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The idea was ludicrous. Insane. We’d only been fake dating for two months. There was no way we could sell it, no way it would make sense. The papers would read: Billionaire’s Son Seems To Have Gone Mad. But—and it was a massive but—it would make a stronger sell for taking over as CEO. It could show my parents that I was serious. That I could settle down.
And in truth, it was the least I could do to make up for everything that had happened with Brody. I’d slept with his daughter despite her being off-limits and dated her against his wishes. So how on earth could I possibly say no to his fucking dying wish?
“You alright, Hunter?” Dad asked, looking up over the top of his newspaper on the other side of the kitchen island, his reading glasses halfway down his nose. “Not going into the office today?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed. The answer covered both questions, and as I pressed my hands against my face, Dad’s paper folded onto the counter.
“Worried about Charlotte?”
I nodded. “She won’t leave that fucking room,” I said, pushing my hands up and back through my hair. It had grown out a little longer than when I’d first met her. “I know she’s worried sick about her dad. I get it. But she’s gonna drive herself insane.”
Saying it out loud churned my gut. Here I was, caring about a girl I never imagined caring about, worrying for her, and all the while I was thinking about how this would affect my bid for CEO. Brody was dying. You’re a fucking monster.
“You should go see her,” Dad said, surprising even me with his ounce of sympathy.
“I’m going to in a bit.”
“If she needs you, you should go now.”
“He’s right, honey,” Mom piped up, already putting my pancakes into a plastic container along with a second set for Lottie. “I’m proud of you, for what it’s worth.” Dad nodded his agreement.
I felt like a fucking fraud.
Within minutes, the food was packaged in a bag for me to bring to Lottie and eat on the go. I gave Mom a hug and nodded to my dad—he’d never been one for displays of parental affection—before heading down to the foyer to grab my jacket, every step echoing in the far too large house with far too few people.
A hand wrapped around the bottom of my bicep, closing in enough to force me to turn around. “Hunter.”
Fred stood in the doorway of the lower sitting room dressed in plaid pajama pants and a plain white, wrinkled shirt. Did he sleep here? Where is his wife? “I need to get going,” I said, hoping to brush off whatever business-related bullshit he wanted to throw my way. I hadn’t even decided if I was going to work yet.
“I know. I heard.” The grimace that flashed across Fred’s face was fleeting, but I caught it before it went away. Slowly, his fingers relaxed, releasing me. “I just wanted to say that I, uh… you’ve changed a lot recently. I’m proud of you.”
I studied his features, looking for any hint or sign of malicious intent. Fred had never been one to speak that way, especially not to me. And never after what had happened between us. “Thanks?” I said, more like a question than a statement.
“I’m serious,” he insisted, taking a step toward me that forced me backward. “I just hope that it’s all, you know, real.”
Real. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He held his palms in front of his chest, showing me he wasn’t there for a fight. “You haven’t heard the rumors going around?”
My eye began to twitch. I didn’t want to deal with this right now, not when my parents were right, that I should be with Lottie. But what the fuck did he mean?
“Shit, you haven’t. They’re saying you and Charlotte were… arranged,” he said, each word chosen more carefully than I ever would have expected from him. Maybe it was because he knew where I was heading. Maybe it was because I looked like I wanted to rip his fucking trachea out. “I just hope that isn’t true.”
Without even commanding it, my body slowly started stepping back toward the door, my eyes glued to him. “I don’t have time to deal with nonsense, Fred,” I grumbled, and within a second, I was gone.
————
I’d seen Lottie cry too many times to count over the last few weeks. Today was different.
I could hear her before I’d even made it to Brody’s room, could hear the wails and shaking gasps. Every step took me to her faster until I was practically sprinting. There was a comfort in seeing the nurses and doctors pacing the hallway weren’t heading in her direction. It was likely nothing too significant had happened, but that didn’t mean something hadn’t happened.
Lottie, puffy-eyed and dampened face, sat in the chair next to her father’s bed, one hand in his and the other in her hair. It was greasy again, I’d need to make sure she showered. But that was the furthest thing from my mind as her eyes locked with mine.
Every part of me ached for her. I’d never had to watch someone go through this, actively grieving while the person slowly dies in front of you over the course of weeks, months, who knows how long. It was new to both of us, and all I could think to do was go to her, sink to my knees in front of her chair, and drag her down into my arms.
“It’s not working,” she sobbed, her voice barely audible through the low drone and beeping of the machines behind her sleeping father. Brody didn’t look well at all—if anything, he looked worse. “It’s not working. It’s not working?—”
“Hey, hey,” I hushed her. I took her face into my hands, forced her to breathe in sync with me. “Calm down. I don’t understand what you mean.”
