Trust Fund Fiancé

by Naima Simone

  Shock blanked her eyes and parted her lips. Her soft gasp echoed in the room, and he locked his arms at his sides to keep from wrapping her in them. When he’d suggested this arrangement those months ago, his goal had been to avoid the pain that gleamed in her gaze. But now, to be the cause of it... He closed his eyes, yet seconds later reopened them. He did this; it would be a coward’s move not to face it.

  “When I asked you to marry me—when you agreed—this wasn’t the life you envisioned, and it wasn’t the one I promised you. Your father said I couldn’t take care of you, that I would only bring you hardship and scandal, and he was right. I took away the life you’ve known, the one you deserve. Because of me, you’re estranged from your family and still don’t have access to your inheritance.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Zeke.”

  “Yes...I do,” he ground out. “I failed you, Reagan, and all I can offer you now to make it right is a divorce. Then you can have your relationship back with your parents and a chance at the money your grandmother wanted you to have. You can have your dreams and the girls’ home you were meant to build. I refuse to take all that away from you.”

  “Am I so easy to toss aside, Zeke?” she whispered, her fingers lifting to that scar on her collarbone.

  “Ray, no,” he murmured. Nothing about this was easy. It was ripping him to shreds inside. “That’s not true.” He reached for her, to draw her hand away from that mark that represented so much tragedy for her, but she stumbled back, away from his touch.

  “My ex. My parents. You. What is it about me that’s so easy for people to walk away from?” She paced away from him, dragging fingers through her hair. Her hollow burst of laughter reverberated in the room. “No, I take that back. This isn’t on me. It wasn’t ever on me,” she said softly, almost as if to herself.

  Spinning around, she faced him again, and he was almost rocked back on his heels by her beauty and the fury in her eyes. “For too long I’ve blamed myself for whatever deficit in me permitted people to abandon me. I’m through with that. And you don’t get to use me as an excuse for running scared and not owning your own shit.”

  “What do you think I’m doing now, dammit?” He took a step toward her before drawing to an abrupt halt. “Do you think it’s easy for me to admit that I’ve failed you? That I couldn’t give you everything I promised? That I wasn’t—”

  He bit off the rest of that statement, hating to think it much less state it aloud. But she didn’t have that problem.

  “Enough? You weren’t enough to save Melissa. You aren’t enough to save Wingate. And you aren’t enough to save me?” For a moment, her expression softened, but then it hardened into an icy mask. One he hadn’t seen on her before tonight. “News flash, Zeke. I didn’t ask you to. It isn’t me you’re so concerned with protecting—it’s yourself. I threaten that pain and guilt that you’ve become so comfortable carrying around it’s now a part of you. Because to admit that I’m more than a charity case to you means you would have to deal with the reality that you stand in your own way of finding acceptance and love. You’ll have to face the truth that you’ve been lonely and alone out of choice, not cruel fate.”

  Anger sparked inside him, flicking high and hot. As did fear. But he fanned the flames of his anger, smoking out that other, weaker emotion. He wasn’t afraid. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know all he’d suffered, lost. How could he not throw up shields around his heart? To protect himself from that kind of devastation? Even now, knowing he was letting her go, damn near pushing her out the door, had pain pumping through his veins instead of blood. But the thought of how much worse it would be if something happened to her...

  No. Fuck it. Call him a coward. Selfish.

  He couldn’t do it. Not again.

  “Zeke.”

  He dragged his gaze from the floor and returned it to her face.

  The fury that saturated her features thawed, leaving behind a sadness that cut just as deep as her hurt. She sighed, shaking her head. “You are enough. You’re more than enough. But I can’t make you believe or accept it, so I’m leaving. Not because of some perceived stink of association with you. I’m leaving because the first time you ‘released’ me for my own good, I let you. Then I returned and begged you to marry me. I won’t do it again, and I won’t stay with a man who doesn’t want me enough to fight for me. For us. And I damn sure won’t beg him to let me stay.”

  She strode forward and past him. He lifted an arm in a belated attempt to reach for her, to try to make her understand why he was a bad bet. Why he was putting her before his wants and needs. Because she was wrong—he did want her. Too much.

  But either she didn’t see his hand or she didn’t want his touch, because she blew past him and headed toward the hall leading to their bedroom. He parted his lips to call after her, but then she stopped in the opening without turning around, her slim back straight, her shoulders drawn back.

  “I didn’t need you to be my superhero. I am fully capable of saving myself. I needed you to be my friend, my lover, my husband. I needed you to love me more than your fear of opening your heart up again. Just like I love you more than my fear of being abandoned again. And for the record, you were—you are—worth the risk. But this time? I’m walking away. Because I’m worth the risk, too.”

  Then she walked away. Just like she’d promised.

  Sixteen

  Reagan climbed the steps to her parents’ home and, twisting the knob, pushed the front door open. Since her mother was expecting her for lunch, there was no need to knock.

  Standing in the quiet foyer, she surveyed it as if she hadn’t been there in years instead of weeks. Since that confrontation with her father, she hadn’t stepped foot in the home that had been hers since birth. The only reason she did so now was because of a phone call from her mother, asking her to please come over so they could talk. The I miss you at the end had sealed Reagan’s fate. It was difficult to tell Henrietta Sinclair no on the best of terms. But when she tacked on the emotional warfare? Impossible.

  The familiar scent of lemon and roses enveloped her, as comforting as a hug. Funny to think there’d been a time when she’d hated the scent of roses. But now? Now she missed it as much as she missed her family.

  Especially now, when she didn’t have anyone.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She had Harley, who was graciously letting her stay with her and Grant until her new apartment came available next week. She had Beth and Gracie, who had been so saddened when she’d told them a week ago about the breakup with Zeke. But had quickly assured her she was still family to them.

  And of course, and most important, she had herself.

  That night with Ezekiel had been a revelation of sorts. A revelation that though her past might have shaped the woman she’d become, she was not the sum of her mistakes. Just as she’d told Zeke, she didn’t need saving; she wasn’t some damsel in distress. And her dream of a girls’ home here in Royal wouldn’t crumble to dust just because her father held her inheritance hostage. Her dream hadn’t been birthed by either her father or Ezekiel, so neither one could—or would—be the death of it.

  She loved him... God, did she love him. That love was rooted in friendship, admiration, respect and a desire that even now her soul-deep hurt hadn’t banished. But she valued who she was and what she brought to the table of their marriage more. That he couldn’t see how she possessed the strength to carry him just as he did her... She shook her head. Maybe it was good their relationship ended when it did. That lack of regard for her would’ve surely poisoned them long before he decided the expiration date on their arrangement had come due.

  Inhaling a breath, she shoved away those thoughts and the pain they resonated through her body for the time being.

  “Mom?” she called, walking toward the rear of the house and the smaller salon her mother usually occupied this time of day, working on
her numerous charitable events and committee responsibilities.

  “In here, Reagan.”

  That was not her mother. Shock ricocheted through her like a Ping-Pong ball, and she skidded to a stop on her heels, frozen. After several moments, she unglued her feet and reversed course toward the formal living room. She’d heard her father’s voice but seeing him standing there in the middle of the room pelted her with more icy shards of surprise.

  “Dad,” she said, amazed her voice remained calm when inside she was the exact opposite. “What are you doing here? I was supposed to meet Mom for lunch.”

  He cleared his throat and locked his hands behind his back. And oh, how she’d missed him. Reserved, domineering and often stern to the point of being implacable. But he was also protective, loving in his own way and willing to lay down his life for his family. They were all what defined Douglas Sinclair, and the distance between them had left a hollow, empty place in her heart.

  “I apologize for the deception, but I asked her to arrange this...” he waved a hand between them “...meeting. Otherwise, I didn’t know if you would agree to come.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say she would’ve, but at the last moment, she swallowed the words. Because she might not have, given that it might’ve meant subjecting herself to another blistering lecture.

  “Well, I’m here now,” she said, moving farther into the room. “What’s going on, Dad?”

  Instead of answering, he reached inside his suit jacket and removed an envelope. He crossed the short distance separating them and handed it to her. She tore her gaze away from him and glanced down at the piece of mail.

  “Please,” he insisted. “Open it.”

  With a frown, she acquiesced. And minutes later, the paper trembled in her shaking hand. Unsure that she could’ve read the single sheet correctly, she scanned it again. But no, the terms remained the same. Her grandmother’s inheritance had been released to her.

  He’d released it to her.

  “Dad,” she breathed, stunned at the enormity of this. But then an ugly idea crept into her mind, and she lowered the paper to her side. “Is this because I left Zeke?” she demanded. “Because I don’t want to be ‘rewarded’ for that. It had nothing to do with—”

  “No, Reagan,” Douglas interrupted her. “It has nothing to do with that. I’d decided to give you the inheritance a couple of weeks ago. It’s just taken me this long to get past my pride to speak to you.” He sighed, and once again, astonishment paralyzed her. Outward displays of emotion—sadness, pain, regret, which he usually kept so sternly in check—softened his eyes and turned his mouth down at the corners. Her heart thudded against her sternum. “The love a parent has for their child...” He shook his head. “It’s so hard to explain, but I want to try.”

  He paced to the large fireplace and silently studied its dark depths before turning back to her. And though his familiar, serious expression was firmly in place once more, his voice shook with the feelings she’d spied only seconds ago.

  “Being black in Texas was...rough for your mother and me. Especially in the time we came of age in. And infiltrating the business world carried its own set of hindrances and injustices. But for you, your brother and sister and mother, I would endure it all again. You all are worth every ugly name, every snub, every racist hurdle I had to climb or break through. Still, I swore to myself my children would never have to suffer that kind of pain, struggle and discrimination. I wanted better for you...because I love you so much.

  “I guess you could call it an obsession of mine—making sure you were all right. Especially after the pregnancy when you were sixteen. I felt so...helpless. My baby girl was hurting, had been taken advantage of, and I felt like I’d failed in protecting you. And I know I didn’t handle the situation right. I don’t regret paying off that boy because he was no good for you, but I do regret that in the middle of my pain and powerlessness I made you feel like I didn’t love you anymore. That somehow you were less in my eyes. When in truth, I wanted to wrap you up and shield you more.”

  He paused, then shifted, his profile facing her as he stared out the huge picture window. The view of Pine Valley was lovely, but she doubted he saw it. And she couldn’t focus on anything but her father and the words that both hurt and healed.

  “Since I failed in protecting you—”

  “Dad, that’s just not true,” Reagan objected fiercely.

  He shook his head, holding up a hand. “To me, I didn’t do my job as your father. All I wanted for you was a life where you didn’t experience that ever again. If something should happen to me tomorrow, I wouldn’t have to worry because I’d know you were taken of. Which, for me, meant a husband who could provide for you, care for you, insulate you with his name, his wealth and connections so you wouldn’t ever know being poor, disdained or abandoned. Never know mistreatment or mishandling of your precious heart again.

  “But nearly losing you because of my own agenda and shortsightedness revealed to me that I took it too far. I was so concerned with you being hurt by society, by this world, that I ended up being the one who hurt you. In my drive to protect you out of love, I forgot compassion. Understanding. Forgiveness. Mercy. All of those are elements of the love I touted. I also forgot that struggle often shapes a person, makes them stronger. It helps us be better. And while I detest what you went through, it did make you into a better, stronger person, and...” He shifted back to her and tears glistened in his eyes. “I love you. And I’m proud of you.”

  He lifted his arms, slowly opening them to her, and without hesitation she flew into them.

  And in that moment, as her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest, the sixteen-year-old girl and the adult woman converged into one. “I love you, too, Dad.”

  Seventeen

  “What the hell?” Ezekiel stared at the email from his personal accountant. More specifically, the numbers inside the email. There were a shit ton of zeroes in that number. “This can’t be...”

  But even as he murmured the objection, he reread the message again, and there it was in black and white.

  He was a millionaire.

  For the first time since Reagan walked away from him and out of his house, he felt something other than a pain-infused grief. Like a death. Only difference, there wasn’t a tombstone to visit.

  You did the right thing. The only thing you could do.

  He repeated the reminder that had become a refrain in his head over the last week. Whenever he teetered on the edge of giving in, yelling, “Fuck this,” and going after her, he remembered that he was doing what was best for her.

  Best for you.

  The taunt whispered across his mind, and he flipped that voice a mental bird.

  “What can’t be?” a familiar and unexpected voice asked.

  Ezekiel jerked his head up and watched Luke close Ezekiel’s office door behind him and cross the floor to his desk. Even though the workday was only a couple of hours old, Luke had rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows, undone the top button, and his tie knot was loosened.

  Concern momentarily overshadowed Ezekiel’s shock. No one in this company was working harder than Luke to save it. And it showed in the faint bruises under his brother’s eyes denoting lack of sleep, the hollowed cheekbones and firm lines bracketing his mouth.

  “When was the last time you went home and had a decent night’s sleep?” Ezekiel demanded.

  Luke dismissed his question with a flick of his hand. “What can’t be?” he repeated. “You receive some good news?”

  “Yes,” Ezekiel said, struggling against badgering Luke into answering his question. Shaking his head, he shifted his attention from his brother’s weary features to the computer screen and the open email. “I just received a message from my accountant.” He huffed out a breath, disbelief coursing through him once more. “I have a few personal i
nvestments outside of Wingate and apparently, one of the companies I invested in just sold for billions. Billions, Luke. And I’m a millionaire because of it.”

  Joy lit up his brother’s light brown eyes, eclipsing the exhaustion there.

  “Holy shit, Zeke!” Luke grinned, rounding the desk to pull Ezekiel up out of his chair and jerk him into a back-pounding hug. “That’s wonderful. Damn, I’m glad we finally have some good news around here.”

  “I’m still in shock. I don’t even know what to do right now,” Ezekiel murmured.

  “I do. Go get Reagan back.”

  Ezekiel’s chin jerked up and back from Luke’s verbal sucker punch. “What?” Just hearing her name... It scored him, leaving red-hot slashes of pain behind. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about going to find your wife, get down on your knees if need be and beg her to come back to you,” Luke stated flatly. “I love you, Zeke, but you fucked up.”

  A growl vibrated in his chest, rolling up into his throat, but at the last moment, he didn’t let his angry retort fly. Luke loved him and meant well. But still... Ezekiel didn’t want to hear this. “Luke, I appreciate—”

  “No,” Luke interjected with a hard shake of his head. “You’re my brother and the most important person in the world to me. Which is why I can tell you the brutal truth even though you don’t want to hear it. And I can do it knowing it won’t hurt our relationship.”

  Ezekiel almost turned away, but only his love for his brother kept him from walking away. Well, that, and he harbored zero doubts Luke would drag him back to make him listen.

  Luke sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I know I warned you against marrying Reagan when you first told me about the engagement. I was worried for both of you. But when I saw you two at the engagement party, I changed my mind. You belong together... You belong to her. And I say this remembering how you were with Melissa. I loved her—she was sweet, kind and loved you. But Melissa is gone, and you have the chance for a future with a woman who not only fiercely defended you like a lioness but who challenges you. Who makes you better. Who loves you. And you, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, love her.”