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Peter is wide awake now, running his hands through his curly brown hair as he adjusts on the pillow. “Is this a serious question?”
“Dead serious.”
“You’re such an asshole,” he replies, chuckling. He rubs his hand over his face and groans into his palm. “Julia, you narcissist, you don’t remember what happened to me in college?”
Pausing, I try to think back to our Yale years, but to be honest, Peter and I drank a ton and did a lot of drugs.
“I’m drawing a blank,” I admit.
“I was dating a guy who my dad hated, and he told me to break up with him or he would cut me off. You really don’t remember this?”
“Peter, you dated so many people.”
“It’s not my fault I’m pretty,” is his response. He sits and flicks on the lamp on the nightstand, illuminating the amused expression he wears.
“I’m sorry I forgot. Seriously. I have, like, zero memory of whatever you’re talking about…so what did you do?”
Peter raises a shoulder. “I’m cut off,” he mentions casually.
A rare silence sets in between us while I replay those three words in my brain. Once they register, I raise my eyebrows. “Sorry—what?”
He nods, nonchalant. “Yeah, I haven’t gotten a dime from my father since I was, like, nineteen.”
“Ten years ago? But how?” I demand. “We’ve been hanging out constantly and I never knew you weren’t spending your father’s money.”
“I spend Gray’s money,” he replies casually, shrugging again. “Elizabeth’s too. The stakes of being cut off are low when you have siblings with unlimited money. Have you not thought about it?”
“Well, I’m not worried about money. My alternative to my father’s billions is…”
“Gus’s billions.”
“I’m more afraid of losing my relationship with my father and my brothers. Even if I don’t say this often, family means everything to me.”
“Being cut off doesn’t mean you’re ostracized. At least, not to the Davenports. I still talk to my parents. I just don’t get their money. And trust me, your brothers aren’t going to be upset at you if you’re cut off. Their share of the inheritance balloons to fifty/fifty if they don’t have to split it with you.”
“Oh my god, you’re right.”
“So fuck these games,” he goes on. “For me it was a no brainer. Cut me off. I don’t give a shit. I picked love. Granted, he dumped me three months later, but still. Worth it.”
“I need my own money though,” I reply. “I don’t want to rely on Gus for his money.”
“Why not?” Peter questions before deadpanning, “He has a lot of it.”
“Not the point.”
Knowingly, Peter nods. “Get another job,” he replies. “And this is precisely where my expertise ends because I’ve never had a job in my life.”
“And yet you need one more than any of us.”
He shrugs. “Said the woman who is housing me for free in Paris.”
“Touché,” I murmur.
Peter and I talk for hours. He tells me about his experience losing out on billions in inheritance, and assures me the sting goes away faster than you’d think. Worth it, he keeps saying. If you love someone, it’s worth it.
By the time I head back to my bedroom, my mind is made up. Gus fought for me. Now, it’s time to fight for him. I just need to figure out how.
I’m back in bed, already dreading another day of my horrible job when I take out my phone and find a new email from Gus. Subject: Your other birthday gift.
