Accidentally Royal_An Accidental Marriage Romance

by R. S. Lively

  “The hell he is, Darby,” he snaps. “You don't know what I know.”

  I take a drink of my wine and shake my head. It's always about Mason. Always has been. And I'm tired of it, to be honest. The more I sit there and listen to him, the more and more irritated I get. I have a right to live my life, the way I see fit. I also have the right to see who I want to see.

  “And what is it you think you know?”

  “How about we start with Pops Ramazzo,” he says. “Your boyfriend's mentor and father figure?”

  “What about him?”

  “I would be willing to bet, Mr. Respectable Businessman didn't tell you that Ramazzo used to be the head of a crime family.”

  “Actually, he did,” I say. “He told me that a long time ago.”

  “Did he tell you Ramazzo is implicated in half a dozen murders?” he asks. “And that your boy Carter knew about them all? Rumor is, he even participated in at least one of them.”

  The knots in my stomach constrict and I feel my heart begin to pound. I have a hard time believing anything Mason is saying. That's not the Carter I know. But, then I think back to him telling me that he doesn't know what Pops did back in the day – and him beating that hipster who made rude remarks to me.

  I've always known Carter has a temper. That's no secret. Nor is it any secret that he's been in his fair share of fights. But murder? Carter? It doesn't sound like the man I know.

  That cold voice of logic that resides in the back of my mind – the voice that's been oddly silent since Carter and I started seeing each other again – chooses this moment to speak up. It reminds me that I didn't see Carter for a decade. That I didn't know what he was doing in that time. Nor, did I know what he really did while we were together. He's always had his secrets.

  “He didn't tell you any of that, did he?” Mason presses. “I can see it on your face.”

  “Doesn't mean anything you're saying is true,” I say. “And if you're so sure he's guilty, why haven't charges ever been brought? Why has he never been arrested?”

  “Because these people are good, Darby,” he says. “They know how to cover their tracks. That's what mob bosses do.”

  “Oh, so now you're saying Carter's a mob boss?”

  “Not what I said,” he replies smoothly. “But, he was the right-hand man of one. It stands to reason that he'd be the one taking out the trash for his boss. Think about it.”

  That cold, dark voice is whispering in the back of my head. It's casting doubts over everything. I push it away ruthlessly and refuse to listen to it. None of this is true. It can't be. The man my brother is describing is not the man I know. Not now, and not then.

  “Let's move to today then, if that doesn't convince you, my darling sister,” he says. “My office personally has several open investigations into Bishop Financial. Insider trading for one. Racketeering. Fraud. I can't substantiate it at this point, but there is a rumor making the rounds that a whistleblower who was going to provide evidence of Carter's crimes mysteriously turned up dead.”

  I shake my head. “This is bullshit, Mason,” I say. “This is nothing more than you trying to drive a wedge between me and somebody you don't like.”

  “I wish it were, Darby.”

  “No, you don't,” I snap. “This wouldn't be the first time you interfered in my relationship with Carter.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, though I can tell by the look on his face he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

  “He told me all about you threatening him,” I say. “Using the threat of sending Pops to prison to get Carter to stop seeing me.”

  “That's bullshit,” Mason says.

  “He told me all of it, Mason,” I say, my voice cold and low. “Every last detail of what you said to him ten years ago to make him stop seeing me.”

  He drains the last of his drink and gives thought to ordering another, but apparently decides against it. He sets the empty down and picks up his glass of water, taking a long swallow of it. I know what he's doing. He's stalling. Trying to buy some time for himself to think. I've seen him do it all too often when he's caught in a lie.

  “Fine,” he says. “I did do that. I admit it. But, I did it because I didn't want you mixed up with those people. I wanted you far away from those murdering scumbags as possible.”

  I drain the last of my wine and slam the glass down on the table with enough force that it draws the attention of the people around us again. I turn and glare at the people gawking at me, no longer caring that they're staring. Mason has my blood up and I'm going to make my point. Screw these rich, snooty bastards.

  “So, you admit to making up a story to force Carter to stop seeing me?”

  “No,” he says, his slick lawyer voice in full effect. “I admitted to using what I knew to keep you out of a bad situation. The last thing I wanted was for you to end up hurt – or worse – because you were running around with goddamn mobsters, Darby. I did it to protect you.”

  “Bullshit, Mason,” I snap. “You did it to protect you. To protect your own political ambitions. Well, those aren't my ambitions and I won't be held hostage by them.”

  “Carter's little house of cards is going to come tumbling down, Darby. My office is closing in on him and it's only a matter of time before we bring him down,” he says. “I'm trying to keep you clear of the fallout. Believe it or not, I'm still trying to protect you.”

  “Like I said, your only goal is to protect yourself and your own ambitions,” I say. “You couldn’t give a shit about me.”

  I stand up so suddenly, I knock the chair over behind me. The waitress is standing next to our table, our entrees in hand, looking between us uncertainly.

  “He'll take both of those,” I say. “He's got to feed his fucking ego, after all.”

  Grabbing my purse, I storm out of the restaurant, the stares and whispers of the other patrons following hot on my heels, my own dark doubts and fears closer behind me than that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Carter

  “So how come I gotta find out you're datin' that hot little number you were with all those years ago from the goddamn tabloids?”

  I drop down on the couch across from Pops and laugh. “It's been a crazy few weeks.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine,” he says, tipping me a wink. “Darby, wasn't it?”

  “I can't believe you remember her name,” I say, genuinely shocked.

  “Hey, my brain still works just fine,” he snaps. “It's just my damn body that's gone tits up on me.”

  I run a hand through my hair, smiling. “Fair enough.”

  He looks at me, his expression serious. “You wanna know how I remember her after all these years?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  His gaze bores into me, his expression earnest. “It's because when you were with that girl the first time, it's the only time I ever seen you happy,” he says. “I mean genuinely happy.”

  “C'mon,” I say. “You and me have had plenty of good times.”

  He adjusts on the sofa and takes a drink of his water – at least, I think it's water. I make a mental note to check and see what he's drinking later. I wouldn't put it past Adriana to slip the old man some vodka now and then, just to make him happy – even though the doctors said no more booze.

  “Having a good time is one thing. And yeah, we've had our fair share, kid,” he says. “But, being down to your bones happy usually ain't something guys like us ever have a chance at. You had it though. And then you gave it up.”

  I let out a long breath and lean forward, arms on my thighs, hands clasped in front of me. He's not wrong. Back when Darby and I were together, it was as happy as I'd ever been in my life. And honestly, I'm getting another taste of it now. Getting a second bite at that apple is a rare thing in this life – and I plan on maximizing it.

  “How'd you two get back together?” he asks.

  A rueful grin touches my lips and I recount the entire story to him – including the fact that
it started off with her popping me at the gala. Pops laughs and claps his hands, genuinely amused. He doesn't get out much anymore, so he lives vicariously through me. And I'm always happy to entertain the old man. It seems like the very least I can do after he gave me so much.

  “The girl has some spirit,” he says when I finish my tale. “I saw it in her back then. Good to know time hasn't quenched that fire.”

  I look down at the ground a moment and grit my teeth. The last thing I want to do is force Pops to rehash the past – especially since he's made his preference for not doing so abundantly clear over the years. But, I need to know what I'm walking into. I know Mason is going to come at me with guns blazing, and I need to make sure I insulate Pops as best I can. The only way to do that is to know everything. And I mean everything.

  “Actually, she's why I came to talk to you,” I say.

  “That so?”

  I nod. “Yeah,” I say, steeling myself. “See, she's got a prick of a brother named Mason. Turns out, he's a U.S. Attorney.”

  Pops rolls his eyes and scoffs. He's always had a healthy disdain for lawyers.

  “I hate him already,” he mutters.

  “Yeah, me too,” I say. “It's about to get worse though.”

  I tell Pops everything about how Mason forced me to stop seeing Darby back then, using the threat of going after him if I didn't. Through it all Pops listens, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. When I finish the story, he just looks at me in silence for a long moment. His gaze is penetrating. Fierce.

  “That's why you stopped seeing Darby all those years ago?” he asks. “Because of me?”

  “No, because of Mason,” I say. “Because of what he threatened to do to you.”

  “Kid, if I'd known any of this back then, I would've kicked your ass up around your ears.”

  His voice is as firm and cold as I've heard it in years, and his eyes blaze with a ferocity I've seen all too many times.

  “I couldn't let him come after you,” I say.

  “Lemme ask you somethin', kid,” he says. “You really think I offed anybody?”

  I shrug. “I have no idea. I know you were the head of a mob back in the day, and –”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Damn. And here I thought you were smarter than that,” he says. “I thought I taught you to use your head better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yeah, I ran a small organization,” he says. “We never killed nobody. We ran some weed and fixed some games. Did a lot of bookmaking. Christ, you act like I was Al fuckin' Capone or something.”

  I cock my head and look at him. “But, I heard the stories some of the old timers told, and –”

  “That's all they were, kid, stories,” he says. “I have no idea where they came from or why anybody believed 'em, but it was all bullshit. I didn't say nothin' because it earned me respect in the neighborhood. People thought I was this bigshot Mafia Don or some shit like that, and because it kept people off my back, I let them assholes think it.”

  I run a hand through my hair and chuckle. Smoke and mirrors. Just like the reputation I'd fostered back at St. Aggie's all those years ago.

  “Feel stupid yet, kid?”

  I nod. “Yeah, but how was I supposed to know?”

  “You should've known,” he says. “You should've known me better than that.”

  “I did. I do,” I say. “But, when Mason confronted me and started makin' all these threats, telling me you were going to prison – I got scared. I couldn't let it happen. Not after all you've given me. I wouldn't be anywhere, wouldn't be anybody, if not for you, Pops.”

  He waves me off. “That's bullshit, kid,” he says. “You were always gonna do great things.”

  “That's funny because you're the only one who saw it,” I say. “You're the only one who invested in me and the only one who gave me a chance.”

  He gives me a crooked grin. “Fine, I may have nudged you in the right direction, but who and what you are today is all your doing. You're the one who put in the work for it. Not me.”

  “Yeah, that's true,” I say, “but without you, I wouldn't have had the work to put in.”

  We sit in silence for a few moments, each of us just looking at the other. He's right. I should have known better. Pops isn't a violent man. Never has been. Always pushed me to use my brain rather than my muscles. Always told me I'd get farther in life using my head than my brawn. He was right.

  “It kills me a little inside to know you sacrificed all those years of happiness just to protect me,” he says. “When there was nothin' to protect in the first place.”

  “Pops, I'd sacrifice everything I have to keep you safe.”

  He gives me a small, sad smile. “You don't get a shot at love – not real, deep down in the bones love – very often in life, kid,” he says. “When you get a shot at it, you take it. You grab on and you don't let that shit go. Ever.”

  “He may not have any bodies to pin on you, but Mason can still make your life hell,” I say. “And when he finds out that Darby and I are back together, he's gonna come after me by trying to get to you.”

  “Fuck him,” he says. “Let him try. I got nothin' but time to fuck with him right back. And given my lack of a social calendar, I'm actually kinda lookin' forward to it. It'd sure beat the hell out of watching them Mexican soap operas with Adriana.”

  I laugh. I can believe that. Pops would love nothing more than to waste Mason's time.

  “Listen to me, kid, and listen good,” he says. “You listening?”

  I look him in the eye and nod. “I'm listening.”

  “Good,” he says. “For some reason, God or the universe, or whatever, has given you a second chance with this girl. That's a rare goddamn thing, kid. She's good for you, and I can already see a difference in you now that you're with her again. You're happier. Lighter. You seem freer. Don't fuck this up. You hang on to that girl at all costs and never let her go. You hear me? Not ever.”

  “That's my plan, Pops,” I say. “That's my plan.”

  He nods, a warm smile on his face. “Good boy,” he says. “Good boy.”

  ~ooo000ooo~

  Rupert meets me at the elevators in the lobby on the ground floor of the office building we lease a floor on. Which is curious. I walk over to him and he's just standing there smiling. He hands me a cup of coffee. I raise it to my nose and inhale the aroma.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Things with Darby must be going really, really great, huh?”

  “Uhhh... yeah,” I say. “We're doing pretty good. Why?”

  “I figured you were,” he says.

  “Yeah?” I ask. “Why'd you figure that?”

  “Because Ahab is sitting in our conference room waiting on you,” he says and laughs.

  “You're shitting me.”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Wish I were,” he says. “Actually, no I don't. This should be something to see. It's going to be better than reality TV.”

  I laugh. “Well, let's not keep Ahab waiting,” I say. “Thanks for the coffee by the way.”

  “No problem,” he says. “Gave me an excuse to get the barista's number.”

  “Dude, she's like eighteen.”

  “Twenty,” he says, feigning offense. “She's – almost – legal to get a drink.”

  “Oh, my mistake,” I reply.

  “You can say that again,” he says. “Have you seen her? Smokin'.”

  “Don't forget to have her home before the street lights come on,” I say. “You don't want to make daddy mad.”

  “Eat shit.”

  We take the elevator up to our offices and when we step through the doors, I can feel the vibe in the room. It's not a good one. Everybody is casting wary looks in my direction, a tense energy filling the atmosphere around us.

  “Wow,” I say. “You'd think the Grim Reaper himself walked through here.”

  “He kinda did.”

  We walk through the office and head for the conference
room. I see him sitting at the table through the glass wall. And he's alone.

  “I figured he'd have a team of his lackeys here to try and intimidate us,” I say.

  “His ego's so big, he probably thinks he can do it on his own.”

  “Yeah, you're probably not wrong about that.”

  We step into the conference room and Mason cuts a withering glance at me.

  “Wow,” I say. “Is it me or did the temperature in the office just drop down to sub-Arctic?”

  “Oh, it's not just you. It's cold in here,” Rupert replies. “My nipples are definitely hard right now.”

  “I see some things haven't changed,” Mason says. “Still the wiseass.”

  “Which I guess means, you're still the uptight ass,” I say. “I'd tell you it's good to see you after all these years, but truth be told, I'd rather be seeing my blind proctologist with the extra long, extra thick fingers right about now.”

  A small grin touches his lips. At least he's not completely devoid of a sense of humor.

  “I would like to speak to you in private,” Mason says.

  I look at Rupert. “You did frisk him, didn't you?” I ask. “Checked him for guns or weapons of mass destruction?”

  “I didn't have time to do the cavity search yet,” he says. “On account of I had to go get your coffee.”

  “You mean, the baristas number.”

  “Two birds, one stone, boss.”

  Mason lets out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Are you both quite done?”

  “Not sure,” I say. “Rupert?”

  He screws his face up, pretending to think. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  I shrug and then look at Mason. “I guess so,” I say. “You'll have at least half my attention and my full amount of derision.”

  Rupert gives me a thumbs up and leaves the conference room. Truthfully, I would have preferred he stay. Witnesses are always a good thing to have on hand. But, I know that he'll be watching, since our conference room is wired for sound and video. At least we'll have a record of what happens. Probably inadmissible in court, but still handy information to have at my disposal.