Say You Do

by Weston Parker

  My eyes closed and I shot up a quick prayer for patience. Making a scene in a restaurant was not my style, nor was it Landon’s. It could take him time to come out of his shell after a long day at work, but I’d honestly thought the prospect of our wedding would snap him right out of it. Apparently, I’d been wrong.

  “You’re proud of me for coming up with some ideas for my own wedding? Or are you proud of me for wanting to run them by you?”

  Whether it was the forced sweetness in my voice or the words themselves that made him do it, he finally wrenched his gaze toward mine. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. “Wedding planning, huh? You really want to get into that right now? We’re not even engaged, Luna.”

  “Yet,” I tacked on, but Landon’s eyebrows pulled together like he didn’t understand. I sat up straighter and looked him right in the eyes as I tried to tamp down the suspicion brewing in my stomach.

  “We’re not engaged yet,” I said. “We’ve been talking about this for months, Landon. Have you forgotten about that? Or is something going on with you that I should know about?”

  Conflicting emotions suddenly warred behind his eyes, his jaw clenching and relaxing before he licked his lips, nodding to himself. “I know we’ve been talking about it, but I’ve been thinking, and I can’t get engaged to you, Luna.”

  Blood roared in my ears and my heart stuttered. What the fudge? “What? Why not?”

  His tongue swiped along his bottom lip again, a nervous tell I hardly ever saw and it had made an appearance twice now. My palms grew slick with sweat and my hands were unsteady as I fumbled to fold them in my lap.

  “I can’t get engaged to you because I’m already married.” The words came rushing out of him, each one of them a separate yet devastating blow to my plans, our future. “I’ve been married for a few months now. I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought about leaving her, but I can’t.”

  My heart pounded wildly in my chest as thoughts spiraled through my head. Landon never letting me near his house. Landon always working late. Landon making excuses for every Valentine’s Day, birthday…

  “Leave,” I demanded, my voice barely above a whisper and my entire body recoiling but refusing to move.

  He reached for me. “She’s the kind of woman I’m expected to—”

  “I said leave, Landon. Now. Don’t you dare try to rationalize it to me.” My gaze zeroed in on my water glass, even though I felt Landon’s drilling a hole in the top of my head as he tried to get me to look back at him.

  When he didn’t make a move for the door, I threw out an arm and jabbed a finger at it. “Get the fiddling duck out of here, Landon. I never want to see you again. Lose my number and send my regards to your wife.”

  I was practically spitting at that point, spots dancing across my vision and my lungs burning with the need for air even as I panted.

  The slide of his chair against the wooden floor let me know he was pushing it out. Then I caught his shiny brown loafers in my periphery as he walked away. Salty tears burned my eyes as they begged to fall free, but I wouldn’t let them. Not here, not now.

  Then a shadow fell over the table and I did my best to blink the mistiness away before looking up. The waiter stood there, holding a bill folder. “I didn’t get all of that, but I thought you might want this right around now.”

  A bottle of wine Landon must have ordered sat in a bucket of ice next to the table. I hadn’t paid any attention to it before, but my eyes nearly bulged out of my head when I saw the price.

  My throat tightened as I handed over my card, knowing that the wine was going to make a huge dent in my meager bank account. For someone who’d been adamant nothing was going to be able to ruin her day, karma had sure decided to teach me a lesson. Tramp that she was, she’d even decided to leave me with Landon’s check.

  Maybe April had the right idea about men. Maybe marriage really was a sham made for losers, liars, and codependents. Or maybe it just wasn’t meant for me.

  Chapter 2

  Cyrus

  2 Years Later

  “Welcome to the Disrupt Entrepreneurial Retreat, Mr. Coning,” this year’s host said, holding out his hand for me to shake. “May I just say that it’s a real honor to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to address our millionaires in the making.”

  “I had some time available in my schedule.” I gripped his hand in a firm clasp and released it after a brief moment. I’d learned a long time ago that there was power in a firm handshake—no pump—and how to harness that power without crushing anyone’s bones like some wannabe.

  It had the desired effect on the host, who dipped his graying head in respect and gestured me to the stage where a solid wood podium was waiting. “We have you slotted in for twenty minutes, but feel free to take more time if you need it.”

  I only just managed to hold back a snort. “Twenty minutes is plenty.”

  No way was I hanging around there longer than that. They were paying me a pittance and I’d already achieved the only goal I’d had when agreeing to do this: to assess the supposed cream of the crop in emerging businesses so I could come in at ground level if I saw anything that caught my eye.

  Nothing had, which meant I was pretty much done there.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Mr. Cyrus Coning,” the host boomed into the microphone. “Please put your hands together for the man who revolutionized security, disrupted the market with his products, and has agreed to tell you a little bit about how he managed to do it.”

  How I managed to do it was pure, dumb luck and good timing, but I doubted any of the supposedly brilliant entrepreneurs gathered in the ostentatious ballroom wanted to hear that. After all, they’d paid over a thousand dollars a ticket to hear assholes like me make insightful, inspirational speeches all weekend long about how to make their dreams come true.

  Nose to the grindstone, bitches. Companies don’t grow out of retreats. If I had a heart, I would have felt sorry for all these fuckers who’d wasted money on tickets when they could have made more by working through the weekend instead.

  Crossing the stage to the podium in three long strides, I didn’t bother to thank the host. I slid the microphone out of the stand with one hand and hooked the thumb of my other into the pocket of my jeans.

  Letting the mic dangle from my fingers, I leaned against the side of the podium casually instead of standing behind it like I was supposed to. I didn’t care if I looked like an entitled douchebag who was disrespecting the stiffness and formality of this prestigious retreat. I was what I was, which just so happened to be an entitled douchebag.

  Now, anyway.

  One side of my lips curled upward as I waited for the raucous applause to die down. It took a minute before the crowd quieted enough for me to start speaking.

  “Five years ago, I was nothing. I didn’t have two pennies to rub together. I was living with my brother, busting my ass to cover my share of the rent each month.”

  Lights blinded me, making it impossible to see past the first few rows. The people I could see, though, were riveted. Lips parted and sitting forward, like I was about to impart some great secret or wisdom. “I was a low-level coder stuck in a company with no opportunities for growth.”

  The years I’d spent there had been dark times for me, but no one knew that. Other than Peter, my brother, the world thought I’d had it easy and had become an overnight success from nowhere. People didn’t have to know exactly how dark it had gotten over there at times, so I skipped that part.

  “The security system you all know me for now was my side project, something I spent years developing. When I sold it, it made me a billionaire, a poster child for success.”

  A smattering of applause and several catcalls from the audience made me pause, a smirk dragging the corners of my lips up once again. “Yeah, I know. Lucky me, huh?”

  I raised a hand and felt like a fucking superstar or a president when they settled down again almost instantly
. It gave my ego that insane boost I got in every high-powered meeting these days, my heart soaring like I’d injected a shot of adrenaline right into it.

  This was why I was an entitled douchebag now. I’d earned the fucking right to be because I was entitled to some goddamned respect after all the work I’d done and how shitty I’d been treated before everything had changed.

  “An investment by a single man who believed in my vision set me on the course I’m on today. His investment allowed me to finish a product I could take to market and to build the prototypes I needed to be able to demonstrate it.”

  Darius had been a millionaire when he’d met me, but he’d died a billionaire a few years ago. All thanks to that belief he’d had in me.

  “They say everyone has a million-dollar idea at least a couple of times in their lifetime, but very few people actually put it into action. I’m not interested in those. I’m interested in the billion-dollar ideas, the ones that only come around once in a lifetime for most. After I sold my system, I started investing in businesses I believed in. They’re few and far between, but if you have a new business idea that you think I should know about, one that will take whichever industry you’re in to the next level like mine did, get in touch with me.”

  I gave a curt nod and set the mic down on the podium, about to walk offstage when the host appeared again. He hurried to grab the microphone, then turned his sights on me.

  “You still have some time left in your slot, Mr. Coning. Maybe you’d like to stay to talk to some people in the crowd, see if they have any ideas you might be interested in investing in.”

  “No, thanks.” I dragged a hand through my hair and flicked the other toward the crowd as I shook my head. “It’s a waste of time I don’t have. If they’re real entrepreneurs, they shouldn’t have time to come to a retreat. There’s a reason why I said they should contact me if they have new ideas because there’s nothing here I’m interested in.”

  I knew I was being a dick. The host tried to cover for me by shouting my name into the mic he was still holding and asking them to put their hands together for me again, but he shouldn’t have bothered.

  Although I hadn’t been holding the microphone, I knew it had caught enough of what I’d said that a decent chunk of the audience would have heard me. Those who hadn’t would hear about it later, I was sure.

  It might have been a dick move on my part to say it out loud, but that didn’t mean those people hadn’t needed to hear it. Maybe some of them would find investors for what they were peddling now, but it sure as shit wasn’t going to be me.

  Peter was already waiting for me when I got back to the city. The retreat had been held at a lodge only a couple of hours away, so I managed to make it back in time for dinner.

  “How’d it go?” he asked when I sat down at the table he’d grabbed in our favorite bar. The food there was cheap, good, and unhealthy, and the beer was cold. In short, it’s perfect.

  “It was a quick buck,” I said, signaling to the bartender to bring me a round.

  Peter and I had been coming there for years. Charlie knew what we wanted and never failed to deliver.

  This was the one place I could cut loose, the only place where they didn’t give a shit about the size of my bank account. I wasn’t even sure they knew how much things had changed in the last few years.

  Peter was the only person I’d ever looked up to and, as such, was the only person I generally wasn’t a dick to. His green eyes were several shades lighter than my own, and his hair was a deeper shade of brown, but we had the same height and build.

  Some of the tabloid vultures who kept an eye on everyone they deemed rich enough for the society pages had mistaken him for me a few times. I thought it was hilarious. I thought he was going to murder me one day for thinking it was hilarious.

  “A quick buck?” He sat back in his seat and lifted a brow at me. “Like you need a quick buck. Find anyone worth investing in there? I know you, bro. Which means I know why you really went. I bet you probably fucked up your speech, too.”

  “I didn’t fuck it up. I just chose a different method to inspire than some of the other speakers might have.” I pretended to buff my nails against the breast pocket of my black shirt. “I’m known to be a game-changing, trend-setting badass. Why would I go there to tell them how clever they all are for wasting a thousand bucks on a retreat in the middle of fucking nowhere? They’re idiots and they should know it. If they worked harder, maybe I would have found someone to invest in. I gave them all a kick in the ass. They needed it.”

  His deep sigh didn’t hide the twitching at the corners of his mouth. “A game-changing, trend-setting bad ass? Did you come up with that yourself?”

  “I was paraphrasing.” I dipped my head in thanks when Charlie dropped off my beer, then took a long swig of the dark liquid. After swallowing the creamy Irish froth I loved, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Anyway, what did we need to talk about so urgently? You nearly gave me a heart attack when you said you needed to see me at my earliest convenience. Since when do you say shit like that?”

  “I was with Jenny’s aunt and uncle.” He sighed and rested his hand on top of his glass, turning it slowly between his fingers. “I was trying to make a good impression, if you must know. They still think I’m an uncultured blue-collar worker from the wrong side of town.”

  “Dude. You’re a plumber from the other side of the tracks. Therefore, you are a blue-collar worker from the wrong side of town. She grew up a couple of blocks away from us, so she’s from the same wrong side of those damn tracks. Since when do you give a fuck about what anyone thinks about you anyway?”

  “Since we picked a wedding date and she’d like her uncle to walk her down the aisle.” He kept his eyes on mine, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he shut me down. “I don’t want to hear it, Cyrus. I asked Jenny to marry me and I’m marrying her.”

  My cheeks cooled as blood drained from them. “Please don’t, bro. Don’t marry her. I know you love her, but that’s no reason to rush into anything. You’ve just gotten promoted. Now isn’t the time to—”

  “Save it, Cyrus.” His tone had an edge to it that brooked no argument, but I argued anyway.

  “I can’t just sit here and shut up. You know how I feel about weddings and marriage and you know why. Why would you willingly open yourself up to that?”

  “I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Jenny isn’t after my money, Cy. She’s not going to leave me because I don’t have any and she’s not interested in what I do have.”

  “That’s what I thought once, too.” Bitterness crept into my voice, lacing itself into every word I said. “I’m not saying Jenny is after your money, or after mine for that matter, but marriage only leads to pain. There’s no reason for you to subject yourself to it.”

  Peter’s lips thinned as he pressed them together. Then he lifted both shoulders and dragged his hands through his hair. “I don’t care. If she hurts me eventually, I’ll deal with it. It would still have been worth all the good times. We can’t not live just because we’re afraid we’re going to get cut up some day in the future. We have to try, bro. Even if it means we end up getting hurt. I think it would hurt even more not to try at all.”

  His words hit the iron shield I had up around the hole where my heart used to be. “There’s no talking you out of it?”

  “There’s no talking me out of it,” he confirmed with a grim smile. “How about this? If she hurts me, you get to say I told you so as many times as you want. In the meantime, you’re on board.”

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms and cocked my head. “I’m on board. By, like, half a foot. What did you need from me so urgently?”

  He shifted in his seat, his gaze sliding to the side. “I need you to help us plan the wedding.”

  “Fuck no.” I slammed my elbows down on the table and shook my head. “I thought you were going to say you needed me to plan your bachelor party or something, but your wedding
?”

  “You get to plan that too, but we really need help with the wedding, man.” Darkness saturated his eyes, his lips turning down at the corners. “Neither of us have parents that can help us. Jenny’s aunt and uncle will turn it into a spectacle and expect you to foot the bill. You’re all we’ve got. Neither of us can do what needs to be done during the day, but you can.”

  He pleaded with me, both his voice and the look in his eyes nothing short of desperate. “Please, Cyrus? I know what I’m asking, but there’s no other way. We really want to get married on the date we chose. It means a lot to us, and we need help.”

  My eyes screwed shut to block out the glint in his. I couldn’t say no to my brother under the best of circumstances, but seeing that desperation, that grief over neither of them having anyone else left to ask, broke me.

  “I can hire a wedding planner,” I said suddenly, the idea jumping into my head out of nowhere. “That’s what those people do for a living, right? I’ll get you the best in the business. They’ll do a much better job of it than I can.”

  “We’ve already looked into it. They charge a fortune, and even the affordable ones will eat into our budget, but they’re not available on short notice anyway.”

  “I said I’ll hire one, which means I’ll pay for it. Problem solved.”

  “No, you’re not.” He narrowed his eyes in a meaningful glare. “Before you say it, you’re not getting us a wedding planner as a gift, either.”

  “But I have to get you a wedding gift. I’m your only brother, your only family even. I have to get you something and it has to be something big and special.”

  “If you want to get us an extravagant gift, get us the fancy toaster from the registry,” he said. “You’re not forking out thousands of dollars for someone who’s only going to push us over budget with their suggestions anyway.”

  “But—”

  “No. You’ve got the time to do a few things for us. It won’t keep you busy for the next few months until the wedding and it would mean the world if you’d just help us out. Like you said, you’re my only family. I don’t want to pay someone to do me a few favors my best man could just do.”