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“When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with,” said Alex, “you want to give them everything.”
“Never thought I’d see the day when the Playboy Prince would settle down,” said Carlisle.
“You know all those stories in the papers were false,” said Alex.
“Not all of them,” Zhi corrected. “Don’t forget, we know you.”
“Is this wedding planning with the bride's maids?”
The three men at the bar all turned to see Omar, the Marquis of Navarre coming up behind them. The man moved like he was the king of the desert. His dark gaze assessed the situation with amusement and clarity.
“You ladies deciding on flowers for your bouquets?” Omar said as he clasped each of their hands in turn.
“You’ll help with entertainment,” said Alex. It wasn’t a question. But neither was it a command. They all simply knew what the marquis’ response would be.
“I practically raised you,” Omar said. “Of course, I’ll help with your little hen party.”
Omar was only a few years older than the three of them. He, Leo, and the Earl of Larida were a threesome much like Zhi, Alex, and Carlisle.
“We can get started once I’m back.” Omar plopped down on a stool and picked up Zhi’s fork. “I’m headed to France to sail back to Cordoba on a cruise ship.”
“Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” chided Zhi as the entertainment producer gorged himself on the scraps left on Zhi’s plate.
“Rich, yes. Famous, not so much. I was invited by a tech billionairesse. Parker Paley-Li, have you heard of her?”
Omar laid a magazine down on the bar. It opened to a paper clipped page. On the glossy spread, Zhi saw a grimacing female.
This Parker Paley-Li might have been smiling, but there was a tug at the corner of her mouth that pointed down. Her hair was a riot of colors, and the glasses she wore over her eyes reminded Zhi of someone from the fifties.
“She’s doing amazing things with coding and computers,” said Omar, around the last bite off Zhi’s plate. He reached over for Carlisle’s plate, but his advance was met with a threatening butter knife.
Zhi paid no attention to the food war. His attention was riveted to the words beneath the tech pioneer’s photograph.
In the article, the reporter asked Parker about her love life. She said she was sadly single but looking. She went on to say that she didn’t have any game. She lamented how potential partners found her brains and her money intimidating, so she hadn’t found that special someone.
“You’re staring pretty hard there, Your Grace,” said Carlisle.
Zhi’s head shot up from the magazine. He wasn’t one to blush, but he felt his cheeks redden. He had no idea why? He wasn’t thinking any impure thoughts about the girl.
Marry more money.
“Don’t tell me you’re looking to get off the market too?” Carlisle’s face turned horror-stricken. “Don’t leave me alone out here.”
Zhi shrugged, then shoved the magazine from him. “Her story is interesting is all.”
“She is interesting,” said Omar. “Her father immigrated to the States after college and rose up in the ranks of Silicon Valley. She took his knowledge and passion for computers and built herself an empire at the ripe age of twenty-two. She also loves music. You two have a lot in common. You should come with me.”
Marry more money.
“I can’t.”
The fork paused halfway to Omar’s mouth. Zhi may have said those two words a bit more forcefully than he’d meant to. But it was because he’d been answering the voice in his head and not that of his friend.
“I can’t,” Zhi repeated and a more socially acceptable volume. “I have responsibilities at home.”
“How is your father?” asked Alex.
“Same as always,” said Zhi. “Making everyone around him miserable on his descent into hell.”
