Page 14 of Vicious Heir

I decide to change the subject. I’m not interested in opening up to anyone about how I feel. Not even to my sister.

“Now that you’re home, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Plan my wedding.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Are you serious?”

“We could hire someone, but I have a feeling you’d enjoy the challenge.”

“I’m shocked and honored you’d give me this highly sensitive task.”

“Don’t joke around. Will you do it?”

“Consider it my wedding gift to you.” She takes another drink, smirking at me. “But I’m putting you in a white tux.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s almost like you don’t know me.” She gets up, grinning to herself. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“I already regret asking.”

“Don’t worry. Your future wife will love it.” She glances back. “But you might not.”

I sigh and stare up at the ceiling. Bianca loves fucking with me, but she’ll do a wonderful job organizing this event. “Keep it small. That’s all I ask. Only important people.”

“You’re marrying a Willing-Morris girl.Important peoplemeans half the city elite.”

“Don’t go overboard.”

“Isn’t that thepointof marrying her? Getting access to her social connections? You might as well make the best of it.”

She’s got a point there. “Fine, but do your best to keep the guest list tight. And don’t bankrupt us.”

“I couldn’t even if I tried, and believe me, I am.” She strides to the door. “I’m thinking four hundred people max.”

“Half that!”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Have you met her yet, by the way? I did a little digging when the match was announced. She’s very, very pretty, but she’s young.”

“Twenty-three,” I murmur, glancing down at my desk. “And no, we haven’t met officially.”

Which isn’t entirely a lie. The beautiful masked woman I fucked in my office a few days ago was pretending to be someone else. Which made our little run-in very off the books.

Still, I trust Bianca more than anyone else in the world, but I’m not telling her about that.

“Shouldn’t you at least have a conversation with her before walking down the aisle?” she asks, sounding almost impatient.

“What’s the point?”

“The pointis you’re going to be her husband. At least try to have some emotional depth.”

“We both know that’s not my specialty.”

“I said try.” She looks skyward. “Heaven help me. I swear, you better be a good husband to that girl.”

“What do you care?”

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