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“You’re all dismissed.” Marcus Ravelli didn’t need to say another word, the fifteen or so lawyers bumping into each other as they hurried towards the door, eager to escape the suffocating, nerve-wracking atmosphere inside the conference room.
As silence descended, Marcus swung his seat around, facing the windows, which boasted of an ample view of the city.
Perche, nonna?
Marriage had always been more a curse than a blessing for the Ravellis. His own grandfather had cheated on his grandmother. Marcus’ own father had died in his mistress’ bed, while his mother was now on her fourth marriage, one that was also likely to end in divorce.
Marriage was not for his family, so why would his grandmother force him to marry just to keep control of their estate?
****
Anneke
NO, IT CAN’T BE. ITjust can’t be.
My eyes started to tear up as I browsed the pictures and read the RIP tweets.
But it was.
“Ms. de Konigh?”
I looked up and found the flight attendant gazing at me with obvious worry.
Crap. I quickly switched my phone off to hide photographic evidence of my mourning.
“Is alles goed, mevrouw?” Is everything okay, miss?
“Sorry, yes, everything’s okay.” I forced a smile. It wasn’t her fault that Paul Walker’s death was killing me. “I was just thinking about work.”Not.But of course this was just a reputation-saving lie. As one of the executives in De Konigh Enterprises, there were things that I could and couldn’t do, and shedding actual tears for a celebrity I hadn’t ever met was definitely one of the latter.
Marie’s expression cleared, and she gave me an understanding smile. ““Perhaps a cup of coffee would be helpful,mevrouw?” Her thoughtful gesture and efficiency came as a no surprise. My eldest brother Willem was horribly picky when it came to his staff, and he only hired the best and the smartest.
“A cup would be great. Thank you, Marie.”
The rest of the flight to Florida went by quickly, and soon enough I was once again basking in the delicious warmth of Miami. When I stepped outside the airport, not a single reporter came to bother me, and even now the fact brought a wry smile to my lips. Every little thing a de Konigh did always made headlines in Europe, but it was different here in America. Being wealthy or having the right name wasn’t enough. One had to be gorgeous and interesting, too—-
“Too bad she’s not like any of her sibs.”
“Good fashion sense, but kinda blah, if you know what I mean.”
“She’s got to be the most boring socialite we’ve ever covered.”
And I was obviously neither.
“Those dimples are nice, though.”
I almost, almost rolled my eyes.Dimples. It always came down to the dimples, like those two dots in my cheeks saved me from being monstrous.
The men nonchalantly taking my photos continued on, loudly dissecting my looks like I was deaf. Or maybe they just didn’t know they were supposed to care about how their words could hurt people.
It was probably the latter, but I was long past the point of even caring. When one grew up with parents as dysfunctional as mine, another person’s penchant to inflict pain rarely surprised me.
My phone started to ring as soon as Anthony, my regular chauffeur in this side of the world, opened the door for me. In the act of stepping inside the limousine, I made the mistake of checking who the caller was—-
Marcus.
My heart didn’t just skip a beat as his photo popped up on the screen. It skipped an entire meter, and I ended up miscalculating the distance between my foot and the floor of the limousine. My step landed on thin air, and I let out a cry as I lost my balance. I tumbled face down, half of my body inside the car, the other half still out, and my butt up for the world to gawk at.
Not a second had passed when excited noise erupted behind me, reporters clamoring for the best shot. For once in my life, I’d probably make it to TMZ.
