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There’s a knock on the door and Marie steps inside. “Everything is ready. The house has been cleaned and disinfected.”
“Good.”
“Look, Cameron. You have never complained about my housekeeping before. But Governor Campbell actually called me to tell me how to clean. It’s insulting.”
This woman has run this household smoothly for decades. But she has never met Violet, and I don’t need the extra stress of being a health inspector in my house.
“This is not about me. It’s about my future wife, who has so many phobias. If she doesn’t have a heart attack tomorrow, we’ll be fine.”
Instead of leaving me alone, she approaches me, a huge smile plastered on her face. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You know this is a marriage of convenience, right?”
“Let me hope.”
What’s there to hope for? I don’t have the patience or desire when it comes to Violet. Over the past month, I’ve avoided acknowledging my impending wedding, but now it’s time to face it.
Marie notices my sour mood and twists the knife deeper before leaving. “Just because you didn’t grow up with the example of a good marriage doesn’t mean yours is doomed to fail.”
I burst into laughter, too damn exhausted to respond to that. My mother was too terrified to leave, and when she finally had the guts, Silas killed her. She left me behind to deal with what her betrayal did to an already fucked up man.
Don’t go down the fucked-up hole of your past.
Having had enough of this conversation, I dismiss her for the night. “Good night.”
She leaves with a sigh.
I toss and turn in my bed until, finally, sleep takes me in its clutches.
After a restless night, I wake up, hoping caffeine will help me get through this day. Changing into slacks and a shirt, I go downstairs to find the three women of the family, the biggest pains in my ass, sprawled on my kitchen chairs. Their cheery presence is a reminder of what will happen in a few hours.
Today is my wedding day. Fuck.
Grumbling a low greeting, I go straight for the coffee machine. “Get a life. I mean it.”
Not even the rumble of the coffee beans being crushed into espresso powder dims Chiara’s overly sugary voice. “Ahh, look who is all cheerful on his very special day.”
“Chiara, don’t you have a jewelry empire to run? And you”—I point at Aurora—“something to write?” I switch my gaze to Alessandra. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the hospital?”
My sister rolls her eyes at me, and Alessandra shakes her head.
“I feel sorry for her already,” Chiara huffs.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence. Now I have to get married and bring her here.”
“Cam, I get it. It’s a hard situation, but she has no idea what she’s getting herself into,” Alessandra tries.
What about me?
“I’ll try to be my least dickish self. Happy?”
“That’s your default mode. That’s not reassuring,” Aurora says, eyebrow rising.
“Get back to your babies. Or men. Or work.”
“I still demand to see if he is biologically related to you.” Chiara looks from me to my sister.
Yes, we came from the same sperm and egg donors, but under different circumstances. He wouldn’t have drugged my mother the first time. I would die first rather than reveal that to Aurora.
