by Natasha Boyd
He shrugged. “Not really. I thought I’d have longer to get my mind around retiring. I thought I’d be leaving a legacy .”
Dad saying the word legacy pinched me with guilt again .
“This can’t have been easy. Why didn’t you tell me? I feel terrible you had to make this decision on your own .”
“I’ve been making decisions on my own since your mother passed on. And one thing I’ve learned is that there are no good decisions and there are no bad decisions. There are simply decisions. And you live with the outcome. And I’ve decided to take the money and retire. It’s time .”
“How very Zen,” I deadpanned. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve met some spandex-wearing aerobics instructor at Bingo who’s persuaded you to go on cruises and invest in her juice cleansing business, are you ?”
My father gave a crack of laughter. “You know as well as I do, you’d never see me on a cruise ship. Now, a spandex wearing aerobics teacher … ” he rocked his head back and forth as if giving it serious consideration .
I rolled my eyes, amused. We both knew he was still faithful to my mother’s memory. God rest her soul .
“Do you need me to call him right now and tell him?” he asked .
“No. I want to tell him. I will tell him. Just not today of all days. I’m meeting him tomorrow night for a beer .”
Just then my phone buzzed loudly. I hauled it out and saw who the text was from. “Speak of the devil .”
Beau: You’re coming to the funeral right ?
Of course.
Beau: Phew. Thank you. I feel like a guppy in a shipwreck being circled by sharks .
I smiled at Beau’s reference to The Little Mermaid . “All right, old man,” I said to my dad. “Now that you’ve seen our progress, let’s get ourselves over to the funeral .”
* * *
“Who’s that?” I asked Beau as I kept him company outside Grace Cathedral waiting for the hearse. A black SUV with tinted windows had pulled up and was idling on the corner .
I was also running interference. So far I’d counted nine hopeful women who’d come over with or without their parents to commiserate with Beau. And in four cases, actually had to awkwardly introduce themselves to him because he had no idea who they were. I thought at least three had but a passing connection to the Montgomery family, and some probably had none at all .
To an outsider it might all look like the normal paying of respects, but I was close enough to Beau to see him stiffen when a female hand held onto his arm too long or when they stood too close. His eyes would dart toward me, and I’d step in and introduce myself practically forcing them to let go of him .
Finally, almost everyone had arrived and was inside .
“Your parents got married in this church too, didn’t they?” Beau asked .
“Yes, I’m named after a church,” I grumbled .
The back door of the dark SUV finally opened and a tall, dark suited man stepped out with a scowl. He exuded boredom and confidence. So much you could almost smell it .
“Holy shit,” Beau whispered .
“What?” I touched his black suit sleeve. Beau hardly ever wore suits, and I could tell from the moment I saw him this morning he couldn’t wait to get it off and get a pair of khaki shorts on .
“Holy shit, that’s Trystan .”
My eyes narrowed in focus. “Oh my God .”
Trystan walked at a fast clip, his eyes on the entrance and not seeing Beau who’d left my side and was heading to stand right in front of him .
The man was fine .
Tall, hard and dare I say it, cold. His demeanor seemed arctic and I immediately thought of Isabel Montgomery. The apple clearly didn’t fall far from the tree. Suddenly Trystan stopped and did a double take at Beau standing in front of him. They were exactly the same height. I wished I could hear their conversation or see Beau’s face to see if this was a happy meeting. Trystan’s face was unreadable. Oh wait. A hint of shock and a … smile? No. Maybe not. Wow, so Trystan Montgomery came back .
I wondered if he was staying permanently, though I doubted it .
The hearse pulled up with the coffin inside. I hurried into the church ahead of Trystan and headed to the row where I’d ensconced my dad and waited for the service to start .
“Beau all right?” my dad asked .
“Fine. Trystan just showed up .”
My dad’s eyes bugged out for a moment .
“Yeah,” I said. Then the funeral procession began .
I’d miss the wake and finding out from Beau about Trystan because I had to be back at work by one thirty as we had a “big fish” coming some time this afternoon according to my boss, Sylvie .
It was only Tuesday and it felt like I’d fit four days’ work in already .
The service was short which was much appreciated by all. Dad and I snuck out the side door as soon as it was over .
* * *
“This might be the most professional I’ve ever seen you look,” Sylvie said as I entered dressed in my figure-hugging black sheath dress and high heels I’d bought for hot dates but had so far only ever seen the action of a funeral. I had eschewed Penny’s offer of her navy dress .
“Thanks, I think .”
She shook her silver-blonde coiffed head. “If you didn’t know so much about bateaux … ” she trailed off .
“If I didn’t know so much about boats, then what?” I smirked, knowing how much she liked to harass me but also how much she enjoyed my company. Originally from Quebec, she spoke French fluently. She affected it sometimes and acted as if she was Coco Chanel .
“De Rien . Nothing. Obviously. Just think how many more you’d sell if you primped a little more. You have the looks. With a bit of effort you could be a showstopper .”
“Maybe I don’t want to be a showstopper .”
“Maybe you don’t have incentive to be a showstopper .”
“Please, what kind of incentive would entice me to add in an extra hour of primping, plucking, painting and preening every day? I’d have to get up at four. I like my sleep, thanks very much .”
“Maybe the incentive of a dream man? Surely there’s someone out there you might fancy ?”
“I’m in a relationship, remember ?”
“Oh yes, your relationship.” She made air quotes. “With the man who’s deployed. That’s a bit convenient, don’t you think ?”
“That’s not very nice, Sylvie. He’s fighting for our freedom, and you’re encouraging his girl to run around on him .”
“Well, I’m not nice , darling. I’m practical . Nice doesn’t get you married to a widowed billionaire .”
“Well, you haven’t found one, so perhaps practical is not working either .”
“Yet,” she breathed. “Anyway, why do you hide behind your relationship with … what’s his name ?”
“Derek.”
“Right, Derek .”
“I’m not hiding. It’s just … convenient. He’s big and manly and … enthusiastic in bed .”
“When you see him only every six months. Darling, a porcupine would be good in bed by then. Your standards are very low .”
“I’m going to tell him how mean you are about him .”
“No, you won’t .”
“You’re right, I won’t.” Mostly because we really didn’t keep in touch much. In fact it was always a surprise when he popped back up on my radar home for some R & R and sex. I should probably make more of an effort to keep in touch. Send him … letters … or emails or something. I scrunched up my nose .
“So, the funeral was for your friend Beau Montgomery’s grandfather. Does that mean Robert Montgomery, Beau’s father might be coming into the money ?”
“Sylvie, you don’t want to marry Robert Montgomery, trust me .”
“Why not dear ?”
“Because first of all Isabel Montgomery would be your dragon-in-law. And secondly she controls the purse strings for that family. They’re all like little sad marione
tte puppets .”
“Then perhaps they need me going in there like a grenade? Shake things up ?”
“They don’t .”
She huffed and flounced over to the beverage bar stocked with all the things a gazillionaire might need while deciding to buy a luxury yacht: Nespresso , San Pellegrino , Dom Perignon . And Orangina for the little gazillionaires because Sylvie had heard that’s what they served at Le Club Cinquante-Cinque on the French Riviera where these yachts might be parked one day. She’d even had Caquoettes imported from France. They were hideous little peanut-flavored crispy balls to put out with aperitifs . Why not just serve real damn peanuts for goodness-sake ?
“You are right, ma cherie .” Sylvie waved her hand in a circular motion. “Even though they are Montgomerys, they are but small and provincial. Medium-sized fish in this small city. I’m far too sophisticated. A shark. I would eat them alive. I must spare them .”
I laughed delightedly at how she saved face. “You are far too sophisticated, Sylvie. That’s for sure .”
“Pfff. Bon , I need a cigarette .”
She pulled out her Chanel compact and powdered her nose and then reapplied her coral lipstick. Then she rummaged for her silver cigarette case. She extracted a cigarette and her cigarette holder and then snapped the case shut .
“This no smoking in public is so tiresome. I will slink into the back alley like a pussy cat and see you in a few minutes .”
She stopped and looked up at me .
I raised my eyebrows. “What ?”
“Non . This will not do.” She stuck her cigarette behind her ear and stalked toward me with her purse and pointed to my desk chair. “Sit .”
I sat and she spun me to face away from her .
She pulled my emergency scrunchie out of my hair and then pulling a comb from her purse proceeded to tuft and smooth and wrench and twist my hair. Then she jabbed my head with sharp things. Hairpins? “Ow,” I moaned .
When she was satisfied with my hair she spun me round again and teased a strand lose to fall down the side of my face in a frame to my chin. “Bon ,” she said again but sounded mildly disappointed .
Scowling she pulled out a pot of makeup and dabbed something on my eyelids, my cheekbones and then my lips. She stood back, and after a moment her shoulders slumped .
“Bon ,” she said again. “Not good. But good enough.” Then she shuddered, rescued the cigarette from her ear, and marched out the back door of the showroom .
I glanced over to the dark computer screen that served my reflection back to me. Sylvie had put my hair up in a chignon. A bit more sophisticated than my normal bun, it couldn’t hurt to start wearing my hair like this for a bit, see if it sold more boats. I turned the computer on and checked our office-wide shared to-do list to see what I could do before our “big fish” came in. I’d promised my dad I’d get a bit more work done at the boat shop after work every day this week to help keep him on top of his timeline, so I’d need to get out of here on time .
“Oh my goodness, Gwen.” Sylvie came trotting back inside, teetering on her high heels with her excitement .
“You will never guess what I heard .”
“What?”
“I heard it from Marion next door, whose daughter was apparently told by Daisy Rathbun. You know she works in her uncle’s law firm ?”
“No, and why do I care ?”
“Just wait. They are the estate lawyers for the Montgomerys. Apparently, Beau has been cut out of Montgomery Homes and Facilities.” She pressed her palms together, her eyes wide, giddy with being one of the first to know such a scoop. Then she made a slicing motion with her hand. “Completely. Apparently it’s all going to the other grandson. The one no one has seen in years .”
“Trystan?”
“Yes, that’s it! I knew you’d know his name.” She sighed, a hand to her chest. “I bet he’s so handsome. I remember his mother, Savannah. A looker and a trouble maker that one .”
I sat back in my chair. I hated gossip. And bloody Daisy should have kept her mouth shut. But wow. “Wait. It’s all going to Trystan? What about Beau? Is he just expected to work there then ?”
She let out a deep sigh. “Yes, poor Beau. How tragic .”
My heart tripped. This didn’t sound right. I thought of all he’d given up to work at the family business. To be cut out of the will was … devastating .
I checked my phone. But there were no messages from him. I hoped he was okay .
“Apparently he’s been left a few bits of dirt, and that’s it,” she added as she smoothed her eyebrows .
I sat straighter. I knew what plots of land the Montgomerys owned. I’d driven around them with Beau, in fact, as he had to make sure they hadn’t become dumping grounds. If that was the case, then Beau wasn’t as bad off as the rumor mill was suggesting. A vacant lot on the side of Hwy 17 could easily fetch a million if zoned correctly .
At that moment my phone vibrated .
Beau: We still on for that beer tomorrow night? I’ve got news .
I bit my lip. I hated that I had to wait until tomorrow for him to tell me news I kind of already knew. And I had my own news to tell him .
Yes we’re on. And I have news too .
Beau : Thank you for coming to the funeral .
Of course. Are you doing okay ?
Beau: I think so. Taking the boat out this evening to clear my head. Been a long day .
I couldn’t afford to spend time away from helping at Dad’s boat shop this week, but I didn’t like the thought of Beau going through this alone .
Need company?
Three dots popped up and then disappeared .
I looked up just as a tall man walked into the showroom in Gucci loafers and Nantucket red shorts and a white polo. A navy sweater was loosely knotted over his shoulders. His gray hair was swept back .
Sylvie squeaked out of her chair .
“Mr. Canopolis,” she purred as she hurried toward him, her hand out to shake his .
This must be the big fish Sylvie mentioned .
I stood and smiled as he turned to me .
Oh. I’d never really looked at older men before .
But wow .
He was gorgeous .
4
Beau
W omen are dangerous and expensive. I know I say that jokingly a lot, but I think I’ve come to actually believe it. That’s what’s passed down on the male side of the Montgomery family. In fact, as I sit at the conference room table in the law offices of Ravenel & Maybank, I can almost hear the words come out of my late grandfather’s mouth, his voice all gnarled and rough .
He might not have said this outright, but we all lived our life by these guidelines. Don’t feed the alligators, sharks hunt in the evening, never loan money you expect back, and women you have sex with are always looking to trap men .
Especially a Montgomery man .
Frankly, I can do without either of those pitfalls, the danger or the added expense. I’m thirty-one years old, and while I don’t have a ticking biological clock per se, my what-am-I-doing-with-my-entire-life clock has the frantic countdown pace of a ticker on a bomb .
I drag my fingers through my brown hair, upsetting whatever effort I made to look put together this morning. Yesterday I was told my dreams might come true: I might get to start my boat building business after all. Today, I’m told what the stipulations are on those dreams .
Unfortunately, as it turns out I need both a woman and a shit ton of money or my life as I dreamed it will cease to exist. That’s right, my dreams will die. Dead. There will be no half gasp. It will all be over. No muss. No fuss. No long drawn out illness. Just one long eulogy to the Beau Montgomery with the big plans I once knew .
So even though in life, my grandfather all but told us never to trust a woman, he was singing a different tune from beyond the grave .
Which is why I now have a headache the size of Montana from my forehead crashing in shock to the polished mahogany conference
room table within the law offices of Ravenel & Maybank, Estate Lawyers .
I need a woman .
Apparently.
Nope. Let me be more specific .
I need a wife .
A fucking wife .
Me.
Beau Montgomery who keeps his non-family, female relationships segregated into two super clean categories. Category one: sex. Category two: girls who are just friends. And never the twain shall meet. I should amend that to girl who is just a friend, not girls who I am just friends with. Gwen is the only member of the female friendship category .
Every other woman is in the sex category. If the sex starts giving them ideas about crossing into the friendship box, we just end it. Okay, I just end it. Yep. Gwen gets to be in the friend box, by herself. She was there for me when Trystan left and never came back. She was there for me when my parents divorced. Her and her daddy’s boat shop were there for me as a second home as I grew up. Her father is why I do what I do. Or should I say want to do. She is my rarified best friend, took over Trystan’s spot pretty damned fast. And she certainly has never tried to get into the sex category. Ever. Although there was a time when … never mind .
Gwen. Gwendolyn Grace Thomas. I used to call her Gracie like her dad did until she told me when she was seventeen and fighting with her dad about college that she’d gotten too old for it. I took it in stride and tried calling her Gwen for a while. Luckily, I still get away with calling her Gracie on rare occasions. Usually when her defenses (or mine) are down. But it bothers me senseless when anyone else tries it .
“Beau?”
My head snaps up to see my grandmother glaring at me. She motions to her left and my eyes focus on Mr. Ravenel, the family’s attorney. “Yep ?”