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MARIA

"Sit down, dear. Quit looking at me like I've grown another head."

My dad is the only one sitting at the dining room table, the food still steaming in the to-go containers from one of his many restaurants. His inviting me to dinner on a random Wednesday is weird enough, but the expression on his face has cranked my suspicions up into the stratosphere.

It's not like Dad and I don't see each other often, but it's rarely ever in my childhood home, and there's always a reason behind it.

Still, I settle into the seat across from him and pluck a breadstick from one of the to-go containers, the garlic butter dripping onto the tablecloth.

"So," Dad says, grabbing his fork. "How are you doing?"

I narrow my eyes at him as I chew. "You invited me here for small talk?”

He snorts. "It's been two weeks since we've hung out. I just wanted tocheck in and see how you're doing. You haven't been returning my calls."

Ouch. Maybe I've been avoiding him a little bit, but things are always weird this time of year, when the anniversary of Mom's death starts to loom.

"Sorry," I say automatically, "I guess I've been distracted. Work and stuff."

"How is work?"

I sigh. "I’m between projects right now. Freelancing isn’t paying what it used to.”

"Hm," he responds noncommittally. Then, he takes a swig of the open beer bottle next to him and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen, kid, you know I don't beat around the bush. So I'm going to come out with it."

My shoulders stiffen. "Okay..."

He looks at me, eyes weary. "I'm in trouble, Maria."

"What do you mean?"

"Money trouble. Business trouble.”

I frown. "What happened?"

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter what happened. It doesn't matter what went wrong. The bottom line is, I messed up."

My heart thumps faster. This isn't like my dad. He's always been an overachiever, driven and ambitious—the type of man who'd rather die than let his empire crumble. He built his business from the ground up, from a tiny restaurant to a chain of thirty locations across the Midwest. He's always been the same way with everything he cares about—hard working, proud, fiercely protective.

This … this is not the father I know. And it scares me.

"How bad is it?" I ask cautiously.

"The worst," he admits, his voice tight. "I don't want to get into the details right now. Just know that I owe a lot of money to someone who really isn't the kind of guy you want to owe anything to. So this was my only option."

"Why can't I just pay off the debt?" I ask, before the rest of his words sink in. "Wait, what's your only option?"

"I've already sold off a few of the restaurants to pay some of the debt," Dad says. "I tried to negotiate with him, and he agreed to a deal, but … you aren't going to like it."

"Just tell me what it is!"

Dad sighs. "You have to marry Xavier Romano."

Shock hits me, but then I laugh before I can let the worry sink in. "This is a joke, right? Who the hell is that? And why does he care who I marry?"

"Xavier Romano is the man whose family owns the spirits distributorship I've been using for the past decade. He's also the man I borrowed several million dollars from."

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