Page 31 of The Heiress

He’s not smiling. He’s also not killing me. I might be on to something here!

“Listen, sir, I’m definitely no expert. I’ve never been in love before Daisy… I didn’t even know that’s what I felt until very recently. She’s a special woman.”

I think I see the man slowly nod. Good. Good, Lorde, keep going!

“So special that she’s managed to make me look at my life in a whole new way. I know what those papers say about me. They’re not flattering. I didn’t love any of those women. That’s why I was always looking for a new one to fill the void. With your daughter, I don’t feel any void. She’s my perfect match. It’s like a whole new day has dawned every time I look at her.” I remember how I felt when I woke up with her still beside me. Relieved. Happy. I’ve woken up next to many women before. I was never relieved to see them. “We both know that your daughter is beautiful on the outside. I admit I think that, too. But she’s also gorgeous on the inside. She has a fire to her that I can’t resist. I’m a dowdy moth compared to her. She’s got big dreams, and I want to help her make them come true.”

He grunts.

“I haven’t known her for very long, it’s true. Sometimes, though, you know that it’s right, yeah? I do. This time around, I feel that spark. I want to know everything about Daisy. For goodness sake, I want to know what her favorite time of day is, so I can make sure I’m always there to see her smile when it appears.”

I think I have him. I think.

“She’s engaged. To a man.”

If I didn’t think it would tank my chances, I would smack my head against his desk.

Instead, I pull what I have out of my pocket and place it before Marcello.

His eyes widen. His mouth parts. He looks like he wants to saythat better not be what I think it is.

It is.

“I want to marry Daisy.” My throat is filled with apprehension, but somehow, the words come out. “I’m serious, sir. I want tocall her my wife. I know I can be a good spouse to her… and a good daughter-in-law to you.”

I think he’s going to throw me out of his office and tell me to never come back. Know what I get instead?

“You don’t even have a father, Ms. Sheen.”

So, we begin.

I’ve heard tales of these conversations. Bartering. Making demands. Promising payment. Asserting oneself for the sake of a woman. For thousands of years, men have been proving themselves to their future fathers-in-law so they can have the women they love. Few made it.

Now, it’s a woman’s turn.

I’m too stubborn to know when to call it quits. Not that I’ll ever call it quits for Daisy. I’ll elope in Vegas with her before I’ll let her marry some twit like Cristiano.

Still, it feels so anachronistic. Why the hell am I having this discussion!

Marcello tears me apart regarding my heritage. Not only is my father absent from the records, but my mother is some tawdry (award-winning, excuse me) actress who has shown her tits on the screen multiple times. She posed inPlayboyonce. What kind of legacy would I be creating for my future children?

Nevertheless, I knew this was going to happen. Everything I researched about this family told me that appearances, money, and heritage were everything. So I’ve spent the past few days putting together a personal résumé of sorts. All the reasons I would be a good match for Daisy DeMonte, heiress to one of the biggest shopping empires in America.

I came prepared.

I may not know anything about my father’s side of the family, but I can easily dig up my mother’s, thanks to detective work she had done years ago. I can also put a case forward for myself. Youknow, as someone who threatens the conservative appearance of the DeMonte’s?

They can’t bethatconservative if Marcello is hearing me out. He’s made it clear that he knows I’m a woman. I don’t doubt for two seconds that he dreams of his daughter making babies with some guy of impeccable pedigree. He’s an old-school Italian Catholic. He wants the big white dress for Daisy and the Italian tux for the well-bred man.

The guy who will, inevitably, be adopted into this family and inherit a department store empire during an age of online shopping and inflation.

“My great-grandfather on my mother’s side was Italian,” I point out, showing the genealogy report to Marcello. “Piero Russo, of Florence.”

He looks up from the paper with mild shock. “My ancestors are from Florence.”

Excellent!

“Russo… that’s a strong family name. Many brilliant Russos in Florence.” Marcello nods. “What else you got?”

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