Heir of the Hamptons

by Erika Rhys

  Aiden’s face flushed. “I do—and I want you to know that I had nothing to do with it. You and I might not get along, but I would never fuck with your personal life.”

  He seemed sincere, and my gut said that he was being honest with me.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “The wedding’s still on, and in any case, you’re not responsible for your mother’s actions.”

  Aiden looked relieved. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “It’s a simple fact,” I said mildly. “As is the reality that your mother desperately wants you to inherit Kingsley Capital.”

  Aiden’s gaze darkened. “I don’t need anyone’s help to succeed, and I’ve told my mother to stop interfering with my plans.”

  My expression must have revealed my surprise, because Aiden released a dry chuckle. “Looks like I’ve shocked you.”

  “Frankly, you have. Are you considering leaving the firm?”

  “Not at the moment—but in another year or so. Dad’s approach is more conservative than mine, and once I get a bit more experience under my belt, I plan on starting my own business, just like you did. By the time I’m Dad’s age, I intend to run one of the most successful investment firms on Wall Street, and when I get there, no one’s going to be able to say that I did it by stealing my brother’s legacy.”

  I looked at my brother with new respect. His statement brought back memories of my own youthful rebelliousness and ambition, as did the fire with which he’d spoken. Was Aiden finally growing up and becoming his own person instead of his mother’s pawn?

  “Dad’s a piece of work,” I said. “As far as I’m concerned, he can leave Kingsley Capital to whoever he wants. I’ve got my own business, and I refuse to participate in head games that pit family members against each other.”

  “I feel the same way,” Aiden said. “Anyway, you won’t have to worry about my mother’s interference going forward. I’ve shut that problem down for good.”

  Was it possible that he had? Without questioning him, I couldn’t begin to know—but in taking on Veronica, Aiden had stepped up for me, and I needed to treat him like the man he was trying to become.

  Which meant not cross-examining him. Which meant showing him respect—and trust.

  So I held out my hand to him. “Thank you for talking to Veronica.”

  Aiden shook my hand with a firm grip. “I just wish I’d found out what she was up to in time to stop her from dragging Ava into our fucked-up family drama.” His lips quirked in a wry half smile. “But I suppose the silver lining is knowing what your future wife is made of.”

  “I’m a lucky man,” I said, wishing for the first time that I didn’t have to lie to my brother about my marriage, that I could reciprocate the honesty with which he’d just spoken to me. But I couldn’t. At least not now and definitely not without talking it through with Ava.

  “You’re beyond lucky,” Aiden said. “Shit, she turned down a three-million-dollar bribe for you.” He shook his head. “She must really love you.”

  “She does,” I said, being as truthful as I could. “And take it from me, it’s a humbling experience.”

  My brother furrowed his brow at me. “What do you mean?”

  “Being loved like that. I can’t possibly deserve it.”

  “Maybe you don’t deserve Ava, maybe you do,” Aiden said. “I’m certainly in no position to judge or give advice, beyond what I’ve learned from growing up in our messed-up family.”

  When he hesitated, I met his gaze. “Go on.”

  “You can’t change the past. But your future is up to you. If Ava deserves a better man, maybe you should just do your best to be that guy.”

  For a long moment, I just looked at Aiden’s face, which radiated good intentions. In time, my younger brother would learn one of life’s harshest lessons, which was that people didn’t change. In small ways, sure—but not when it came to stuff that really mattered. At the end of the day, I’d always known I was a Kingsley and my father’s son. Sure, I’d tried to be more honest about who I was. I’d tried to find a way to be myself without hurting anyone.

  And what had my efforts accomplished? I’d hurt Ava, and I’d told a shit ton of lies to support the fake marriage that was about to take place. A better man would have found another way to save his business. A better way. One that didn’t involve lying or hurting people.

  But I wasn’t that man, and I hadn’t found a better way.

  Which meant I had a wedding to get through. So, despising myself for doing it, I put a smile on my face and clapped my brother on the back, faking a lightheartedness I wished I could feel. “Thanks, Aiden—I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’d better get my ass downstairs.”

  “Before you’re late for your own wedding?” he joked.

  “You got it,” I said, winking at him. “Keeping my beautiful bride waiting isn’t an option.”

  39

  AVA

  After Cara helped me into my wedding gown and zipped its back, I gazed into the mirrored vanity in the bedroom suite that had been set up as my dressing room, part of me still not fully believing the reflection that stared back at me. The Vera Wang dress we’d chosen for me was a lovely balance of modern and classic. Ivory and sleeveless, with a deep V neckline exposed just enough cleavage, its skirt fanned out gracefully from my waistline, and appliques of delicate, corded lace added a touch of shimmer to its classic silhouette. I’d styled my dark hair in a sleek updo, which complemented the clean lines of my dress, and diamond solitaire earrings sparkled from my ears, completing my look.

  Aside from a trace of shadows beneath my eyes, I looked every bit the perfect Hamptons bride, and aside from Cara and Mimi, who knew that I’d bared my heart to Ronan and been rejected, no one would see the truth behind the illusion, let alone what it was costing me to maintain it.

  “We definitely picked the right dress,” Cara said, stepping back to inspect me. “You’re gorgeous, and you’ll only be more stunning when I finish your makeup.” She glanced around. “Damn it. I must have left my makeup bag in my room.”

  “Can’t we use mine? Trust me, it’s fully stocked with everything we could possibly need.”

  “My brushes are better than your brushes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “Back in two minutes,” she said, heading for the door.

  When it closed behind her, I nervously paced back and forth, as the reality of what I faced sank into me in ways that it never had before.

  I was about to marry the man I loved. Within the hour, I would stand beside him and vow to love, honor, and trust him. And in my heart, I still wished those vows could be real.

  But they couldn’t.

  Ronan’s rejection had shocked me awake from that dream, and now, as I prepared to pay the price for all the risks I had taken, raw emotion simmered in my gut.

  Agreeing to a fake marriage had been stupid, and falling in love with my fake husband-to-be made me the biggest idiot of all time.

  But this situation wasn’t only on me.

  Over the past week, I’d searched my soul. I’d questioned and picked apart every memory of my time with Ronan. And while he’d never spoken of love, in every other way, he had behaved as if he loved me. He’d shared intimate parts of his past with me, he’d made passionate, tender love to every inch of my body, and he’d made me feel treasured in ways that no man ever had.

  He’d given me hope that our story could have a happy ending.

  And then he’d torn that hope away and shredded my heart.

  When Cara returned, we sat down in front of the vanity, and she began applying concealer to the shadows beneath my eyes.

  As she worked, I contained my emotion, until I couldn’t. “I must be the dumbest woman alive,” I said. “Either that, or I’m losing my mind. Part of me still can’t believe all of this.” I gestured at myself. “Me. This dress. This wedding, which feels like an insane mix of fake and real.”

  Cara level
ed me with a look. “Are you having second thoughts about going through with it?”

  “No. I gave my word, and beyond that, I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt Ronan that way. I can’t help loving him, even if I wish I didn’t. But right now, I’m angry. I’m furious with myself for getting into this mess and frustrated with Ronan’s refusal to give us a chance. His whole I’m-not-capable-of-love thing is nothing but a pose, and I call bullshit on it.”

  “It’s not a pose,” Cara said as she began brushing foundation onto my face. “It may be bullshit, but it’s what he truly believes.”

  “I get that—and I’m not asking you to take sides between me and your brother. I know how much you love him.”

  She sighed. “I love you both. And it kills me to see you hurting like this, but I still believe that Ronan loves you. He’s crazy about you, Ava. He just needs more time to come around to admitting it.”

  “I wish I agreed—but I don’t.”

  “You haven’t known Ronan as long as I have,” she said. “He can’t be rushed, which is why I advised you to give it time before telling him how you felt.”

  “I couldn’t go into this wedding and make vows without knowing what they meant.”

  “I get it,” she said. “That’s who you are, and in your shoes, I’d probably feel the same way. But Ronan’s a man. He’s different from you and me. He doesn’t analyze his emotions the way we do, and he doesn’t grasp his true feelings until they punch him in the gut. When that happens, as it inevitably does, he’s forced to acknowledge how he really feels—which also takes time. It takes him a while to sort out his feelings, but over the next two years, he’ll figure it out.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Don’t give up on him, Ava. A lot can change in two years.”

  “Not this,” I said. “For better or worse, Ronan’s made his decision. And I don’t expect him to change his mind.”

  40

  RONAN

  Standing between an Anglican priest and my best buddy Jack, beneath the flower-bedecked ceremonial arch that had been erected on the estate’s expansive lawn, I tensed as the string quartet moved into the familiar strains of Ave Maria, signaling that within minutes, I would be a married man.

  A flower-lined aisle divided the hundred-plus wedding guests into two banks of smiling, expensively dressed people, who rose to their feet as first Cara, and then Ava, stepped down the aisle.

  As Ava approached me, and the violin crooned Schubert’s soaring melody, a chill shot down my spine. In her simple yet elegant gown, holding a bouquet of vivid flowers that complemented the ivory hue of her dress, she was the most stunning bride I’d ever seen, and for a second, my brother’s words about trying to be worthy of her echoed through my mind.

  She was the first woman I’d ever known who’d made me wish I was a better man. And over the past week, I’d tried to let her go, something I’d always been good at. But this time was different. Deep in my gut, I wasn’t ready to let her go. Was I in withdrawal from giving up the hottest sex of my life, or was there more to it? I wasn’t sure, but regardless, I felt like a grade A asshole for hurting her.

  But whatever it was that I felt for Ava, part of me couldn’t help but be selfishly glad that the ceremony to come was about to make her mine and buy me time to figure things out.

  As I vowed to love, honor, and trust Ava, and she made the same promises to me, everything but the L-word rang true for me. I might not be a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy, but I did honor and trust her. And when I vowed to protect and shelter her for all the days of her life, I couldn’t have meant those words more.

  As we slipped our rings onto each other’s fingers, and I claimed her lips with our first kiss as a married couple, I felt a fresh sense of resolve.

  I would protect her, no matter what.

  Even if in the end that meant protecting her from me.

  As Ava and I walked down the aisle hand in hand to the string quartet’s upbeat rendition of Bruno Mars’s “Marry You”—the result of a hard-won musical compromise with Veronica—our guests showered us with the rose petals that had been provided for that purpose.

  “We did it,” I said against Ava’s ear.

  “It’s not over yet,” she whispered.

  “No, but within an hour or so, everyone will be plastered. It’s all downhill from here.”

  When we reached the end of the aisle and began to accept the congratulations of our guests, I did my best to keep us moving toward the estate’s large pergola-roofed patio, where the cocktail hour and dinner would take place. Although Ava was once again playing her role masterfully, we had a long evening ahead of us, and I thought it best to conserve our energy.

  Progress was slow, but gradually we made our way through the clusters of guests now drifting toward the patio, and when we reached it, I helped Ava to her seat at the table reserved for the two of us, which was raised on a small dais so that our guests could see us.

  Nearby, larger tables, draped with pristine ivory tablecloths and set with gleaming silverware and elegant floral centerpieces, ringed a central area that had been left open for after-dinner dancing. Globes of vivid flowers and ivory-hued paper lanterns hung from the pergola’s wooden beams. The string quartet had been replaced with a twelve-person jazz band, which had begun playing the mixture of jazz standards and contemporary favorites that we’d requested for the evening. Most of our guests were already seated, and as I took my seat beside Ava, a smattering of applause filled the air.

  As Ava and I smiled and waved, and Ava blew a kiss toward her friend Mimi, who was seated with an assortment of Hamptonites at a nearby table, the bandleader announced us as “Mr. and Mrs. Ronan Kingsley,” and a dark-suited waiter rushed over with two glasses of champagne. I took them and handed one to Ava, before clinking my own against it.

  “To you,” I said, keeping my voice low enough that only she could hear me. “Thank you for marrying me, for being a true friend, and for always having my back.”

  She met my gaze and spoke quietly. “I’ve done my best. So have you. And the wedding’s going better than expected, at least so far. Even Veronica hasn’t been her usual bitchy self.”

  “That’s thanks to a conversation Aiden had with her,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it later, when we’re alone.”

  “Regardless of why, I’m grateful,” Ava said.

  “As am I. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

  Her lips quirked in a wry half-smile, and for the first time in a week, I glimpsed a spark of humor in her eyes. “Trust me—neither will I.”

  41

  AVA

  As the evening wore on, I felt increasingly claustrophobic. While Ronan couldn’t have been more supportive, as we went through the rituals of a newly married couple for an increasingly raucous and inebriated audience, each moment was another stab in my battered heart.

  The announcement of us as “Mr. and Mrs. Ronan Kingsley.” Having our first dance—and then dancing with Ronan’s father, who leered at my cleavage while holding me far too close for comfort, while Ronan whirled Veronica around the floor with a stoic expression on his face as she flashed her perfect, gleaming smile at the cream of Hamptons society. Jack’s speech, in which he made the usual ribald best-man jokes about Ronan finally meeting his match.

  Still, I held myself together well until the endless clinking of silverware against glasses began, demanding that we kiss—and minutes later, that we kiss again. In the past, I’d found this convention amusing, but in my current situation, it was nothing short of torture.

  By the time we finished dinner, my face ached from smiling, and each kiss accelerated my internal meltdown. The single, fragile thread of hope that held me together was the knowledge that after tonight, the worst would be over.

  With the wedding behind us, I’d only have to play the devoted wife now and then, at the occasional Kingsley family event or gala fundraiser. And starting tomorrow morning, I’d fix my focus on distancing myself
from Ronan. Once that distance gave my heart the time and space to heal, perhaps we could manage to rebuild some degree of rapport. Not an intimate friendship, which would risk strengthening my feelings for him, but a basic level that would make it easier to share an apartment for the next two years.

  I’d also refocus on my business and my passion for floral design. Burying myself in the work that I loved had saved me after my breakup with my ex-fiancé, Brian, and in time, hopefully it would save me from the heartbreak and disappointment I felt now.

  Did Ronan sense my agony? If he did, he hid it flawlessly, because to my eye, he appeared relaxed, even happy. But then again, he’d gotten everything he wanted, hadn’t he? I’d gone to bed with him, I’d married him, and within days, he’d have access to his $50 million trust fund.

  I checked my bitter thoughts and reminded myself that while Ronan wasn’t blameless in this situation, neither was I. From the day I’d met him, I’d made one mistake after another. Agreeing to a fake marriage with him. Giving in to my attraction to him. And worst of all, falling in love with him.

  Tonight, the bill for those mistakes had come due.

  As the clinking started up again, I resignedly leaned toward Ronan for yet another on-demand lip-lock. If I was lucky, this might be the last of the night. Although I doubted it. We weren’t due to cut the cake for another half hour and would need to stay for at least another hour after that.

  And as Ronan’s full, sensuous lips pressed against mine for what seemed like the millionth time, my traitorous body didn’t want this kiss to be our last. Couldn’t want it to be our last. Despite everything that had happened between us, I loved him as much as ever—and not knowing if this was the last time he’d take me in his arms and claim my lips with his own was beyond devastating—it was tearing me apart.

  This night couldn’t end soon enough.