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My father looked around, clearly hoping no one else was listening in.
“Vance, what–” my mother began, looking at her husband with surprise and confusion.
“What’s wrong with helping out a friend?” Cheney asked, rubbing a hand down his tie.
“When he gives his daughter to thefriendto marry in exchange for payment, I’d say there’s a shit ton wrong,” Silas continued.
I blinked. First off, my father gambled? Cheney paid off the debt to marry me? By the look on my mother’s face, she had no clue.
“We’re not married, so obviously that’s a lie,” Cheney replied.
“She’s married to me,” Silas snapped, the possessiveness impossible to miss. It was the first time he showed any heightened emotion. He looked to my father. “As for lying… you didn’t expect your daughter to have a mind of her own, did you?” Silas’s hand slid up my back to rest on my shoulder. I was tucked into his side now, as close as possible without being in his arms. “Thought she’d give up well before now. Settle down with Cheney and marry. Except she didn’t. That’s why you made him executor of her trust fund.”
WHAT?
I stepped out of Silas’s hold, but I wasn’t sure if I should face my father or Cheney. All this was my father’s doing, so I got in his face.
“What happened if I didn’t marry Cheney?” I asked.
Sweat dotted his temples and his face was now pale. His lips pinched. He wasn’t going to say a word.
“Vance, what are they talking about? Gambling? I mean, really,” Mother hissed, glancing left and right so no one picked up on the Hunter family drama. It was their party, after all. They wanted to be the center of attention, but not this way.
I kept my gaze squarely on my father. “You’ve been using me for a long time. All you’ve wanted me for is money.”
It hurt. A lot. I knew my parents’ love was conditional. But this was taking it to a whole new level of selfishness and–
“Cheney’s bleeding your trust fund dry,” Silas said.
I heard his words. Felt them like a knife.
Cheney only smiled. Shrugged. “You wouldn’t marry me, so your father owed me something else. The only money left is yours.”
My mother gasped. “We’re broke? But we’re at the country club.”
Oh, so my parents were out of money. Not me and my protected trust. I never touched it except to start up Steaming Hotties. Didn’t buy fancy cars or live a posh lifestyle. I’d survive without the trust fund, which sounded as if it might be empty because Cheney was a fucking thief. My parents though? Mymother?
“It wasn’t to drive me back to you, you taking over my trust. It was to empty the account,” I said to Cheney, finally understanding everything.
Cheney shrugged again, ran his hand down that stupid tie. “You were the prize all along. The Hunter money you offered. Until I learned about your father’s debt. Then it all slid into place. Much easier to force someone’s hand when they’re in over their head. Except for you.”
“I was never going to marry you,” I spat.
Cheney glanced over my shoulder at Silas. “And I don’t take sloppy seconds.”
I heard Silas growl. Like a bear. A pissed off bear.
But I wasn’t letting him near Cheney. Oh no.
This asshole was mine. I curled my fingers into a fist, reared back and punched him. Hard.
His head rocked back, and I heard his nose break.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, his hands flying up to cover his nose.
He hadn’t expected the punch. Why would he? We were at the country club among civilized people. String quartets. Trays of hors d’oeuvres. A woman didn’t throw down in the Teton room.
Except I wasn’t civilized. Not now. Not when I found out no one in my family ever gave a shit about me. My mother only cared about appearances and her lifestyle. My father was a lying, gambling-addicted asshole who sold off his own daughter. And Cheney? He was scum, willing to marry me to get my bank account.
