Page 7 of Grift

With her as a Carney?

Fury runs cold through my veins and my chest tightens. What exactly does he mean to do to Jessica?

My mother Rose’s lips are pulled into a tight line. “When’s the wedding?”

My eyes fly to Callan.

“Wedding?” I demand. Before I even know it, I’m pushing to my feet, the chair flying back behind me where it crashes into the conference room’s glass wall as my fists ball in rage. My father mistakes my reaction and laughs.

“Oh, Patrick, Callan’s not marrying the Kensington girl. Please, she’s tarnished goods. You are. A powerful man needs a good woman behind him, and I won’t have Callan hamstrung like I was by having to make do in that department,” he tosses a disinterested nod in my mother’s direction.

Rigid cords of tension are forming in my neck and my short nails dig into my palms. Fury is a living thing inside me right now, and if I unleash it there’s a real risk that I’ll lose control.

My mother doesn’t even flinch at his words. She barely seems to register them, but it doesn’t make me want to hurt him any less. But she catches my eye, giving me an imperceptible shake of her head.

“Turns out the Senator’s wife owns an inn, up in Vermont. The wedding’s in a week, Patrick. I expect you to do what needs to be done, considering that you created this whole mess,” he’s already on his feet and flashes me a satisfied grin. “Now that I’m done cleaning up your fuckups, I’m going to go mingle with my guests.”

I step in front of him. “I won’t marry her.”

His eyes narrow. “What’s the matter, Patrick? You think you’re too good for her?”

Nothing could be further from the truth.

There’s a buzzing in my ears, blood moving too fast in my veins. All I can see is her wide gray eyes, her easy laugh, her genuine appreciation for my father’s awful taste in artwork. Jesus Christ, I’d almost killed her brother.

She doesn’t deserve to get tangled up with a mess like me, with the foul chaos that is my family. More importantly, I remember that first impression of her: angelic, ethereal, sophisticated, and too pure to even grace a party we host. There’s so much life there. She deserves to decide how she spends it and who she spends it with.

And being a Carney sucks every ounce of your soul and life. It’s not just for her, either. My father’s rage and bad decisions set our family on a crash course and have taken over my life for years. I’d like a say in at least who I’m going to spend my life with.

“I’m not marrying a woman that’s not willing to marry me,” I keep my voice flat.

“Oh, trust me, Patrick. She has even less of a choice than you,” he’s reading something in my demeanor, his smile becoming predatory. I hate that I let my emotions show, giving him a weapon to use against me. “If you’re really opposed, I supposed Rory could finally do something useful.”

I’ve only hit my father once in my life, to defend my mother. But in that moment, I might do it again.

Callan steps between us, seeing the most likely pathway to escalation in that way that he does. The ultimate strategic mind, my brother. “Dad, we’ve got several investors waiting and I just got word the society page is covering tonight’s event. We’ve got to move and make sure everyone’s focused on the right things.”

“It’s done, Patrick. You’re marrying the Kensington bitch, and that’s that,” my father snarls, before adjusting his jacket and striding from the room. He always has to have the last word.

For a second, I think the room is empty until my mother clears her throat.

Shit. I’d forgotten she is there in my seething.

My mother isn’t what you’d consider as beautiful, but she’s so expertly put together most people don’t notice. Yet even starved to the bone, polished to perfection, and never a detail astray, chasing some image of beauty that got stuck in her head, she’s never been good enough for my father. Or for herself, if I’m honest. Life as a Carney took a naturally insecure and quiet woman, and left her pure ice. Her cold, remote manner is on full display tonight, with her dark dress and icy diamonds and sad eyes.

“Patrick, please sit down.”

The last thing I want to do is to sit, but my other option is going back out into that crowded gala. A lose-lose as it were.

Her eyes rest on me until I finally give in and sit. She’s lucid tonight, her eyes missing their typical glaze from the meds she takes to numb out life with my father. For whatever reason, she’s clearly decided it is in her best interest to stay sober tonight.

“I imagine it’s difficult to see in this moment, Patrick, but this could be a good thing for you. A wife like Jessica Kensington – regardless of what your father is alluding to – could be an incredible opportunity for you. She knows how to move through the best parts of society and she’s impeccably connected. I met her once and she’s a perfectly lovely young woman,” she says. “You could do with a woman to keep your house, instead of living half your life in the hotel.”

I don’t need anyone to keep my house, I want to snap. You pay people for that, not blackmail them into a fake marriage. And while the thought of Jessica Kensington warming my bed is a pleasant one, this is about far more than that.

One part of my mother’s words gets caught in my thick skull. I don’t even know what it is that Jessica’s supposedly done that’s so bad this situation has come to pass. And I don’t even care.

“She deserves better,” I say.

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