by Chase, Jenna
Ashleigh is squeezing every citrus fruit that grows in the sun into her water. She’s on a diet again. I keep telling that girl it’s about lifestyle changes and not fasting for days at a time, but does she ever listen to me? “I have no idea what I’m going to do either. My parents want to either marry me off or have me do something impossible.” She scrunches her nose. “Like be a doctor or a lawyer. Why does it always have to be doctor, lawyer, or wife? Ugh. My brother gets everything… and he’s younger than me!”
I know that feeling well, and it’s a common occurrence in our circles. Even though I’m the only DeMarco child, my parents have done nothing to secure my inheritance outside of some trusts. What I mean is that I was never prepared to take over the company. If I had been a boy? I would’ve been in the main DeMarco office from the time I could read. Ashleigh’s parents at least have a son to use an excuse. The fact he’s three years younger than Ashleigh, though, is so telling I want to hurl.
Thing is, though, I’m not sure I want to do Daddy’s job anyway. I don’t imagine myself being some CEO or managing a huge company like DeMarco’s. I don’t know what I want to do. My whole undergrad career has been me fucking about with general classes. I have to declare a major this upcoming school year. Right now I’m about to pick English because I don’t know what else to do!
Until recently, I didn’t let any of this bother me. Now? Since my father decided who my future husband will be? (As if that’s actually happening.) It’s like a storm has erupted in my head. It’s not just about the husband thing, although that was the impetus. I should be allowed to pick my own romantic partners. I should be allowed to do whatever I want with my life, within reason, of course. I like to think I’m an intelligent girl. Bullheaded and stubborn? Hell yes. I hear my grandmother was a right asshole until the day she died. It’s a DeMarco thing.
Ashleigh squeezes the life out of one more orange slice before deciding her water is edible. “Maybe you should pick a good role model for the kind of woman you want to be.” She picks up The Daily Social and flips through the pages. “Although I can’t think of anyone like us who isn’t partying and floating all day long.”
I fold my arms on the table and sigh. My memories keep going back to Logan and the way he cradled me in that hotel bed. Who knew a guy like that could be so tender? He may have called me dirty things while I sucked his cock, but we went to sleep with a mutual respect I have never experienced with a man before.
If only my parents wouldn’t flip their shit to have us date.
“Holy shit! Look at this ring!” Ashleigh slams the paper in front of me. A yellow ring highlights a blown up photograph. “That’s so vintage. I’m jelly.”
I pick up the paper and stare at the ring. The photograph is grainy, but I see a pretty blue ring that looks like it may have come from the forties. Don’t know. I’m not as hip to vintage as Ashleigh is. I’m a sleek and modern type of girl.
“Don’t you like that lady?”
Finally, I look at the rest of the article. My mind has been so clouded that I don’t even register anything beyond the ring. Now I see some cute photos of Kathryn Alison and her boyfriend out for a walk in… Paris? It’s Paris. City of Love. Sigh.
The article implies that the ring is an engagement ring since Kathryn is wearing it on her left hand. “Could a wedding announcement be in the air?” On one hand I want to swoon, on the other… last thing I want to think about is marriage.
“Yeah, I like her. Don’t personally know her, though.”
“She seems like the kind of woman who knows what she wants to do with her life and does it with or without her parents’ permission. Isn’t she an heiress?”
“Yeah. Before our time.” What a sad thing to think about a woman who isn’t even thirty yet. I put the paper down. “She’s a philanthropist. Talk about not giving a fuck what your parents’ legacy is. My parents would shit themselves.”
“Mine too. What do her parents even do?”
“No idea.” The Alison family goes back farther than mine in this country. There’s a reason Kathryn is one of the richest women anyone knows. She doesn’t need a “real” job because she’s already a billionaire in her own right. Must be nice. Maybe I should take some of the money from my next trust payment and start investing like I’m serious about my future.
Hmm. Might not be a bad idea. You know. In case I finally snap at Daddy and he cuts me off forever. Better have a backup plan that isn’t “shack up with Logan and hope for the best.”
My phone rings in my Chanel bag. I reach in and languidly pull out my phone, only sitting upright when I see my mother’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hello? Mom?”
“Daphne!” It’s not unusual for my mother to sound exasperated. At the same time, she’s usually not this exasperated. “You need to come home right now!”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
My mother tries telling me at least a hundred times. No, nobody is hurt. No, a calamity hasn’t occurred. Something is going on at the house, though, and I needed to be there five minutes ago.
I say goodbye to Ashleigh and immediately call my driver. I’m almost afraid to find out what’s going on this time.
Chapter 2
LOGAN
“Name!”
I roll down the window of the 1956 Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider Classic I “borrowed” from my mother this morning. It’s as red as the blood rushing through me as my nerves start to take over. “Logan Dean.”
The security guard looks at his clipboard. I already know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth… and he already knows what my answer is going to be. “Do you have an appointment, Mr. Dean?”
“No, sir.” Before I get waved away, I say, “But I need to see Mr. DeMarco, if he’s in.”
I can tell from the security guard’s expression that such a thing is a fat chance in hell. The whole me getting in to see the man of the house thing, that is.
“It has to do with his daughter. Trust me. He’ll want to hear this.”
At least the guard steps back into his booth and makes a call. I idle in front of the main gate for more than a few minutes. Finally, the guard steps back out, the gates opening.
“Go right on ahead, Mr. Dean.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a reason I chose this car for today. Classic Italian. A man so proud of his heritage will surely be impressed with my (cough, my mother’s) tastes. He’ll like my outfit even more. Got my Valentino turtleneck in this fucking heat and Armani trousers. Both tailor-made the last time I was in Europe. Never thought I would wear this turtleneck, but even a guy like me knows how important it is to have such a piece in his wardrobe. I’m glad for my foresight today.
I park in front of the entrance and am greeted by the head butler. His accent is thick and his mannerisms a little gruff, but I can tell he fits in with this place nicely. Time to already be on my guard. I sling my leather knapsack over my chest and look like some Yale schmuck as I take the front steps one at a time. The butler says he will lead me to Mr. DeMarco’s office.
Here we go.
I’ve rarely seen Marcello DeMarco. He’s not exactly a public personality like his daughter and sometimes his wife is. You only see photos of him in the business papers – boring – and sometimes in the social pages if it’s a gala or fundraiser. Not the kind of man you look at and go what a handsome fella! He’s not ugly, but you can only tell that he’s related to Daphne because of the cheekbones and a defiant chin. Otherwise, he’s broad-shouldered and stout. A formidable man. I can see how he has a lot of clout in the business world.
It’s in his office I find him. The man stands and says hello, although the confusion on his wrinkled face implies that he doesn’t know why I could possibly be here. Someone approved of me coming onto the property, though. If not him, then who?
“Mr. DeMarco,” I say, extending my hand across his desk for a firm shake. The butler closes the office door behind me.
&nbs
p; The man has the blankest look. His hand hangs limp by his side after we’re done shaking. Don’t blow this, Logan. “Do I know you?” Uh oh. He’s losing interest already.
“Logan Dean.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, that one.”
The butler returns with a tray of refreshments once I introduce myself. He then stops halfway into the room. No wonder. Mr. Demarco has gone from pure indifference to prepared to rip my balls off my body.
Like I said… I’m that Logan Dean.
“Sir,” the butler says with a clear tone. “Should I…?”
Mr. DeMarco flips some papers over. Whatever he uses to freshen up his office smells a lot like my sweet Daphne. Honeydew. A little cinnamon. Sweet and spicy. I also know for a fact that she tastes pretty sweet.
How about I not mention that to her dad?
“That’ll be all, Andre. Mr. Dean and I need some privacy for a few minutes. This is sensitive.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler bows before excusing himself. I swear I hear the door lock.
Look, I am not usually one to play into stereotypes, but this has the feel of a mob hit about to go down. Great. The cops are going to find my body wearing this prep boy bullshit. I even smoothed my hair down today! Shit. I’m such a douche.
“Why are you here?” DeMarco growls, slowly sitting in his office chair. His look says that he’s heard it all. With a daughter as gorgeous as Daphne? I’m sure he has. Does it make me sound like an idiot to hope that he’ll make an exception for me? You know, the guy fucking up his daughter’s tastefully arranged engagement?
“I came to speak about your daughter, Daphne.”
Holy shit. That is legit fire burning behind his eyes. Whelp. Goodbye, manhood. We had a good run.
“Logan Dean.” He draws my name out in a tired drawl. “You’re that movie star’s son, right? The boy the papers say has a new girlfriend every week?”
Ah, yeah. That’s me. “Yes, my mother is Camilla Dean.” I don’t comment on the other stuff.
“You’re the boy my daughter was caught kissing a few weeks ago.”
I try so hard to keep a straight face as I nod. You’d be squirming too if you had a hot white light shining on you! “Yes, Mr. DeMarco. I don’t know if Daphne has told you, but we’ve been seeing each other for a while.”
That look on his face. The one wanting to kill me? Guessing Daphne hasn’t told him.
“I want to clear the air, Mr. DeMarco. Daphne and I are very much interested in pursuing a serious relationship together. I’ve come to ask for your permission to date your daughter.” It feels so weird saying that. Not just to a woman’s father, but to a guy so traditional that he actually tries to betroth his adult daughter to a complete stranger.
“Daphne is engaged.”
His somber tone has transformed into a formidable growl. The protective Daddy is pacing in front of his lion’s den and prepared to snap at the heels of any other male looking to get at the females. Don’t I know that this one is reserved? I bet DeMarco is the kind of guy who thinks his daughter is still a virgin. (Trust me, I may not have gone all the way with Daphne yet, but there ain’t no way a girl who blows like that is a virgin. Hell. No.)
“I know, sir. I was as shocked as she was to find out.”
Uh oh. Bad, Logan, bad! Don’t piss him off!
“That is to say… I don’t think he’s the right man for her. Sir. If I may say so. Ahem. Sir.”
Look at me. Losing it. You’d think I consider this man my future father-in-law or something.
Speaking of something… that something is burning in my pocket right now.
At least DeMarco doesn’t rip my head off. Instead, he sits back in his seat. Upright, but too far away to choke me out. “What makes you think that, Mr. Dean? I don’t have to assure you that my wife and I have done our due diligence in picking a good match for our daughter.”
Parents always like to think that, don’t they? From what I’ve dug up on Cristiano, however, he’s a bigger playboy that I am. He’ll be true to Daphne for as long as the honeymoon. If that. Maybe until he manages to sneak a baby into her.
I lean forward. I want this man to see the whites of my eyes. “Have you ever been in love before, Mr. DeMarco?”
He doesn’t answer. According to Daphne, her parents’ marriage was arranged… but that doesn’t mean this gruff guy has never been in love before. I’d find it impossible to believe.
Time to play my hand.
“I’m in love with your daughter, sir. I’m pretty sure she loves me too.”
He’s not smiling. He’s also not killing me. I might be on to something here!
“Listen, sir, I’m definitely no expert. I’ve never been in love before Daphne… I didn’t even know that’s what I felt until very recently. She’s a special woman.”
I think I see the man slowly nod. Good. Good, Logan, keep going!
“So special that she’s managed to make me look at my life in a whole new way. I know what those papers say about me. They’re not flattering. I didn’t love any of those women. That’s why I was always looking for a new one to fill the void. With your daughter, I don’t feel any void. She’s my perfect match. It’s like a whole new day has dawned every time I look at her.” I remember how I felt when I woke up with her still beside me. Relieved. Happy. I’ve woken up next to many women before. I was never relieved to see them. “We both know that your daughter is beautiful on the outside. I admit I think that too. But she’s also gorgeous on the inside. She has a fire to her that I can’t resist. I’m a dowdy moth compared to her. She’s got big dreams, and I want to help her make them come true.”
He grunts.
“I haven’t known her for very long, it’s true. Sometimes, though, you know that it’s right, yeah? I do. This time around, I feel that spark. I want to know everything about Daphne. For goodness sake, I want to know what her favorite time of day is, just so I can make sure I’m always there to see her smile when it appears.”
I think I have him. I think.
Then he speaks.
“She’s engaged.”
If I didn’t think it would tank my chances, I would smack my head against his desk.
Instead, I pull what I have out of my pocket and place it before Mr. DeMarco.
He knows what it is. His eyes widen. His mouth parts. He looks like he wants to say that better not be what I think it is.
It is.
“I want to marry Daphne.” My throat is filled with apprehension, but somehow the words come out. “I’m serious, sir. Not until she at least finishes her schooling. Sometime, though, I want to call her my wife. I know I can be a good husband to her… and a good son-in-law to you.”
I think he’s going to throw me out of his office and tell me to never come back. Know what I get instead?
“You don’t even have a father, Mr. Dean.”
So we begin.
I’ve heard tales of these conversations. Bartering. Making demands. Promising payment. Asserting oneself for the sake of a woman. For thousands of years men have been proving themselves to their future fathers-in-law so they can have the women they love. Few made it. Others, like me, are too stubborn to know when to call it quits. Not that I’ll ever call it quits for Daphne. I’ll elope in Vegas with her before I’ll let her marry some twit like Cristiano.
Still, it feels so anachronistic. It’s 2016. Why the hell am I having this discussion!
DeMarco tears me apart regarding my heritage. Not only is my father absent from the records, but my mother is some tawdry (award-winning, excuse me) actress who has shown her tits on the screen multiple times. She posed in Playboy once. What kind of legacy would I be creating for my future children?
Nevertheless, I knew this was going to happen. Everything I researched about this family told me that appearances, money, and heritage was everything. So I’ve spent the past few days putting together a personal résumé of sorts. All the reasons I would be a good match for Daphne DeMarco, heiress to one of the bigges
t shopping empires in America.
I came prepared.
I may not know anything about my father’s side of the family, but I can easily dig up my mother’s thanks to detective work she had done years ago. I can also put a case forward for myself.
“My great-grandfather on my mother’s side was Italian,” I point out, showing the genealogy report to DeMarco. “Piero Russo, of Florence.”
He looks up from the paper with mild shock in his eyes. “My ancestors are from Florence.”
Excellent!
“Russo… that’s a strong family name. Many brilliant Russos in Florence.” DeMarco nods. “What else you got?”
Are we… are we doing this? We’re doing this!
Okay. Now that we’ve cleared I come from excellent Italian stock, there’s the matter of my funds. I show him my portfolio and copies of my bank accounts. Very sensitive information, but if you want to prove to a man that you can provide for his daughter, you bring the receipts. Literally. My net worth is hundreds of millions of dollars. I don’t have to want for anything. At the rate my investments are going (which have been going since my birth, thanks Mom!) I’ll be a billionaire in five more years. My mother already is one when you add up all her assets. I don’t have a lot yet. I can fix that. Properties, gold, whatever the hell it takes. I’ll buy it all up.
Next, I talk about my future. Before Daphne, I didn’t have a career in mind. Professional drifter, I guess. When you grow up as rich as I did, you don’t need career ambitions. That’s not going to work for DeMarco, though. He wants a son-in-law he can train to inherit his company. If Daphne will let me, I would like to inherit with her. I would have to go back to school, though. Lots and lots of business classes are in my future. I already have a pending acceptance letter from Harvard Business School. What? You think I didn’t do well in school? I partied and fucked a lot of women, but I did my damn work. My mother would’ve killed me otherwise, and I can be a real Mama’s boy when it comes to her being disappointed.
