Page 118 of Bound To Be Mine

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it.

Our food arrived, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Sebastian told us about a disastrous photo shoot where the lighting had been all wrong and they had to reshoot everything. Dash complained about a vendor who kept missing deadlines. Adrian showed us more baby photos, because apparently there were hundreds. The kid was a month old and the pictures of him could fill three clouds.

It was nice. The kind of evening I’d been missing without realizing it.

“I wanted to talk to you guys about Mom,” I said, setting down my knife. “Has anyone else noticed how happy she’s been looking lately?”

“She’s definitely better,” Adrian agreed. “I think the lunch program has been good for her. Gives her purpose.”

“She’s been talking about expanding it citywide,” Sebastian added. “But I know funding is tight. She mentioned she’s been applying for grants, but that process takes forever.”

I nodded, an idea forming. “What if we just wrote her a check?”

Dash looked up from his steak. “How much are we talking?”

“Whatever she needs to expand the program. Hell, whatever she needs to take it statewide if that’s what she wants.” I leaned forward. “She’s been talking about this for months. We have the money. Why make her jump through hoops begging for grants when we could just fund it ourselves? She won’t write the check because she needs to feel like she’s working for it. But we can do it under the company name. The charity looks good. And it’s a tax write-off.”

“I’m in,” Adrian said immediately. “Elizabeth and I were actually talking about this the other day.”

“Same,” Sebastian said. “Bernadette mentioned it too. Mom’s passionate about this. We should support it.”

“So we’re all agreed?” I looked around the table. “We could commit to a monthly donation.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Sebastian said.

“Unanimous then.” Adrian pulled out his phone. “I’ll have accounting draw up the paperwork. We can present it to her at Sunday dinner next week.”

“She’s going to cry,” Sebastian said.

“Definitely going to cry,” I agreed. “But good tears.”

“The best kind,” Adrian said. “And this is going to win me serious points with Elizabeth.”

I felt good about this. Really good. Mom had spent so much of her life taking care of us, supporting Dad’s dreams, putting everyone else first. It was time we did something to show her we saw her. We saw the efforts she was making.”

“You know what Dad would say about this,” Sebastian said quietly.

We all knew. Dad had always believed in giving back, in using what we had to help others. He’d built Blackwell Couture into an empire, but he’d never forgotten where he came from. Never stopped caring about people who were less fortunate than us.

By the time we left the restaurant, I felt good. I had a plan. I had support. And most importantly, I had a reason to be excited about the future instead of just grinding through each day.

36

MANDY

Ichecked my watch for what felt like the hundredth time that evening and suppressed a groan. Seven hours. Seven straight hours of putting out fires, and I was running on fumes and sheer willpower.

The florist had delivered the wrong centerpieces—hydrangeas instead of peonies. I’d spent forty-five minutes on the phone tracking down replacements. Apparently, ours had ended up at another wedding. Thankfully, it was a relatively easy fix. Although both couples were pissed. I told myself once our business got off the ground, this would be one of the problems we could avoid. In fact, I was already thinking about using this wedding as an example of all the bad things that could happen.

“And this is why you should hire Blackwell Occasions for your next wedding,” I muttered to myself while adjusting a tablecloth.

We were still working out the name of the business. Blackwell Weddings felt very limiting but Occasions felt too vague.

The cake arrived an hour late because the bakery’s van broke down on the freeway. And then the DJ showed up drunk. The bride’s mother had a meltdown when she realized her ex-husband was bringing his new girlfriend, which led to a seating chart catastrophe that required the diplomatic skills of a UN negotiator.

I was definitely adding that to my resume. I deserved a fucking Nobel Peace Prize.

But now everything was in place. The reception was running smoothly. The band I had found at the very last minute was actually better than the original DJ. I was definitely going to talk to them about being one of our preferred vendors. The cake looked stunning, but the baker was definitely going on my blacklist. Who didn’t have a backup plan for a bum vehicle?