Page 66 of Manhattan Bossholes

He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of weddings.”

“I guess it skipped a generation, because your dad was the life of the party,” I rested my head against his chest.

Vincent snorted. “He’s had four of them, so I’d consider him a pro. He was probably drunk. I think it’s his way of not thinking too much.”

I raised up on my elbow. “Why? What do you mean?”

Vincent took me in for a moment before answering. “He let my mom slip away, and he’s spent the rest of his life trying to recreate what he had with her.”

He didn’t open up to me often, so I took advantage of the moment. “Why did they split up?”

“He cheated on her.”

I gasped. “Richard cheated? I never would’ve suspected that. He doesn’t seem like the type!”

“He’s not. He’s regretted it every day since.”

“Was it long-term?” I asked tentatively. “Like, an affair?”

Vincent shook his head. “It was a one-time thing on a business trip. He and my mom had been going through a rough patch, and then that happened. Cut to the divorce and years of bitterness.”

I watched pain shift across his face then disappear just as quickly. I was shocked when he kept talking.

“My dad didn’t have the best role model in his own father. I don’t know all the details, he keeps it packed away, but I think he worried he was repeating some patterns from his past with us. He wasn’t the most present father when I was young, you know? He could have gotten an even split on custody, but he chose to have me stay with Mom most of the time. But he’s clearly learned from his mistakes, because the guy can’t get enough of me now.”

“He seems to still care about your mom, too,” I said.

“Oh yeah, he sure does. The one that got away,” Vincent chuckled. “I think my mom still cares about him, but she doesn’t love the idea that he has three other exes.”

He stroked my back, and I squeezed him a little tighter, feeling more connected to him than ever.

“It sounds like he’s a romantic at heart,” I said. “He might be a little misguided about what to do with all of those feelings, but he believes in the power of love, to quote Celine Dion.”

His laugh rumbled beneath my ear. “Or he’s a sucker.”

I pulled away to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“Look at his track record! He’s zero for four. Those are some shitty stats. Lucky for me, I didn’t inherit that from him.”

My contented heart suddenly slowed to a crawl.

“What do you mean?” I asked slowly, unsure whether I wanted to hear his answer.

“Marriage is essentially sitting down at the craps table and crossing your fingers. Think about it: my dad couldn’t make it work after four tries. And look at our bride and groom…how miserable were they during the lead-up to today?”

I sat up, pulling the sheet with me to cover me. “Yeah, but that was due to planning stress, not relationship issues. They adore each other—you know that. And they’re fine now.”

“Are they, though?” Vincent asked pointedly. “It seems like there was some major damage done. Look, I’m not saying real love never happens. But what are the odds of finding your perfect match? One in a hundred? In a thousand? Think of all the people you know and how many of them are in relationships you’re absolutely sure will last.”

I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more about his incredibly depressing thoughts on love and marriage. It only took a few minutes for Vincent’s breathing to even out into a light snore.

I rolled away from him and onto my side, and he immediately repositioned himself so that he was spooned behind me. It felt amazing being nestled together, but my racing brain prevented me from relaxing into his embrace and falling asleep.

If he had so little faith in the idea that a relationship could last, what did he think was happening with us? Yeah, it had started out as a fake relationship, but I’d sure thought it was growing into something real. Something good. Did he not agree? Was he even giving it a chance to see if we could have one of those relationships that go the distance? Or was he just running out the clock, waiting for it to fall apart?

The thought made me feel cold, even in the warmth of his arms.

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