Page 3 of An Inevitable Marriage
“Okey dokey.”
Letting out a long breath, I lowered myself onto my office chair. My ass had barely hit the plush leather when I saw it. The envelope Mr. Welsh placed there after he sent a wrecking ball through my neatly planned-out future.
The letter from my mother.
As much as I missed her—which was a fucking lot—I didn’t want to know what it said. I didn’t want to read about the bright, beautiful future she’d envisioned for me. Deep down, I knew if she were here, she’d be disappointed in who I’d become.
Heart heavy and fingers trembling, I snatched the envelope off my desk. I’d just stowed it in my pocket when the office door flew open.
“Felice compleanno.” Rafe strode into my office with a way too huge grin for my sour mood on his face. “Ready to festa?”
I most definitely was not ready to party. Not by a long shot. I’d rather go home and forget about this day altogether. Which, to be fair, I usually wanted to do. Considering it was the anniversary of my mother’s death, birthdays weren’t particularly fun for me.
As a kid, pretending it was just another ordinary day was easy. My grandfather never even acknowledged the day, and school friends weren’t really interested. And I was one-hundred-percent okay with it.
It wasn’t until I’d met Rafe and Tristan at Columbia that I’d started celebrating the day of my birth. And it was only because they refused to let it go.
That was why I went along with whatever plans they made. One of those compromises you made for the people who always had your back. Plus, one night of wild partying usually—mostly—got them off my back for the rest of the year.
“Your party face needs a makeover.”
Rafe’s voice cut through my thoughts and brought me back to the moment. I blinked once, twice, four times before he came into focus. He’d sat across from me, staring like I had two heads.
“What’s up with you?” His tone did not hint at amusement this time.
With a rough shake of my head, I scraped my palm over my face. “You want the long version or the CliffsNotes?”
He glared at me. “What do you think?”
“All right then.” I took a deep breath and then filled him in on my lovely visit with my mother’s attorney. By the time I was finally done, Rafe’s mouth was somewhere at his feet, and I’d added hopelessness to the list of emotions swirling through my veins.
“What the fuck?” he finally stuttered.
“Yeah.” I laughed a humorless laugh. “That was my reaction, too.”
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. “What are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing I can do, Rafe.”
He pulled a face his Italian ancestors would not be proud of.
“You’re just going to hand over your mother’s company to your grandfather without a fight?”
I didn’t appreciate his tone—not one bit. “What the hell do you suggest I do, then?”
“Go find a fucking wife. Start tonight. And instead of only spending the night with whoever you pick up, try taking her out on a date. You have, what, eleven months at least before you have to be legally married, right?”
He made it sound so simple. So damn simple.
But it wasn’t.
And I could not explain it to him without opening the door on skeletons I’d much rather leave in the closet.
I gritted my teeth and ground out, “Fine.”
I regretted it the moment I’d said it, and four hours and too many bourbons to count later, I still did.
I didn’t want to be there. At that club. Doing whatever it was my friends wanted me to do. I wanted to go home. And maybe, possibly, read the letter my mother had left.
