The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  Matías gives me a wink. None of it soothes my nerves.

  “Hand me that bread roll.” Emma points to the one sitting on my side plate. I do as told. You don’t mess with a hungry pregnant woman. Not if you want to live. “Thanks, Alice.”

  “Do you want another juice or something, honey?” asks Rachel. The woman is going to make a great grandmother. You can tell.

  “Iced water please, Mom.”

  The Elliot Corp. Christmas party is every bit as swanky as you’d imagine. A ballroom at one of the grandest hotels in Denver and hundreds of people present. Tuxedos and formalwear and crystal chandeliers. In years past, the family would sit at different tables, mixed in with board members and so on. But this year we’re all together at the one big round table. Beck and I, Emma and Matías, Ethan, Henry, and Rachel. Everyone is present.

  Penny and River surreptitiously watch from a nearby table. They got married at Thanksgiving. I’d never been to a surprise Thanksgiving wedding before, but it was fantastic. Though Beck knew about it because he lent them his place in Aspen for the event. He didn’t tell me, though. Apparently Matías and Emma’s last-minute vow renewal inspired them to do it all on the sly. Giving people no warning does seem to cut down on a large percentage of the crazy. But I’m thinking eloping to an island could be the way to go. I could rock a wedding bikini. Beck has yet to agree to the idea, however. I suspect my mother threatened him with regards to any sneakiness regarding our wedding. She wants a small ceremony in California with family and friends and then whatever else we want to do in Denver.

  Keeping everyone happy is never easy.

  “You look beautiful.” Beck picks up my free hand, lacing his fingers with mine. He’s in a tuxedo so of course I want to bang the boy. Though my need to sex him has been a constant since I met him. Some things never change.

  “Thank you. So do you.” For this most portentous event I chose a calf-length black stretch sequin fitted tee dress and Louboutin platform stilettos. Makes me feel like a futuristic disco queen with ass kicking capabilities. My only jewelry is the diamond stud earrings and the bling on my wedding finger my fiancé is currently kissing. I laugh. “I thought people only did that to the pope.”

  He grins. It’s the cunning one I’ve learned to be wary of because Beck. “Beloved, you well know I relish the nectar of your body and live only to worship daily at the temple of your sweet wet—”

  “Not. In. Public.”

  Henry frowns. “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Go back to staring at your phone.”

  Ethan just blinks at us before turning away. His blank face is full in force. It’s an Elliot thing along with the rigid chin. Guess it’s that kind of night. But he’s here with us and that’s all that matters.

  “What are you two on about?” asks Emma, slathering my/her bread roll with butter. Yum.

  Matías straightens himself. “She’s here.”

  I haven’t seen Catherine since the day of the event. When she visited our home to lay down the law according to her and diminish me with insults to the best of her abilities. Once Henry, Ethan, and Emma made it clear that they wouldn’t support any attempt by her to kick Beck off the board for insubordination, she backed away from the idea fast. Things between her and Beck have been mostly cordial from what I’m told. Guess at heart she doesn’t want to lose her grandson even if she doesn’t approve of his life choices. Which is the way it should be.

  She wears a green silk suit the color of money and is dripping diamonds. Every inch the dowager queen of Elliot Corp. And sure enough, people bow and stoop, hoping for the blessing of a moment of her precious time. So maybe I’m still a bit bitter about the whole thing and her in general. Who could blame me?

  When she reaches our table with Winston accompanying her, clearing the way, she stops cold at the sight. All of us, gathered together, facing her as a united front. Like a family, if you will. Her eyes dart about, taking in every face. Oh, the expression of outrage when her gaze settles on me.

  Beck stands and pulls out a chair for her at the table. “Grandmother.”

  “I explicitly asked to be seated elsewhere.”

  Emma cocks her head. “We explicitly overrode you.”

  “We even all arrived early to ensure there’d be no shenanigans,” says Beck.

  “This ends now.” Ethan gets to his feet. “Alice and Beck are announcing their engagement later. She is and will be a part of our family and you will accept it.”

  Catherine’s nostrils flare in outrage, but she says nothing.

  “Mrs. Elliot, would you like me to—”

  “Fuck off, Winnie,” drawls Beck. “You’re not a part of this.”

  Whoa. The majordomo’s face blanches in outrage.

  I take a sip of my drink. “Sit down, Catherine. We’re putting all of this unpleasantness behind us.”

  Her eyes widen at my impertinence or whatever.

  “Sit, Grandma,” says Emma in a softer voice. “This is your family, whether you like it or not. I’m about to add a third generation to it and I won’t tolerate this infighting and other assorted assholish behavior.”

  Rachel sighs. “Language, honey.”

  But it’s Henry who has the last word. “You’re either with us or against us, Grandma. Which’ll it be?”

  This is it, the moment of truth. Once again, her gaze skitters around the group, searching for some sign of support. But no go. She is, without a doubt, the one on the outside looking in right now. I almost feel sorry for her. Despite all of the bullshit, she must love her grandchildren. Her way of expressing that love is the thing that sucks.

  Will she take the olive branch or not?

  People at neighboring tables are watching with interest. There’s going to be some gossip going around tonight for sure. But then, there always is. A rich dynasty like the Elliots are always a topic of interest. Such is life.

  Catherine’s chin goes up, her gaze icy cool as she moves toward the chair. “Of course I’m delighted to sit with my family.”

  There’s almost an audible sigh of relief. An unwinding or easing of tension from everyone at the table. The vibe is definitely one of oh thank fuck. In-house fighting doesn’t help anyone.

  Winston pours Catherine a glass of champagne. “Engaged.”

  It’s not a question so much as a statement. Beck retakes his chair, holding my hand once more. And the look he gives me, the love in his eyes…he still makes me giddy. I think he always will. “That’s right. Alice finally accepted yesterday. We couldn’t be happier.”

  Catherine just sniffs.

  “It’s a beautiful ring,” says Rachel.

  I smile. “Yes, it is.”

  “Makes me second most eligible bachelor in Denver.” Henry’s tongue plays behind his cheek. No one’s heard from Giada lately. Lord knows what she’s up to. But Henry knows he’s loved and wanted by all of us. That’s what matters. The boys only got back from their snowboarding trip a few days ago and a great time was apparently had by all.

  “Don’t let it go to your head.” Ethan sips a whiskey. “I’m still number one.”

  A grunt from Henry. “Looks like the love bug is going around Ethan. Be careful it doesn’t bite you on the ass.”

  Catherine scowls. “Language, Henry.”

  “Not going to happen,” says Ethan, voice deep and sure. “Emma’s supplying an heir and Beck and Alice will keep society busy with wedding plans. I’m off the hook for now.”

  “We’ll see.” Beck gives his brother his most irritating grin before kissing my hand again. “All good, beloved?”

  “I’m just fine, thank you.”

  Catherine turns away with a sour expression. So she’s still neither looking at me nor talking to me. But never mind. So long as she plays nice. I didn’t imagine she’d welcome me with arms open after everything. However, Beck and I are happy and the family is no longer an active war zone.

  “Actually, I’m better than fine,” I correct, leaning in closer to my fianc�
�. “I’m so happy.”

  “‘We are all fools in love.’” Then he gives me the smile that is ever only for me. My favorite smile of them all.

  “I’m not a fool. In fact, I think I’m quite smart to have caught you.”

  He raises a brow. “And here I always thought I caught you.”

  “We caught each other.” I grin, leaning in for a kiss. And he gives it to me, regardless of where we are or who is watching. Nothing matters beyond the press of his lips against mine. How neither of us closes our eyes until the last moment. The way his hand strays to the back of my neck. As public displays of affection go, it’s a good one. Sometimes love can suck. We both know this. Life together won’t be without its bumps. We’re going to be attending couples therapy and working on things for a long time to come. Building up that trust and maintaining it. Working on our communication skills and spending quality time together. But tonight, our love is perfection.

  “Whatever you say, almost-wife.”

  PURCHASE KYLIE SCOTT ’S OTHER BOOKS

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  LIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You’re going to break his heart.”

  “No, I’m not,” I say. “That’s sort of the whole point. If I really thought leaving him would break his heart, then I probably wouldn’t be leaving him in the first place.”

  My best friend, Jen, does not look convinced.

  Boxes fill a good half of the room. What a mess. Who knew you could accumulate so much junk in only twelve months? At least we weren’t together so long that I can’t remember who owns what. One year is about the sweet spot for this issue in relationships, apparently.

  “The fact of the matter is, we’re not in love. We have no business being engaged, let alone getting married.” I sigh. “Have you seen the packing tape?”

  “No. He’s just such a nice guy.”

  “I’m not debating that.” I climb to my feet, then head up the stairs to the second bedroom. Thom’s unofficial workout room/home office. Not a room I normally go into. But it only takes a bit of rummaging to find what I’m looking for. Whatever else might be said about them, insurance assessors are organized. The bottom drawer of Thom’s desk has a neat stash of stationery. I grab a couple rolls of thick tape.

  “And leaving him this way…” Jen continues as I head back down.

  “How many times have I told him we need to talk? He’s always putting it off, saying it’s not a good time. And now he’s away again. I’ve been messaging him for the last week and he barely replies.”

  “You know he has to drop everything once a job comes up. I realize he’s not the most exciting guy, Betty, but—”

  “I know.” I smack down a line of tape with extra zest, sealing the lid of the last box. In this Operation Abandon Ship Posthaste, I know I’m definitely slightly the bad guy. But not totally. Say sixty/forty. Or maybe seventy/thirty. It’s hard to tell to what degree. “I do know all of that. But he’s always busy with work or away on some business trip. What am I supposed to do?”

  A sigh from Jen.

  “When you realize you’ve made such a monumental mistake, it’s hard to sit and wait to fix things. Nor is it fair on either of us to keep up the pretense.”

  “Guess so.”

  “And the fact that he’s yet again made no effort to prioritize our relationship and make a little time for me in his busy schedule is just further proof that I’ve made the right choice in ending this now before it gets any more complicated. End of rant.”

  Nothing from her.

  “Anyway, you’re supposed to be on my side. Stop questioning me.”

  “You wanted to get married and have children so badly.”

  “Yeah.” I sit back on my heels. “I blame it all on playing with Ken and Barbie’s dreamhouse when I was little. But it turns out that being in a relationship with the wrong person can be even lonelier than being alone.”

  Jen and I have been friends since sharing a room in college. We’ve witnessed the bulk of each other’s dating ups and downs. For some reason, I’m the type of girl who guys will go out with, but don’t tend to stick with. Apparently, I’m fuckable—just not girlfriend material. Maybe it’s my smart mouth. Maybe it’s the whole not fitting current societal expectations of beauty i.e. I’m fat. Maybe I was born under an unlucky star. I don’t know; it’s their loss. Like anyone, I have my faults, but all in all, I’m awesome. And I have a lot to give. Too often in the past few months, I’ve had to keep reminding myself of this fact.

  “There are just so many jerks out there,” Jen says. “I was happy that you’d found a good one.”

  “I think I’d prefer a jerk who was genuinely into me than a nice guy phoning it in. Honestly, I’d rather go adopt a dozen cats and settle into old age and isolation than be with someone who treats me as if I’m an afterthought.”

  She looks at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “Me too.”

  “Time to start filling up the cars. Boy, do you owe me.”

  I smile. “That I do.”

  Jen stands and stretches before picking up one of the boxes labeled kitchen. “I just didn’t want you to do something you’d regret, you know?”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  Alone in the two-bedroom condo, everything is silent. My parting letter sits waiting on the coffee table with his name written on the front. A slight bulge in the envelope betrays the shape of my engagement ring. It’s a sweet, simple ring. One small diamond perched on a band of yellow gold. My hand feels wrong without it. Naked. They say there are different love languages and you have to take the time to learn your partner’s needs. It’s like he and I never quite got there. Or maybe I’m just crappy at relationships.

  The bridal magazines I’d collected are in the trash. Perhaps I should have taken them into the florist shop where I work so someone could get some use out of them. But this feels more symbolic, more definite. My family are a couple of states away, and I have only a few of what I’d classify as good friends. Being an introvert makes it hard to meet people. A boyfriend, a husband, would mean I’m no longer alone. Someone cares about me and puts me first. At least part of the time. Only Thom doesn’t any of the time, so here we are.

  I tighten my ponytail of long dark hair. Then, in a rare display of dexterity that my yoga instructor would be proud of, I stack three boxes in my arms and head outside into the hot afternoon sun. Jen’s Honda Civic is parked at the curb, the trunk standing open as she moves things about inside. My old Subaru sits in the driveway waiting to be filled. Birds are singing and insects chirping. It’s your typical mild autumn day in California.

  That’s when the condo blows up behind me.

  I come to on the front lawn, sprawled across crushed boxes. Guess they cushioned my fall. A ringing fills my ears, smoke billows up into the sky. The condo is on fire. What’s left of it, at least. This cannot be happening.

  “Betty!”

  I try to turn in the direction of Jen’s voice, but one of my eyes won’t open. When I touch the area, my fingers come away bright with blood. Also, my b
rain hurts. It feels as if someone picked me up and shook me around hard.

  “Oh my God, Betty,” she says, falling to her knees beside me. She’s fuzzy for some reason, her familiar features indistinct. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure,” I say as blackness closes in.

  The next time I wake, I’m lying down in a moving vehicle. An ambulance, by the looks of it. Only things don’t seem quite right. A woman shines a small light in my eyes before tossing it over her shoulder. And instead of a uniform, she’s wearing tight black pants and a tank top.

  “Lucky girl. Just a mild concussion and a small cut on her forehead,” the woman says with an English accent. Next she rips an antiseptic wipe out of its packet and starts cleaning up the blood on my face none too gently. “She’s certainly not his usual type.”

  “What were you expecting?” asks the driver.

  “I don’t know. Something a little less plump and homely, perhaps.”

  A grunt.

  “And she’s awake,” the woman says.

  “That’s inconvenient.”

  “I’m on it.” She drops the wipe and reaches for a syringe.

  “W-wait,” I say, my mouth dry and muscles hurting. “What’s going on?”

  Without any preamble, the needle is plunged into my arm, the stopper depressed. It all happens so quickly. I try to move, to push her away, but I’m no match for her strength. Not in my current condition. As darkness closes in once more, I see a discarded paramedic uniform sitting off to the side.

  “Who are you?” I mumble, my lips, face, and everything else going numb.

  “Friends,” she says. “Well, sort of.”

  The driver just laughs.

  Consciousness comes slowly. It’s like I’m underwater in an ocean of night. This time, however, I’m upright, seated on a chair in a large and dimly lit room. My feet rest on the cold bare floor since someone’s stolen my shoes. Everything’s woozy and horrible. My hands are tied behind my back, the restraints painfully tight. The shadows disappear as a blinding light is shone in my face. It’s dazzling and awful, shooting pain through my already pounding head. Next comes a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in my face.