But I’m sure your trust fund would cover that, and you still would have enough left. Besides, your future husband is rich.” He hikes his shoulder casually.

I groan. “Is he old?” I guess I am considering this.

“Eighty. You might even inherit soon.”

My eyes widen, and then I see his grin. “You asshole.”

“Cazzo, wouldn’t that be an excellent solution?” He chuckles, and I’m so grateful for his levity. I need every ounce of it.

“Okay, let’s explore the option.”

“Good, because his handler is here.” Vito waves, and my gaze finds a woman in her fifties who smiles and saunters toward us.

Dressed in a navy pant suit, she walks with confidence, like she owns this place. My father walks like that. Like everyone can fuck themselves because he’s above them all.

Finn and Cal walk like that, but without the attitude. They just naturally own the room the minute they step into it. I wish I was like that.

“Vito!” The woman air-kisses my manager while I glare at him for blindsiding me like this.

“I’m Betsy Ham. My jam is crisis and reputation management.” She extends her hand, and I swallow a chuckle.

Her name doesn’t match her aura. I mean, I don’t know the woman, but I wouldn’t expect a Betsy Ham to ooze so much testosterone.

“Saar van den Linden.” I don’t follow with a nice-to-meet-you because I don’t want to lie.

She takes a seat.

“So where is the groom?” I ask, willing my lips to quirk up. Fuck, this is surreal.

Betsy snaps her fingers—she fucking snaps her fingers—at the waiter. “Can I have a glass of iced tea?”

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