She slid a photograph across the table.
The villa. White walls and blue shutters overlooking the Amalfi Coast. I remembered that place. She had taken me there when she willed it to me. I’d totally forgotten about it and hadn’t been there since.
It was the only property in the family portfolio I actually cared about, and she was about to take it from me.
"You can't do this."
"I can." She picked up a pen. "And I am."
I leaned forward, hands flat on the table. "This is getting out of hand. When are you going to stop? You can’t just run my life however you see fit."
"Yes, I can and I will." She signed the first page. "I warned you, Xavier. I told you I was serious." Another signature. "You didn't listen." Another. "Perhaps this will help you understand."
It was gone… the villa was gone. I’d clearly underestimated her, and now I was living the consequences. But I couldn’t exactly do what she wanted me to do. Not only was it utterly ridiculous, but it was also impossible. Where the hell would I find a wife in 4 months? Who would even agree to such an insane proposal?
"You've had weeks to do better." She looked up at me. Her eyes were sad, which was somehow worse than angry. "You chose not to."
Gerald notarized each page. The stamps sounded like gunshots in the quiet room. It was done. I had no words. There was nothing I would say that would get her to stop this. I could tell she was determined to ruin my life. And I couldn’t even fight back.
She set down the pen. Reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. Her skin was paper-thin, fragile, but hergrip was strong. "You have four and a half months left," she said quietly. "I suggest you stop wasting time."
She gathered the photographs, the documents. Rose from her chair. Gerald followed, stuffing papers into his briefcase. At the door, she paused to look back at me.
"I'm doing this because I love you, Xavier. Because I believe you can be more than this." Her voice softened. "Don't prove me wrong."
They left.
I sat alone in the conference room, staring at the space where the photograph had been.
I had to get married. I had to find a woman willing to stand in front of my family and promise forever. A woman who could convince my grandmother that I'd changed. That I was serious. That I was capable of commitment.
My longest relationship had lasted six weeks. And three of those, she'd been in Paris. I pulled out my phone. Scrolled through my contacts. Models, actresses, heiresses, socialites. Women I'd charmed and bedded and forgotten. Their names blurred together, faces interchangeable.
Not one of them would say yes. Not for real. I needed a miracle. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.
1KIM
My Thursday nightshift at Rosie's started at ten and ended whenever the last drunk stumbled out, which was usually somewhere around three in the morning. Five hours on my feet, pouring drinks, dodging wandering hands, smiling when I didn't feel like smiling. Then home for a few hours of sleep before my day job started. Rinse, repeat.
That was my life.
I'd been working at Rosie's for almost a year now. Long enough to know which regulars tipped well, which ones to cut off after three drinks, and exactly how to angle my body away from the grabby ones without making it obvious. I also knew that Thursday nights were usually slow, which meant fewer tips but also fewer problems.
Tonight was no exception.
The bar was mostly empty. A couple occupied the corner booth, leaning toward each other over untouched drinks, speaking in low voices punctuated by nervous laughter. First date, obviously. I could tell by the way she kept tucking her hair behind her ear and the way he kept checking his reflection in the window when he thought she wasn't looking.
Must be nice, I thought as I wiped down the bar top. Having time for first dates, having the luxury of sitting in a dimly lit booth with someone new, wondering if they might be the one, wondering if this could be the start of something good.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd been on a date. Before Zoe, definitely. Before Cole. Before everything fell apart and I learned the hard way that men made promises they couldn't keep, that trusting someone meant handing them a knife and hoping they wouldn't use it.
They always used it.
I finished wiping down the bar and tossed the rag into the sink. At his usual spot near the taps, Lou was working through his third whiskey and a crossword puzzle, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He'd been coming to Rosie's longer than I'd been alive, according to Hector. Same seat, same drink, same Tuesday and Thursday nights.
"Six-letter word for 'beautiful woman,'" Lou said without looking up. "Starts with K."
"That's not a real clue, Lou."
