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I try not to let the way she felt under me become more than a whisper of thought. I look at my brother, whose faith in me as a person is sometimes questionable thanks largely to Armstrong and his constant games. “I’m not that much of an asshole. I’m not Armstrong. I wouldn’t manipulate someone that way. He has to be the stupidest man alive to screw around on Amalie. I don’t get it. She’s damn well perfect. He had it all and he just threw it away. She’s devastated. He gutted her. She cut herself out of her goddamn dress with gardening shears, Bane.” I run a hand down my face and meet his shocked gaze. “He ruined her for a fucking blow job. Who even does that?”
“Our cousin, that’s who. I’m sorry I thought you had something to do with it. Logically I know that’s not how you work, just the whole thing is a fucking mess.” Bane rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “I don’t know what he was thinking, but the fallout from this going to be bad, and you’re right in the middle of it.”
* * *
I should’ve expected that this shit storm wasn’t going to end with punching Armstrong in the face. Half an hour later my cousin has been taken to the hospital to set his broken nose and I’m sitting in one of the penthouse suites. Across from me, my very distraught mother is tucked into my very angry father’s side. He keeps asking if she needs anything, tissues, water, wine, a blanket.
Bane has gone in search of Ruby and the runaway bride. My other brother, Griffin, is tending to his distressed fiancée, who can’t believe that something like this could actually happen. This whole debacle has upset the entire status quo in this community. And apparently I’m in the center of it all because it was my date who “ruined” the wedding. Not Armstrong, who put his dick in someone else’s mouth, but the girl who opened her mouth and me, because I brought her along.
Of course my mother feels directly responsible, because she’s the one who pushed me to take Brittany. It doesn’t matter how many times my father and I assure her she couldn’t have known, and that Armstrong is responsible for his own actions, she’s still going to feel culpable. Just like she did when things with Armstrong became so unstable when we were teenagers.
My mother is a good woman with a great heart, and right now hers is broken because of what’s happened, and her perceived involvement in the demise of this marriage. Never mind that even if Armstrong hadn’t messed up tonight, there’s a good chance he would’ve done it eventually.
I worry about the impact this is going to have on my mother and her health. The stress isn’t good for her. She battled cancer and won a couple of years ago. During that time, she was the most gracious, selfless sick person I’ve ever encountered. The kind of woman who refused to allow her illness to interfere with her charity work or her family dinners.
When she had her cancer scare I was the one she told first, even before my father. It took her months to tell him. At the time, Bancroft was traveling with his team and Griffin was my dad’s right hand, so I took on the role of caretaker and confidant—it’s pulled us closer, although we were already close to begin with.
For that reason, I was the one who witnessed how difficult it was for her. I kept the secret until it was too much for just the two of us, respecting her desire to protect everyone from her pain.
I made it my responsibility to ensure every event she was in charge of still happened, and that she took the time she required to heal. It meant I slacked a lot more with my job working with my father at the Mills hotel empire. It caused some friction, and reinforced the assumption that I wasn’t taking my job seriously, but I took the heat because mothers aren’t replaceable and mine devoted her entire existence to making sure she raised three respectful boys. I’d rather have people think I’m a screwup than take away my mother’s pride and purpose.
The gossip over this is going to be disgusting and Gwendolyn, my mother’s sister and Armstrong’s mother, is bound to cause trouble. Making up excuses for how this couldn’t possibly be her precious son’s fault.
My father is currently ranting about how this generation places no value on the sanctity of marriage. I have to agree as far as Armstrong’s values are concerned. I’m glad I wasn’t raised in a home where marriage is just a word. My parents are devoted to each other and it shows.
“I think it would be best if we got you out of town until the worst of this blows over.”
“Harrison!” my mother chastises.
“I’m sorry, Meredith.” He covers her hand with his and gives it a squeeze. “Poor choice of words. It’s actually a good opportunity. There are some properties that need attention on the Polynesian Islands that you could visit. You’ll need to book a flight as soon as you can and we can get all the files ready before you go. I think it might be best for you to work from home until then, though, just to avoid all the gossip because we know how much your aunt and your cousin like to talk.”
He has a valid point. If my being out of the country will help slow the gossip roll, or take my family out of the line of fire, I’m willing to do what my father asks. I worry how this is going to go down for Amalie, but there’s nothing I can do about that. “Okay. If you think it’s going to make things easier.”
My father taps on the arm of his chair; he’s moved from angry lecture to full-on business mode. Despite my still being under the influence of a substantial amount of alcohol, so am I.
I make notes on my phone while he talks. I pull up the most frequented review sites and check out some of the resorts in the Polynesian Islands. “It looks like I should focus my attention on Bora Bora based on what I’m seeing here.”
“Good. Book yourself a flight, but give yourself enough time to prepare.”
“Should I book a return ticket or leave it open-ended?”
“Open-ended is probably better in case there are other properties that also need attention.”
“That works.” It’s hard to believe that not long ago Amalie was wearing lingerie, begging me to fuck her and now I’m being sent out of the country to avoid the backlash of this bullshit.
“I’ll have your assistant forward along any pertinent information we don’t manage to secure before you leave.”
“I could stop at the office on the way home and grab what I can?” I offer.
“That’s a good idea.” He taps the arm of the chair. “I know this isn’t ideal, Lexington, but these could and should be some of our most exclusive and best performing hotels, so I’m trusting you to stay focused while you’re there and try not to worry about what’s going on here.”
“I fully understand and I’ll do my best.”
“I expect you will. I know you’re capable of great work when your head is in it.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I’ve been working my ass off for the last six months, trying to redeem myself for my fuck-up in London last spring. And I did fuck up. That trip came on the heels of Armstrong and Amalie’s engagement party. I thought I could deal with the whole wedding thing, but it was Armstrong’s need to rub it in my face that pushed me over the edge at the engagement party. All the little digs, the snide comments he dropped, the ostentatious engagement ring, and the constant bragging about taming a wild one were more than I could handle. I spent a good part of the trip alone and shitfaced, micromanaging Bane and generally driving him insane.
