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Bob clears his throat. “I also represent the Lafayettes,” he says. “Elodie is becoming an increasing issue for them—she recently posted a sex tape that went viral before we had a chance to move on it.”
I’m aware… Like I said—terrifying.
“At the moment, her family is keeping her on a tight leash, but with your little problem, we’re now in the position to kill two wayward birds with one stone, if you will.”
I chew the inside of my lower lip which has begun to quiver. I’m officially scared shitless.
“We’ll announce your engagement in two weeks,” my father says. “In exchange, we’ll take shares of each other’s businesses, which marries our families’ financial fates. You fuck this up, you fuck with your inheritance. Same goes for Elodie. In the meantime, you’ll clean up your act. No more drugs. No more hookers. No. More. Drunk. Driving. I’m confiscating your car.”
Jesus Christ.
The enormity of the situation comes at me in waves. The consequences for disobedience—the pressure.
“Engagement?” I manage to whisper.
“Non-negotiable. How you deal with the wedding and the marriage is up to you, but you better keep your bullshit quiet. It’s time to grow up, Olivier. Consider your days of bachelorhood officially over.”
The words cut like the drop of a guillotine.
My head practically lolls, slack-jawed on the floor.
My mother pulls herself together enough to say a few words. “It’s for the best, Ollie. Maybe the two of you can be good for each other.”
I fight the bark of a laugh I want to let loose. Clearly, they haven’t seen Elodie lately—and I highly doubt they watched the “sex tape.” But if they had, they’d know—she’s not marriage material. At all.
But what choice do I have? I’m about as willing to be cut off financially as I am to have my dick severed from my body. So, with that, I swallow hard and say, “Yes, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”
She sighs with a metric ton of relief. She reaches for my father’s hand, and he takes it gently in his.
Something about the gesture must soften my father’s heart. “Son, you don’t need to stay married to her indefinitely. Just until you both calm down and grow up a little. And who knows—you seem to have a lot in common. Maybe you’ll be good for each other.”
I’m not even going to argue about how little Elodie and I have in common because all I can think right now is Thank God. I have a chance for probation. I know better than to ask questions, but I can infer a few things.
With all the trouble they’re going to and this timeline, I’m guessing the marriage needs to last a while. There will be speculation in the press that it’s all a sham, so we’re going to have to act happy and boring enough to leave them no choice but to make it look like a real marriage for the interested public. And if that’s the case, I’m potentially looking at something like three years. I could be single again by the time I turn thirty. This isn’t a death sentence.
I inhale shakily. I can do this. “So what’s next?”
“We’ll have the Lafayettes over tonight. You’ll take Elodie home with you, figure out your plan, and have a public date tomorrow night.”
Makes sense. Makes me sick to think about, but it makes sense. Sounds like something me or Elodie would do, minus the follow-up date which will be news for sure. “What time is dinner?” I whisper.
“Eight o’clock. Dress sharp. If you have any more questions, we’ll speak tonight. You’re dismissed.”
I glance at my mom, who isn’t looking at me. I’m dismissed? Uh…okay. I rise on shaky legs and nod toward my father. “Yes, sir.”
Despite what I promised my parents, I can’t bring myself to throw away the cocaine. I snort a few lines, hide it in my dresser, and then go on a cleaning spree. I try my best not to think about tonight—about Elodie—in my home.
Correction: my father’s home. I survive at his pleasure.
God, I fucked up so bad. It’s a blessing, really, that I can’t remember much of it. The things I do remember are bad enough. I can’t believe my mugshot is trending.
Granted, if this had happened to Trip, I’d be laughing my ass off. But the thing is, my phone’s been utterly silent. No one’s called, no one’s invited me out, no one’s even texted to see if I’m doing okay.
Not even Dominick, and he’s got the moral code of a mafia hit man.
I survey the penthouse when I can’t think what to do next. It’s not as clean as the maid leaves it, but it’s better than it was, I guess? I don’t know. I’m not much of a housekeeper—shocker, I know.
I’m dreading tonight so much, I don’t even jerk off in the shower, which is usually a given, and one of the reasons I’m always so clean.
