by Hazel Parker
* * *
He was seated outside, close to the restaurant, away from the street, the better so he wouldn’t get badgered by fans. He wasn’t helping his cause by doing so well despite having just signed an enormous contract. A part of me kind of wanted to make him sit near the street as a bit of a practical joke.
Alas, after everything that had gone down with him, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend’s ex, public space was something Nick valued a lot more and had a lot more concern about.
“You made it,” Nick said when I came to the table.
“Would it shock you to hear that Alf Ferrari decided to plop some paperwork down on my desk fifteen minutes before the end of the day?” I said. “I think he did it to pay me back for our earlier conversation.”
“Which was?”
“You know,” I said, taking off my coat and putting it on the back of the chair. “The whole ‘hey, maybe forcing me to get married in the next year and a half so I get my share of the inheritance isn’t a great idea when I’m not seeing anyone.’ You can guess how it went.”
“Grandpa refused to yield, even as you moved the Earth to make your argument?”
“Something like that,” I said.
The waitress approached us and asked what we wanted. Nick asked for some Ferrari wine.
“Scotch on the rocks, please.”
Nick arched an eyebrow.
“That bad, huh?”
“It’s just so fucking stupid, and I don’t want to rehash it, but I swear my only option is basically to just buy a hooker and go from there.”
“Or be like Leo.”
I glared at Nick before we both burst into laughter at the exact same time. I didn’t feel bad about it; Leo got by far the biggest pass of the grandkids despite easily being the biggest fuck-up. One could always count on Leo to show up late, show up hungover, and show up asking for money...and somehow, one could always count on grandma for taking compassion and taking care of all three things.
“I don’t know how Layla ever has the patience to deal with him,” I said.
“Probably because she got it from dealing with us.”
“Hey, now, let’s not put us in that category,” I said. “There’s crazy, and then there’s insane. Like your contract, so you’re paying, right?”
Nick echoed the exact same laugh he had given just moments before about Leo.
“Fucking smartass,” Nick said. “I don’t get paid until end of the month—”
“And what, you spent all your fifty million dollars before then? I’m just fucking with you. Obviously, we charge this to the Ferrari Estate.”
We shared a chuckle as the waitress came back with our drinks. Nick held his out for a cheers, but I took a gulp before I clinked with his.
“That’s bad luck!” he said.
“The only bad luck is having to depend on you for entertainment,” I said. “But yes, cheers, brother.”
Finally, we clinked. I finished about half of my scotch—I normally savored the taste, but current conditions called for a little bit of indulgence first. When I put it down, Nick looked contemplative.
“What’s on your mind?” I said. “Trying to figure out how to hit a home run off Kershaw?”
“Well, that, and I was thinking about your situation,” he said. “Do you remember what I said to you on the yacht around Memorial Day?”
“What, the whole pay someone off and pretend to fall in love with them thing?” I said. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think Brett Ferrari, he who would lay the most women if not for his brother being a professional athlete, is going to resort to paying someone to be his wife. I have about a hundred girls on Instagram right now who would say yes if I proposed. Actually, fuck, now there’s an idea. I could do my own version of ‘The Bachelor.’ We’ll call it ‘The Love Wine.’”
“One, you suck at naming shows, and two, even if it is a fake marriage, do you really want to marry someone that would say yes to an Instagram proposal?”
I shrugged. It’s not like we were taking this seriously...at least, I wasn’t.
“Whoever you marry, assuming you go through with this, is someone you’ll have to live with, be seen out in public with, attend family events with. I don’t think the girls of social media are the kind that are going to not draw suspicion from the grandparents.”
“And what would you propose then?” I said. “If you’ve thought this through as much as you seem to have, what is it that you suggest?”
I was still in something of a joking mood, but the fact that Nick was still rattling off ideas and had dropped the humor from his voice seemed to suggest to me that he was very much taking this seriously. I mean, I guessed that was good, seeing as how he wanted me to get my inheritance, but I couldn’t believe that my life had come to this. If anyone should have had an easy time finding someone to marry…
Well, it shouldn’t have been the stud athlete, the woman who got her heart broken, or the bad boy who relished being bad.
“Keep this on the down-low,” Nick said. “Like, seriously. Not to Dad. Not to Mom. Not to Grandma or Grandpa. Probably not even to Layla.”
“Christ, are you suggesting I marry a sex doll or something?”
Nick rolled his eyes. I guess it was time for the jokes to end here.
“No, dumbass. You know how Uncle Nick helped me with Izzy’s ex?”
“So he did?”
“Focus, Brett, focus. We have options and opportunities in this family that can help us out of sticky situations, but we can’t abuse them regularly. We have to save them for emergency situations only. Dad got pissed off enough when he found out that I’d asked Nick to take care of Izzy’s ex. He’s going to fucking murder Uncle Nick himself if he finds out this. But, with that said? He could help out.”
He could.
I remembered distinctly that moment when we saw on the TV that the guy had been murdered. I didn’t think anything of it when it first popped up, as the news existed to share dramatic, terrifying stories. But seeing Izzy and Nick’s reaction had told me that the ask for help had proved rather effective. Perhaps a little too effective.
“And what if it gets found out?” I said, playing devil’s advocate. “You know how much shit would fly in the family if someone found out we arranged this whole deal?”
“Which is why no one can know but me and you—maybe even just you if you arrange this on your own—and Uncle Nick. I’ll probably look at anyone you marry in the next year and a half with some suspicion, but I won’t need to know. And besides, you really want to miss out on the family inheritance? That will settle you for life. Get that, play married for another few years, and then tragically divorce on the basis of whatever the fuck you guys want.”
The whole thing was just preposterous. An arranged marriage? In modern America? Purely for the money? This felt like something out of medieval Europe, not Match.com.
And yet, as Nick said, did I really want to miss out on the family inheritance? What did I have to lose if I got exposed? Probably my job at the Ferrari Winery, but I was so well-known as a sommelier in the field that if I got cut loose, I could probably negotiate my way into a much higher salary than what I had now.
“You’re the most goddamn insane sibling I have,” I said. “And for that very reason, you may very well be the one that I’m thanking the most on my death bed.”
“Damn right, because I’m going to outlive all of you fuckers.”
And just like that, we were back to laughing and joking.
* * *
Nick left after an hour to get back to Izzy, saying she needed him home to help with the kid. I had no idea how the grandparents would look past her being a single mother—not that I genuinely cared—and yet would not look past my bachelorhood, but hey, it wasn’t my inheritance.
I stood outside the restaurant, my phone glued to my ear, my eyes darting up and down the streets to see if anyone I knew would see me. The only real thing I saw was an Italian furniture store, Polozz
i’s, but that felt a little simplistic and a bit ridiculous to assume that an Italian store meant someone who knew my grandfather must be near.
“Brett Ferrari,” my uncle said as he picked up the phone. “How are you? Wanting to come down to Vegas and do another night at Tao Nightclub?”
“Oh, that was a good time, wasn’t it,” I said with a wistful laugh. “But actually, Nick, I wanted to ask if you’re alone right now.”
“Oh, sure, we can arrange bottle service; one second.”
I found myself meandering down the street, pacing in place. I had to stop myself and lean against the wall of Polozzi’s; I needed a place that I could anchor myself and remain aware of my surroundings, rather than just quasi-drifting through the nearby area.
“What do you need, Brett?”
“Well…”
No, this is stupid. Don’t do this over the phone. After what brother Nick did, Uncle Nick is probably being watched closely in a way I don’t know. Better safe than sorry.
“Any chance you could make your way up here for a visit?” I said, trying to sound like the earnest nephew. “I haven’t seen you in quite some time, and I think it’d be great if you could catch up.”
“Oh, sure,” Nick said, the confusion in his voice palpable. “I would love to catch up.”
Just then, as Nick started to ask me about why he would come up to the Bay Area now, a young woman emerged from the store, locking it behind her. She was the epitome of stunningly attractive.
She had long, flowing brown hair and fierce, noticeable eyebrows, but not so thick as to be called bushy. She wasn’t looking at me, but I could see some incredibly attractive brown eyes. She had tan skin and was about two inches shorter than me. I couldn’t quite make out her body under her work clothes, but she looked like she kept herself in shape.
“Anything you want to do while I’m up in the area?” my uncle said.
“Oh, you know,” I said, cognizant of the fact that the woman was nearby. “Go out for some drinks, have some fun; you know my style.”
The woman looked at me, locked eyes with me for a second, and smiled before she continued on. The smile she gave me produced a real tingle in my stomach and definitely send the hormones into overdrive. She was a real hottie.
It was too bad I didn’t know anything else about her.
It was too bad that if, somehow, we wound up together, she and I would have no real choice but to say yes to each other forever.
Chapter 4: Chelsea
He’s a real hottie.
As I closed the store for the night and prepared to meet up with my best friend Amanda for some evening drinks, I caught the eye of a ruggedly handsome man standing outside my store. There were some men you just saw and immediately had an uncontrolled desire to have in your bed. It was almost like he had a classic model look, except he also had a five o’clock shadow that made him less “pretty boy” and more “sexy man.”
It was too bad that if, somehow, we wound up together, he and I would have no real choice but to say no to each other. Given my luck with men, this guy was probably a player and someone who wouldn’t be able to last in a real relationship. We’d have fun for two months and then recognize we’d have to go our separate ways.
But damn, was he a real looker. Better than anyone I’d spent time with recently.
I walked down the street, past the pub I’d eaten lunch at, and to Grady’s, a local bar that I loved to frequent after particularly stressful days or just to catch up with friends. The workday had not been that stressful for me, but it apparently had for Amanda. I had my hand on the door when I heard her shouting my name.
“Hey, you!” she said when I turned to see her.
I loved Amanda so much. Much of my life felt like it needed an upgrade of some kind, but there was nothing about Amanda that I would have wanted to change. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and unusually optimistic. There was no situation that felt unbeatable to her, and she was great in that regard for supplying moral support.
“How are you?” she said as she embraced me in a hug.
“Ready for some excitement,” I said with a chuckle. “Dad disappeared around eleven a.m.”
“For work?” she said. “He does that a lot, doesn’t he?”
“Seems that way,” I said. “I never quite know what he’s doing.”
I had my thoughts, but I kept them to myself.
“Well, let’s go inside and get a round of drinks, shall we?”
I would never say no to that. I opened the door for Amanda and followed her up to the bar. As far as I could see, there were only about four other patrons inside—a guy watching sports by himself, a couple, and a guy who looked like he was waiting on a date to show up.
“So is your father OK?” Amanda asked. “You didn’t sound too happy about it when his name came up.”
No, he probably wasn’t OK. I could see the effects the last decade had had on him since Mom passed away, and I didn’t just mean emotionally. He looked much older than just ten more years. He looked like he stressed and suffered in silence.
And that was just how he looked. I had heard phone calls I probably shouldn’t have, had noticed guns in the house that we probably shouldn’t have owned, and saw other various small signs that told me not all was well in the world.
But unless and until my father decided to ever bring any of it up to me in any capacity, I was content to just sit back on the sidelines and let things unfold accordingly.
“He’s under a lot of stress with work,” I said. “But Polozzi’s always seems to come out green when I look things up at the end of the month. So as long as that’s going, I think my father will get the occasional bout of relief.”
“That’s good,” Amanda said. “And you?”
“Aren’t we here to discuss your day?” I said with a laugh. “You’re the one that wanted to meet up.”
“Oh, we’ll get to me,” she said, which meant we wouldn’t until near the very end. “But let’s hear about your day.”
“Well, let’s see. Remember Karl from our last conversation? The programmer guy I had one date with? Yeah, he decided to magically appear today. I told him I wasn’t interested, and he got so angry. It would have been kind of funny if it wasn’t sad and annoying. Oh! I did see a very handsome guy just a few minutes ago. This is what my life has come to, I guess. Looking at hot guys in the street.”
“What did he look like?”
I shrugged.
“Tall, handsome. Dark hair. Five o’clock shadow. Perfect jawline. Probably could have modeled. Wore a black button-down shirt.”
“Did he look like...that?”
I followed the direction of Amanda’s nod. And holy shit.
It was him.
He’d taken a seat about four stools over from us, in his own spot. He had his eyes on the menu, but he did not look like he was reading it that closely. Every part of me suspected he had come in here to try to talk to me.
On the one hand, it was invigorating and arousing. The look we’d shared just outside the store was thrilling and exciting, and I definitely didn’t want to pass up the chance for more.
But on the other, if things went to form, he was probably too hot for his own good and would probably just sleep with me and never call me after. I had no doubt that he had charm, and I had no doubt that he would make the hours between now and two a.m. wild and fun. I just also had no doubt that that was no longer what I was looking for in my life.
“Yeah,” I said. “But I don’t think I’m interested.”
“What?” Amanda said, so loudly that even the hot guy looked our way. “Chelsea, you just sat here and said you had an awful date with a mediocre guy, and now you mean to tell me that a handsome dude literally comes in here after he catches your eye and you say you’re not interested?”
“Amanda—”
“Before you say anything, save your thoughts: I have to run to the restroom.”
I couldn’t get a word in before Amanda stood up from
the bar, left me ten bucks in cash to pay the bartender for a round, and headed for the bathroom. That was a bit unlike her; usually, she waited until I went so we could continue our conversation.
“Your friend has a way of speaking rather loudly, huh?”
And then I realized just why she had gone to the bathroom. It wasn’t for her own sake—it was, apparently, for mine.
“She has a way of getting energized,” I said as I swiveled in my stool toward the hot guy.
He hadn’t moved from his spot, and in fact, seemed to be hedging his bets between looking at me and looking at the menu. But it didn’t look like the act of a man uncertain about his action; it looked almost confidently uncertain, like he didn’t know how I’d react but would be willing to go either way with it.
“Well, good news is energetic friends usually have calm, low-key friends, which is just what I like,” he said.
This time, he looked up and kept his gaze on mine as a casual smile spread over his lips. God, he was handsome.
“The name’s Brett. And you are?”
“Chelsea,” I said.
“Chelsea, a pleasure,” he said, standing up and approaching me. He offered his hand, and I took it—it was surprisingly warm, yet soft and gentle, like someone who worked out but didn’t rip his palms apart to shredded callouses. “What brings you here tonight?”
“Me? Oh, I’m just having drinks with my girlfriend; long day at work for us.”
“I guess that makes three of us,” he said. “Mind if I keep you company until she comes back? I’ll be happy to give you ladies your space when she returns.”
Everything he said just sounded so graceful and so smooth, it was almost unfair. The words themselves weren’t magical or particular in any sort of way, but his demeanor struck such a calm tone that it almost felt like he owned this bar. Which, with the way he seemed at ease and how he dressed, certainly seemed in the realm of possibility.
“Can’t hurt,” I said. “What was your long workday about?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Demanding bosses, needless paperwork, politics. But it’s all fine. I have a great job.”
