An awkward pause followed as Devyn flashed me a what-do-I-say glance. He was aware my parents had divorced and Father was dead, but we’d both absorbed a huge amount of information after he turned up at the motel. My head was still reeling at me not having to marry his brother, Roy. And Devyn, the guy I fell for in an instant, being the one Sebastian was forcing me to marry.
Emotion welled up inside me at Dad’s nostalgic expression. He didn’t often talk about the days before I was born, though I sometimes found him flipping through old photo albums, the kind with a clear plastic film over the photos on sticky pages.Sensing he was lost in memories while staring at the yellowing pics, some so faded they were a blur, I always tiptoed away.
“Would you like a ride in my car?” Dev whipped out his phone, showing Dad a photo.
My dad stoked the screen, a reverence he’d never displayed for the hunk of junk I drove. Not surprising though.
“Love to.” They clasped hands.
“You’ll have to fight Dean for a seat.”
I returned my attention to the sausages I was about to prick, but Devyn yelled, “Don’t.” Once again, my hand froze.
“Now what?”
“By doing that, you’ll lose the juices and the meat will be tough.”
Devyn obviously hadn’t been around sausages much—at least not the ones I bought.
“They’ll explode if I don’t.” I’d learned from experience.
“No. Good quality sausages won’t burst.”
There was another awkward silence, this one long and drawn out. I glanced at Dad, who didn’t seem bothered. Being poor was nothing to be ashamed of. Poor Devyn looked as though he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.
“I’m so sorry. That was?—”
“Don’t apologize. You’re right about the sausages, but we can’t afford those.” I held the fork like a dagger and stabbed the sausages. Prick. Prick. Prick. Prick.
“What a prick!” Dad chortled, the first genuine laugh from him in months. Devyn and I joined in and he returned to potato peeling.
The three of us sitting around the table, laughing and chatting as we ate reminded me of long ago nights before the divorce when we were a family.
After Dad went to bed, I washed the dishes and Devyn wiped because we couldn’t afford a dishwasher. I’d complained so many times about having to wash dishes, but today I was glad because Devyn was at my side, occasionally brushing against me.
“Why are my father and your step-father insisting we get married when both of them are filthy rich?” Devyn put his back against the kitchen counter. “I’ll go first.”
He hinted that my father’s former company might not be as healthy as everyone assumed. That infuriated me, thinking Sebastian might have fucked up. But it didn’t seem logical, and I poo pooed that suggestion.
My hands were submerged in warm, soapy water as Devyn reeled off a list of possibilities, some feasible, others unlikely and still more that I’d categorize as conspiracy theories.
“Why don’t they just merge if that’s the outcome both of them desire?” He flung the dish towel over his shoulder, the dishes forgotten. “Most people in the twenty-first century don’t insist on marriage to consolidate their power.”
I had little knowledge of the inner workings of my late father’s business, and Devyn had hinted he was the black sheep of the family and didn’t work for his dad, unlike his half brothers.
Sebastian and Devyn’s dad had played and were continuing to play us. They’d made up the rules and hadn’t shared them. But what if we didn’t let on that we’d met and conducted research in the intervening weeks between now and the wedding?
I shared my idea with Devyn, and he agreed.
“But we can’t derail Sebastian’s agreement to pay for Dad’s operation.”
His brow furrowed. “I guarantee he’ll get his surgery.” He explained he had little cash, having been cut off by his father. “But I can sell the car.”
I didn’t point out it was in his half-brother’s name because it was a generous gesture and now I had no objection to getting married, there was no obstacle to Sebastian paying for the surgery.
Forgetting about my soapy hands, I hugged him.
“Is this the definition of love?” He tilted my chin, so we were staring at one another. “Wet hands on my butt?”
