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He drains the last of his coffee. “My father is dying.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He’s been dying for months. Don’t be sorry.”
“It must still hurt to see.”
“That’s not what hurts.”
“Do I get any more, or am I supposed to guess?”
“When he dies, the tradition within our family is that the oldest son inherits.”
“Primogeniture.”
“Exactly. Only my older brother isn’t the most suitable person to run things, and my father knows that.”
“So, is he giving everything to you?”
“It’s not entirely up to him. We have a board that oversees our family, like an ethics board at a university but made up of old men terrified of change. They’re called the commission. They make final decisions about things like inheritance and promotions.”
“You’re making your family sound more like a business.”
“It is, in a way. The commission wouldn’t allow him to give everything to me without good reason. That’s why I have to marry you.”
“Sorry, did I miss a step here?”
“My father originally planned to hand over the empire to whoever married first out of Ernesto and me.”
“Your brother?”
“That’s right. Ernesto was planning to get married on Christmas Eve, but last night, I found out he’s moving it forward to this Saturday.”
“Does the first one to get married win the inheritance?”
“Not anymore. That’s the problem. I marry you. That confirms to my father and the commission that I am committed to the family. My father wants to see which of us gets our wives pregnant first. Whoever manages it inherits. If I haven’t gotten my wife pregnant by New Year’s, Ernesto inherits by default.”
“Wow,” I say, not sure what else to say. “Didn’t mention that part last night, did you?”
“Because I’ve thought it over. I already have a child. I reckon I can go around my father. Convince the commission that one child and one marriage are what counts. I just need you to stay married to me long enough for me to inherit. It shouldn’t take me more than a week to get through to them. Ernesto is an asshole, and they already know that. Then you can go home and take your paycheck and open that boutique of yours. Live the dream.”
“I’m not sure I would dream of any of this stuff happening. What about the people at work?”
“What about them?”
“Our agreement was that you wouldn’t fire anyone.”
There’s the thump of footsteps, and then Alicia is back in the doorway, wearing a pristine school uniform, bag on her left shoulder. “Ready,” she says.
Hunter gets to his feet. “Daddy’s got work to do this morning, sweetie. Do you mind if Bex takes you to school?”
She looks at me, clapping her hands together. “Yay, I can show you where the trolls hide on the way.”
Hunter turns to face me. “She’ll show you to the garage. Keys are all on hooks. Pick whichever car you like. You can drive, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can drive.”
“Great. She’ll give you directions to her school. I’ll see you when you get back.”
