Page 5 of Making It While Faking It
“You want me to marry one of the Lord brothers?” A humorless laugh escapes me. It’s just so ridiculous and surreal.
My dad’s thick eyebrows quirk up, and I know the answer to my question.
“Am I being punked?” I ask for purposes of clarification, although I’ve never known Leo Grove to be a prankster.
Leo looks confused. “Punked? What’s that?”
Okay… so I’m not being punked. I barely shake my head. “It’s a TV show.”
My dad shakes his head, grimacing. “Then, no, you’re not being punked.”
My lips form an O and remain stuck in that shape. When I find my muscles and voice again, I say, “Then you’re serious.”
Wearing a sober frown, my dad nods sharply.
Holy shit. The craziness of what he’s asking makes me laugh. I picture the Lord brothers. I faintly recall what Achilles looks like. But Orion’s face pops up vividly as I recall how he dry humped my ass in public last Friday. Gross. After what he did to me, simply gross. Then there is Hercules, my cousin Paisley’s husband. Of course, he’s no option for me even if he’s the only Lord worth marrying. I’d rather tie the knot with Count Dracula, the Prince of Darkness, than either of the other two brothers.Okay…I finally stop laughing because dad hasn’t dropped his dead-serious expression.
“It’ll only be for five years. There’s a loophole…” he says in the same tone he might use to order pizza.
My legs turn to mush. “I have to sit.”
I make it to the edge of my bed and plop down on top of the messy bedcovers.
“And if you agree, your trust payments will be restored, of course.” My dad pulls himself up to sit higher. I can tell that he’s not too comfortable with what he’s proposing.
But the scent of a far better opportunity than what I was going to propose to Jaycee snakes through the air.
I swallow hard and focus intently on my dad. “Five years?” I try to picture all that I could do in those five years other than being married to a Lord brother that I’ll never love. Just as my cousin Paisley confirmed the Friday before last, after she learned I was engaged to Simon, my picker needs fixing. Five years to focus on my restaurant is just what I need right now. No relationships, just my restaurant.
My dad’s eyes narrow just a tiny bit, and I wonder what’s behind the shrewd look he’s giving me. “Trust me, Treasure Chest, it won’t be that long.”
I sense complications on the horizon. “Why not?” I ask.
“Don’t worry.”
I’m very well versed in the tone he just used. He’s saying, don’t ask me anymore questions, because the answer is not yours to have. It’s been a long time since he’s taken that tone with me, and hearing it still unsettles me. It’s almost mafioso, like his dirty dealing is not for my delicate ears.
“One hundred fifty-three million dollars will be transferred into your account after you sign the contract,” he says to cover the silence that has fallen between us. It’s like he’s using money as bait to lure his prey back to the trap.
It’s working.I slam my palms down hard on the mattress to brace myself. “One hundred fifty-three million dollars?” I’m winded just from saying that.
My dad’s nod is sharp and short.
Body overheating, I tug at the collar of my fur dress. I had forgotten that I was still wearing this ridiculous costume. I want to rip it off, but I also want to scream at my dad. I mean… is that how much of my money he’s been keeping from me? I’ve been struggling to make ends meet, doing whatever it takes. And I’m not rich girl whining either. I put every single dime I had left into my restaurant. But all this time, the money I needed has been sitting in a bank account, and I couldn’t have it just because my dad said no.
Suddenly, my head feels like it’s lodged between the tongs of a nutcracker. I squeeze my temples to relieve the tightness. “I can’t believe you,” I blurt. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“I figured you might feel that I have no right to ask for your help.”
I jerk my had back as I scoff. “We’re calling it ‘help’? No, you’re not helping me, Dad. You’re helping yourself. And you’ve been holding my money for all these years. All of that money!” Fingers stiff, I’m throttling my hands in frustration. I can’t believe him.
“Treasure Chest, I did it for your own good. And look at you”—he gives this cruddy trailer a once-over—“you’re thriving.”
My laugh is dark. “What?” I continue laughing because what he said was pure comedy. “You call this thriving?” I throw my hands up wildly, inviting him to get a good look at how I’m living. “I can’t act my way out of a paper bag, Dad. I’ve been trying though and making a fool of myself while doing it. But I need the money.”
My mouth is stuck open. What more can I say? I don’t want to full-on complain about being broke. In actuality, I survived pretty okay until I bought the restaurant. And I love my restaurant even if it’s breaking me faster than a speeding bullet. Pretty soon, I won’t have a dime to my name.
He’s nodding as if he understands why I’m so overcharged. “Do you remember the Bessers?”
