Page 51 of King of Greed

I was too stunned to hold on to my earlier anger or do anything except tell the truth.

“My mom’s getting married again.” I looked up, seeing my stupefaction reflected in his eyes. “The wedding is in three days.”

CHAPTER 22

Alessandra

IN HER HEYDAY, FABIANA FERREIRA HAD BEEN KNOWNfor her curves, her beachy waves, and the small, endearing mole above her upper lip. She’d commanded almost as much money per day as Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, and Christy Turlington, the so-called Holy Trinity of supermodels in the nineties, and she’d graced the covers of every major publication fromVoguetoMode de VietoCosmopolitan.

However, outside of her modeling accomplishments, she was evenmorefamous for her string of failed relationships, including three marriages (and divorces) by the time she turned forty.

She was almost sixty now, but she could pass for someone twenty years younger as the makeup artist put the finishing touches on her face. It’d been seventy-two hours since her call, and here I was, helping her get ready for her fourth wedding in Rio.

“Thank you, darling,” my mother said when I handed her a bottle of coconut water. “I’msoglad the dress fits you. Lorena is a genius.” Lorena was her longtime stylist and best friend.

“Me too,” I said dryly. Considering the tight timeline, I’d have to make do even if the dress hadn’t fit.

After my mother’s call, Marcelo and I had scrambled to pack and prep for the wedding. I’d been so frazzled I’d forgotten about bus tickets until Dominic stepped in and offered to book us a private driver. His jet was in Rio, and it was easier to get from Buzios to the city by road than by air. Under any other circumstances, I would’ve said no, but I’d had enough on my mind without stressing over tickets and potential delays. I’d accepted, which meant he was in attendance today since it would’ve been rudenotto invite him after he did us a favor, but I’d deal with that later.

At the moment, I was more concerned about my mother’s impending marriage to someone I didn’t know and hadn’t heard of until three days ago.

“How did you and Bernard meet?” Between the fittings, photo-shoots, and last-minute cake tastings, we hadn’t had a chance to discuss her relationship until now.

Apparently, Bernard was a big shot in the telecommunications space, which explained how he had the money and resources to pull together a luxury wedding with less than a week’s notice. According to Mom, he’d proposed the day before her call.

“At a boutique on Avenue Montaigne. Isn’t that just perfect?” My mom sighed. “I was shopping for a new pair of shoes and he was buying jewelry for his mother’s birthday. It was love at first sight. He invited me to dinner that night—we went to a restaurant with the mostfabulousfoie gras—and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Buying jewelry for his mother? Likely story. I bet the jewelry had been for his girlfriend at the time, but I kept my mouth shut. I’d learned a long time ago that there was no use arguing with my mother when it came to her love life.

“And when did this perfect meet cute happen?” I asked.

“During Paris Fashion Week.” My mother examined her reflection with a critical eye. “I need more powder here, here, and here.” She pointed to a few flawless spots on her face. “I don’t want tolook like a melting ice cream cone in photos.” The makeup artist obliged even though the base was already perfect.

I was stuck onParis Fashion Week.“The one in September?” I stared at her. “You don’t think it’s…”Foolish. Idiotic. Bonkers.“Imprudent to marry a man you mettwo monthsago?”

“When you know, you know. You can’t put a timeline on love.” She fluffed her hair. “Look at you and Dominic. You got married a year after you met.”

My chest squeezed at the reminder. “There’s a difference between two months and a year. Besides, we’re not married anymore.”

Most people would have enough tact not to bring up someone’s marriage so soon after their divorce, but my mother and tact were casual acquaintances at best. She wasn’t malicious, merely oblivious, which was somehow worse.

“I suppose not. What a shame. There aren’t many men who are as rich and handsome as he is.” My mother pursed her lips. She’d been skeptical of Dominic until he’d made his first million. She’d softened further after his first hundred million and was all in by the time he’d hit his first billion at the tender young age of twenty-six. “Isn’t he your date today? Things can’t be that bad if you brought him with you.”

“Mother, we’re divorced. You can’t get any worse than that.”

“Then why is he here?”

“Because he flew me and Marcelo hereat the last minute.” I gave her a pointed look.

She ignored it and slanted an uncharacteristically knowing look in my direction. “Alessandra, darling, it’s only a three-hour flight from Buzios to Rio. A nice gift would’ve been a perfectly acceptable thank you. You didn’t need to invite him to the wedding.”

I stared at the array of creams and lipsticks on the table.

For once, she was right. Having Dominic attend an intimatefamily event was one of the worst ideas in the history of bad ideas, but I couldn’t bear the thought of attending the wedding solo. I had Marcelo, but he was busy playing groomsman and feeling out our soon-to-be stepfather to help. He wasn’t as resigned to our mother’s terrible choices in men as I was.

The prospect of sitting through yet another Fabiana Ferreira wedding alone had snuffed out my irritation over Dominic’s jealousy and stubborn persistence. He was one of the few people who understood my complicated relationship with my mother, and despite what had happened between us, my first instinct was to turn to him for comfort.

The ceremony started in an hour. Wrangling my mother was like wrangling a toddler—I had to confiscate her hidden flask of alcohol, soothe her temper tantrum when the poor makeup artist finally put her foot down about changing her contour, and shower her with compliments and reassurances as I pulled her away from her reflection—but eventually, I got her to the altar in one piece.

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