by Ashley Jade
However, less than two minutes later, she scribbled on her notepad that I had too much eye makeup on and that my favorite jacket looked like it was made in a Bangladesh sweatshop.
Then, before I could defend my appearance, she passed Reggie another note that read: Ask my granddaughter if it would kill her to stop looking like a dyke unicorn and get rid of that pink hair.
If it wasn't for the lawyer choosing that moment to walk into the room—I'd have choked her with the silk scarf draped around her neck.
Hell, I still might, depending on how the rest of this meeting goes.
“Your father appointed your grandmother as his beneficiary,” Barry, the lawyer, repeats slowly, almost like it hurts him to say it. And maybe it does, given he was friends with my dad and it sounds like he dropped the ball on the most important documentation my father left behind. “Therefore, his estate is in her name.”
“I know.” I sit up straight. “I get that, but I was told everything will be turned over to me when I'm twenty-five.”
He looks at his pile of paperwork. “That's what your parents wanted.”
“So, what's the problem?”
He looks at my Nanna and a horrible feeling crawls up my spine. “The incentive clause.” I look down at my shoes. I don't think I can stomach the satisfaction my next statement will give her. “Look, you had every right not to give me my allowance when I dropped out of college and went through my rough patch. But, I'm doing much better now—”
“It's not the incentive clause,” Barry says, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “The clause determined whether you were paid your monthly allotment, but that money came from a separate trust fund. Dropping out of college and getting arrested isn't why you stopped receiving it every month. Your father only intended for the money in that trust to last until you turned twenty-one.”
I feel like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. “So, there's more than one trust fund for me?”
Barry shoots my grandmother a look. “I can't believe you never told her any of this.”
My grandmother shrugs and lights a cigarette. We all stop and stare at her, because evidently having a hole in her freaking neck isn't enough to make her quit the bad habit.
“Don't worry,” Reggie says. “She can't smoke anymore. At least, she's not supposed to.”
My grandmother rolls her eyes and lights a second one, billowing them around as if she were burning sage, which is ironic, considering she's selfishly infecting all of us with her second-hand smoke like the evil demon she is.
Barry shakes his head and focuses his attention on me. “Not exactly. Technically it's just the one trust fund and everything else is considered his estate. Money, property—”
“Which is supposed to go to me on my next birthday.” I look at my Nanna. “You told me after the funeral that's what they wanted.”
For a moment, I see a flicker of something resembling human emotion in her eyes, but it's gone when Barry speaks again.
“It is, Kit. However, there's an issue.”
“What kind of issue?”
He sweeps his hand back and forth, trying to direct the smog wafting from my grandmother's cigarettes out of his face. “Sorry, I'm allergic to smoke.”
He starts coughing violently, and my grandmother casts him a look packed with enough ice to build an igloo, then proceeds to light up two more of them.
When poor Barry starts coughing up what I'm certain is a lung, Reggie wheels my Nanna to the patio so she can wave her cancer sticks around outside.
After I hand him a glass of water, he continues where he left off. “Even though your father wanted his estate turned over to you, he never went through the proper channels to ensure it would.”
He solemnly points to his paperwork. “When we drew up his will, naturally, your mother was the beneficiary. But when you have children, especially minor children, it's a good idea for parents to put things in place. I told him what we could do to ensure his estate went to you if he and your mother passed before you were of age—but he declined. He said if that happened, your grandmother would be appointed guardian, and he wanted his estate to go to her until you either turned twenty-five or got married, whichever came first. Again, I explained he should take the proper steps, but he—” His face falls. “He said he trusted your grandmother to fulfill his wishes, and he didn't want his estate tied up until you were twenty-five in case you or she needed the money before then. He thought making her the beneficiary was best for everyone.”
His shoulders hunch. “He ended the conversation shortly after. He was only thirty-six, Kit. Young people don't typically take their wills seriously. And it's hard for young parents, regardless of wealth, to think about what would happen if they were to pass. It's not a conversation any parent likes to have.”
I reach for a tissue and force myself to inhale a breath. I'm not upset about the money, I'm upset at the reminder of how young they were when they were taken from me.
I'm upset because I'm talking to a lawyer about my parents' last wishes, instead of them.
I'm upset because this weird feeling is burrowing in my gut, but I feel guilty for even acknowledging it and wanting answers—because I'd choose my parents over their money in a heartbeat if given the choice.
But I wasn't given the choice...and their money is the only thing I have left of them.
Or it was. I'm not sure anymore, and it doesn't help that Barry keeps skirting around whatever the issue is when I need him to spit it out. “If he wanted his estate to go to me, and trusted my grandmother to do the right thing...then what's the problem?”
He looks at my grandmother who is being wheeled back in by Reggie. “Her.” His face goes slack. “You're not the primary beneficiary listed in her will.”
A surge of anger and confusion rushes through me. “What?” I turn and look at her. “Every penny you have is from my parents. Why wouldn't you make me your beneficiary?”
I'm their daughter, there's no one else it should go to.
She jots something down on her notepad and hands it to Reggie.
“She'll make you her beneficiary if you get married.” He peers down at the notepad again and shifts uncomfortably. “To a man.” His eyes become saucers. “She says it's her dying wish.”
My knee-jerk reaction is instant and I bolt out of my seat. “Oh my God, you're unbelievable! Dying wish or not, it's not happening.”
My Nanna snaps her fingers, gesturing for Reggie to wheel her out of the room.
In a flash, I grab the armrests of her wheelchair, forcing her to look at me. She's gone too far this time. “This is wrong and you know it. You can't keep punishing me because my sexuality offends you, Nanna.”
She viciously scrawls something on her notebook, but I snatch it and throw it. “No. It's time you listen to me for a change.”
I'm no longer the confused and lonely teenager she can lock in a basement for being gay. I'm done letting her have all the power and control over me.
I get close to her face because these are the last words I intend to say to her, and I want to make sure she hears them loud and clear. “Do whatever you want with the money. I don't need it, and I don't need you. I never did.”
With that, I flip her the bird, turn on my heels, and exit with my head held high.
I'm almost to the front door when I hear Barry's footsteps behind me. “She's leaving everything to your uncle.”
His words are like a bullet straight to the heart and my knees buckle right before they hit the marble floor.
Pain saws through my lungs and I clutch my throat, fighting for air.
My Nanna knew exactly where to hit me when she delivered her final knockout punch.
Tears sting my eyes, but I swiftly wipe them away. I won't give her the satisfaction of rolling in here to witness me nurse my battle wounds from the knife she plunged into my back.
White hot rage courses through me, and I start shaking with anger. I would rather watch her piss on
my parents' money and then light it on fire before a single dime of it ever goes to that bastard.
Barry eases me back on my feet. “We can go before a judge, but considering she doesn't have much time left, it might not happen until after her death.” His voice drops to a whisper, despite no one else being around. “And once your uncle has access to the estate…” His voice trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish that sentence. I know all too well what my uncle is capable of. I live with the loss every day.
There's no way in hell he's getting a cent from the people he set up to have killed.
Over my dead body.
“Barry?” I question, cutting him off when he starts to speak again.
“Yeah?”
“Are you married?”
He blinks. “Yes, my wife and I celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary yesterday as a matter of fact.”
Well, there goes that idea.
I take out my phone so I can call Breslin. If anyone can help me with this situation, it's her. The girl has not one, but two boyfriends.
I just need her to let me borrow one of them for a little while.
My chest stings with guilt as I hover over the call button. Breslin's boyfriends aren't sweaters—it's safe to say she won't be thrilled at the idea of me marrying either of them.
Not to mention the fact that they all have already done so much for me. The least I can do is not disturb the equilibrium in their relationship by involving them in another messy situation of mine.
I'll just have to figure something else out. And fast.
I eye Barry. “Do you have any single friends who would be willing to tie the knot for an hour in exchange for a million dollars?”
Barry makes a face. “You mean you're considering going along with this?”
“What other choice do I have? I'm not letting him get a penny of my parents' money. If I have to marry someone with a Y chromosome for a few hours to prevent that from happening, then so be it.” I start heading back to my Nanna's office. “Now excuse me while I go kiss my grandmother's ass and try not to hurl.”
My Nanna gives me a smug smile as I enter the room, almost like she was anticipating my return.
“Fine, you win,” I say, defeated. “I'll get married.”
Barry comes in a moment later. “The Bar will have my ass if they ever find out about this.” He whips out a pen and looks at my grandmother. “I want this agreement in writing, and you better leave her everything like your son wanted.”
My Nanna gives him the stink eye and reaches for her cigarettes.
Barry writes something down on his legal pad. “I'll need you both to sign this.” He coughs, waving away the smoke. “Reggie will have to sign as a witness after, and then we can draw up a new will that lists Kit as the beneficiary. Agreed?”
I start to nod, but my Nanna pinches Reggie. “No. Ms. Bishop has a list of rules her granddaughter must abide by.”
My teeth clench. “Of course she does.” I plop down on a chair. “Let's get this over with.”
Reggie clears his throat and holds out the paper my Nanna hands him as if it were a scroll. “Rule number one—you must remain married for one full year.”
The breath I was holding comes out in one big whoosh and bile rises up my throat. It's been less than a minute since I've agreed to this and already it's the worst decision of my life.
Marrying a man for five minutes is a piece of cake. Hell, celebrities do it all the time.
But an entire year?
I clutch the armrest so tight my knuckles turn white, and I have to remind myself why I'm doing this in the first place.
I eagerly take the glass of water Barry hands me, wishing it was something stronger.
My Nanna, not bothering to hide the pompous smirk on her face—flicks a hand in Reggie's direction, indicating he should continue.
“Rule number two—your grandmother must choose the suitor.”
“The suitor? Are you serious? This isn't the eighteenth-century.” I glare at her. “No. I'm the one being forced into marrying someone to get what's rightfully mine. I should get to choose.”
My Nanna's eyes narrow and I know she's going to argue.
My throat tightens. Knowing her, she'll pick someone I can't stand just to spite me. Someone arrogant, manipulative, egotistical, and controlling just like she is.
Christ, I feel like I'm in a locked box and she's slowly cutting off my air supply.
Maybe that's why the next words out of my mouth are. “Besides, I have a boyfriend.”
Reggie raises an eyebrow, Barry chokes on his water, and the look on my Nanna's face tells me she knows I'm full of it.
But I press on because I don't want to be stuck with someone I can't stand for three hundred and sixty-five days straight. At least now I stand a chance at acquiring some sort of control over this ridiculous situation.
“Don't give me that look, Nanna. You haven't seen me in three years, you have no idea what's been going on in my life.”
She scrunches her nose and seizes the notepad back from Reggie. After she's done writing, she turns it so I can read it.
Bullshit.
I cross my arms and stare her down. “It's not.”
My inner voice is telling me to shut up and quit while I'm ahead, but I ignore it. “He's great. We met a few years ago, but we got back in touch recently and…you know. We can't keep our hands off one another and all that jazz.”
Stop talking, Kit. Just. Stop. Talking.
“Probably because he's overseas on business a lot.”
“What is his name and what does he do?” Reggie questions and Barry motions for me to be quiet.
“He's...sorry, I'm not at liberty to say.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. My only option is to continue this charade. “His job is top secret. So is his name.”
“Are you sure it's not Bond?” Barry mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The corners of Reggie's lips twitch.
My Nanna tilts her head, and for a moment, I think she actually believes me.
That is until she jots something on her notepad and motions for Reggie to read it.
“She wants to meet him. If she approves, she'll arrange the wedding and change the will.”
Barry fixes me with a look that reflects exactly how I'm feeling.
I've somehow managed to make a bad situation downright horrific by complicating everything.
In other words—I've royally fucked this up.
Chapter 3
“New Orleans is gonna take it this year,” some man calls out above the din of the small sports bar.
His accent is unmistakably southern.
“Nah,” the man sitting beside me argues. “Their new quarterback is no match for New York's. Plus, he's too cocky. He's more into dancing on the field than playing on it. Probably because he's queer.”
I down the rest of my beer and order another as the men continue bickering back and forth. After I check my phone, I look up at the television. Player number three is gearing up to throw the ball.
There's not much time left in the game, and New York is in the lead by four points. They need a touchdown.
“Want to put your money where your mouth is and make a bet?”
They stop quarreling and look at me.
“Yeah, all right,” the first guy drawls. “I'll throw down some money on New Orleans.” He slams a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “Gay or not, he has a killer arm.”
The other guy laughs and pulls out his wallet. “I'll put one hundred on New York just to prove you wrong.”
They both turn to me expectantly. “Who are you rooting for?”
“I'm rooting for number three.” I toss two fifties into the pile and look up at the T.V. “But my money's on New York.”
A moment later, the ball gets intercepted and half the people in the bar cheer while the other half curse.
I swipe my winnings. “New York had better stats this year. Numbers don't lie.”
My co-conspirator, Max, holds out a fist and I bump it. We've been doing this shit to tourists for months.
Wonder what our new schtick will be now that football season is over.
The guy who lost the bet eyes me suspiciously. It's clear he hasn't caught on yet. “Why did you say you were rooting for number three then?”
I take a swig of my beer. “He's my brother.”
He nearly falls off his bar stool. “Dang, I thought you kinda looked like him.” Max starts howling with laughter and the man curses under his breath. “Guess it's true what they say. There's a sucker born every minute.”
My phone vibrates and I click the message icon.
Matteo: Here's the address. Rumor has it there's a game later. Toss the burner before you go.
Preston: Got it.
Matteo: One more thing.
Preston: ?
Matteo: Salvatore said you better win tonight. Or else.
I slip the phone in my pocket and stand. “Welcome to Vegas.”
Chapter 4
I run my fingers through my hair and apply another coat of lip gloss when I catch my reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator. Given everything that happened at my Nanna's house earlier, I almost ended up missing my flight.
I was looking forward to getting some rest after I landed, but Juan informed me that Porn Rub and Pretty Kitties planned a meet and greet at the bar in the hotel. I had no intention of going, but since I'm sharing a room with Juan—he pretty much forced me into it.
He told me if I didn't put on the dress I accidentally packed in my haste to make it to the airport on time, get dolled up, and meet him at the bar in the next hour for a drink—he would torture me by singing show tunes for the duration of our Vegas trip.
So, here I am. Wearing some black, tight, strapless dress that hugs every curve and flaw of mine—and pondering when the best time to ask my homosexual work friend to marry me for money would be as I step off the elevator and make my way to the bar.
The music is pumping so loud and the colorful lights are so blinding, I don't see Juan until he yanks my hand and pulls me over to him.