Page 11 of Built to Last

I know this story well. “She’s getting a lifetime achievement award for her research into cervical cancer. Janie is missing it, too, because she wants to support her mother. Dave will be there, and he can tape it.”

She pulls her fussy cardigan around her. “Well, that doesn’t make up for having a maternal figure there to watch all of her hard work. Think about what I’ve said, Harper. I know you love running your father’s company. If you don’t start listening to your board members, you’ll be out of a job. I know I’ve always advised your cousins to vote for you, but I have to think about the health of the company and quite frankly, your future.”

“And Paul will run the company into the ground within five years and then where will the family be?”

“He will not. Some things are more important,” she insists. “You think about that while you’re with your friends. Who are starting their lives with their husbands. A thing you claim isn’t important.”

She’s out the door before I can argue that I never said that. It doesn’t matter. My mom tends to make up her own history. For the longest time after my father died, she simply followed me around and tried to “help.” Now she’s found a new place in the family as the free babysitter, and she’s back to hounding me to give her what she wants—a model daughter who stays home and knows her place.

He didn’t want me to run the company.

He thought I would get married and my husband would run it.

I can’t help it. The words shake the foundation my life is built on. And it isn’t like that ground was solid in the first place. No, I’ve always known my father wanted a son and I was a disappointment, but at least I thought he came around to the idea that I was competent. When I felt bad that I disappointed my mother, I told myself at least my dad wanted me to work with him. He taught me. I kind of convinced myself it was his love language. My father wasn’t a good man, but I thought at least he cared about me enough to give me the one thing he did love. His company.

I sit at the bar when I should be packing, thinking about everything my mother said to me.

And wondering if there’s a place for me anywhere.

Chapter Four

I look out over the grand ballroom and breathe a sigh of relief. The wedding went off without a hitch. Well, without any hitches that wouldn’t be perfectly normal for a televised ceremony. Luca was resplendent in his military uniform. Anika looked every bit the queen in her custom-made gown. There was a formal coronation right after the wedding ceremony, and now my bestie is on the glittering dance floor with a crown on her head.

The last week has been something of a whirlwind, to say the least.

“You look relieved.”

I turn slightly and Reid Dorsey is standing next to one of the pillars that decorate the grand ballroom and give the whole place a Baroque feel. Though I suppose it isn’t so much a feel as when the palace was built. He’s gorgeous in his obviously tailored tux—no rentals for this guy. He looks perfectly comfortable in a European palace, like a superhot James Bond, except instead of government secrets he’s looking for designer ones. I am not so comfortable, but there’s a reason for it. “I’m glad I managed to make it through the ceremony without tripping or a wardrobe malfunction.”

“Everything went well,” he concedes and looks out over the ballroom downstairs where it appears much of Ralavian aristocracy is mingling with a whole bunch of reality TV stars. It’s an interesting image. “I will say I had my doubts, but it seems to have worked out.”

Naturally he didn’t think we could do it. I’ve been here for a week. I heard the Dorsey brothers were coming, but I managed to avoid them for the most part. Not that I don’t stalk the man on his socials. I’ll admit that I occasionally look him up because that is what one does. Know thy enemy. It’s how I know my enemy spent a couple of days in London with his brother before coming to Ralavia for the ceremony. From what I can tell the Dorsey brothers’ socials are all done by Jeremiah, but I was almost to the point of giving this dude another chance. In London they did some charity work, and I know they filmed segments for Anika. But now I know nothing has changed. “Didn’t think a girl from Hell’s Kitchen could handle a royal wedding, did you?”

He finally looks my way, a confused expression clouding his face. “What? Why would you say that?”

“You said you were surprised.”

“I meant by how easy the filming was. The director did an excellent job of getting what he needed while letting the ceremony be the ceremony,” Reid corrects me. “I suppose I’ve done enough television that I think every director is willing to put the project over personal feelings, but this one seems to understand history was made here today. He was more respectful than I imagined a television director would be. I’m glad he’s going to be working on our show. Though the head of production is a grumpy man. Extremely competent but grumpy.”

Patrick. I kind of like Patrick. He’s been through some things, and he doesn’t prevaricate. He reminds me of a lot of the people I work with in construction. They mostly tell it like it is, and you don’t have to worry about backstabbing.

Except in the boardroom. And from my family. And my mom.

It’s been oddly drama free being here at a royal wedding.

“Why do you think I don’t admire Anika? Excuse me. Her Majesty, Anika.” He says the last with a hint of a smile that draws his sensual lips up and lights his eyes. “I assume you meant her. She’s a girl from Hell’s Kitchen, too, you know.”

I wish the man wasn’t so gorgeous. “I guess Ani, Ivy, and I spent most of our lives being lumped together, so when you don’t like one of us, we think you don’t like any of us.”

The hint becomes a full-on sunshine of the world amusement smile. “Oh, I bet that’s a lot of fun with Ivy Jensen around. Not that I don’t find her charming. I do, but I can see where she would intimidate a lesser man. And her mentor. I was introduced to Ms. Foust and now she calls me Hot Designer and my brother Gay Designer, and she wanted to know what kind of underwear I favor.”

“That sounds like CeCe,” I agree. “The good news is these days she spends an enormous amount of time with Lydia Marino, and she’s a good influence. For the most part. Though I heard they went to Monaco and hit a bunch of casinos last weekend.”

“Is she the one with the Lower Manhattan accent who told me I should eat more? Very Italian grandmother?”

I nod. “That is Lydia to a T.” And he’s answered all the questions I didn’t even want to ask. “So it’s only me then that you don’t think is competent.”

He winces. “The cookies didn’t last long. I told my brother I should send you something more substantial. Like a brisket.”

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