I arrived home at the property to attend the repass and took on the role of making sure everyone was okay and looked after. And of course, the man who had taken center stage in my day—after Kevin, of course—was there, taking in the surroundings of the home. He was looking at all the photographs sitting against the wall beside the spiral staircase.
Kevin was a photographer when he was younger, and it was how he made his first millions. Sure, his success in the stock market and his family’s generational wealth was a big part of his multimillionaire lifestyle, but he was very passionate about his artwork.
Maybe that was why we connected so well. Sure, I used acrylics and paintbrushes, but creatives of all sorts seemed to be drawn toward one another. We shared a certain level of pride.
“All his work,” I commented, walking over to him.
He glanced my way, then turned back to the photos, not speaking a word.
I smoothed my hands over my dress. “Do you have a name?”
“Yes.”
I waited for him to share it. He didn’t. “Well…?”
“Am I bothering you?” he yipped.
“No. Why do you say that?”
“Because you are going out of your way to communicate with me when there is no reason whatsoever for us to be entangled in conversation. It is clear I’m not interested in speaking to you, yet you still find the need to conversate. You’re exhausting.”
“Gosh. You’re so… grumpy and rude for no reason.”
“Am I supposed to be happy at a funeral?”
“No, but like, you don’t have to be a dick.”
He pushed out a sarcastic grin. “Thanks for the funeral tips.”
“Screw you.”
“Not interested.”
“I’m so glad I’m never going to have to cross paths with a person like you again, Mr. ‘I attend funerals of strangers because I have no life of my own’ guy.”
“And I’m glad I’m never going to have to cross paths with a person like you again, Ms. ‘I tell stupid-ass jokes at a dead person’s funeral and cry over blueberry scones’ girl.”
“You’re an asshole!”
“How many times are you going to tell me that before you leave me the hell alone?”
“I—”
“Talk too much. That’s what you do. You talk too much.”
“Are you really Kevin’s son?” I blurted out.
“I don’t know. How about you try asking him? Oh wait. You can’t, because he’s dead,” he replied. I blankly stared at him. He shrugged. “I was trying a funeral joke like you.”
“Yes, well, your comedic timing is a bit off.”
“I guess I’ll retire from stand-up.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Blackstone, I think we are going to get started any moment now,” a gentleman said, walking up beside us. He looked over at me and smiled brightly. “Stella! It’s so good to see you,” he greeted. Joe Tipton was Kevin’s longtime attorney and dear friend. I’d known him as long as I’ve known Kevin—which meant my whole life.
Joe’s hug was warm and comforting. “I just wish it was under different circumstances.”
“Me too, but I won’t keep you two from whatever’s going on,” I said, stepping away from Joe. “We’ll catch up later.”
“Wait, no. Didn’t you get my email?” he asked.
“What email?”
“About Kevin’s will. That’s what we’re meeting about in his study right now. Maple is ushering everyone out as we speak. If you’re available, it’s of the utmost importance that you join us in about fifteen minutes.”
“Why would I have to be there?” I asked.
“Come on, Stella.” Joe took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you really think Kevin wouldn’t leave something behind for you? You were the closest thing he had to a daughter. The closest thing he had to family. You and Maple, that is.”
“And you.”
He smiled. “But mostly you.” He looked over at the man who was the pain in my left butt cheek. “Damian, if you and Stella are ready to go over the will, I can lead you to the study where everyone else has gathered.”
“Damian,” I said, looking at the stranger. He looked like a Damian. Broody and moody, all right. Mysterious and haunting. Handsome in an annoying way. Yes. Damian was a very fitting name for that creature.
“I’m glad you two have already met. It’s going to make the next part of this much easier,” Joe explained.
“What does that mean?” Damian and I said in unison.
Joe only smiled and nodded once. “Please, follow me this way.”
As we walked into Kevin’s office, my heartbeats increased as I stared around at all of the familiar faces. Faces I hadn’t seen in years, some even decades.
“What are you all doing here?” I asked, baffled by the women standing in front of me. The only one who made me feel an ounce of comfort was Grams sitting in the far-left corner.
“You didn’t think our husband would leave us out of his will, did you?” Denise sneered. Denise Littrell. Formally known as Denise Michaels—for a short period at least. Around her were two other women who had come and gone throughout Kevin’s life as his wives.
Denise, Rosalina, and Catherine.
Or, as I liked to refer to them, the wicked stepmothers of my past.
“He was married to all of these women?” Damian asked, arching an eyebrow.
“At some point, yes,” I said, looking toward Rosalina. “Though some only lasted a week.”
“It was a fabulous week, too, minus the annoying kid who wouldn’t disappear,” Rosalina remarked, plastering on more red lipstick. Her makeup was just as heavy as it used to be. Her dress was just as tight, too, which wasn’t an issue. Rosalina was one of the most beautiful women alive—with or without makeup. All his former wives were model-like. Some, like Catherine, were actual supermodels.
“He seemed to have a type,” Damian dryly mentioned.
“Who is this stud muffin?” Denise asked, eyeing Damian up and down like he was a piece of meat and she was starving, which was odd. Because I remember when I was a kid, Denise made it known that she was far from a meat eater when she threw meatloaf across the dining room table.
All three of their relationships ended with Kevin due to one conflicting issue: me.
And now, we all stood in a room together to go over his will.
“We can all do introductions if needed. Otherwise, we can go straight to the main part of the will,” Joe offered.
“Let’s just get to it,” Damian cut in, ignoring all the women’s eyes set on him. “I have business to attend to after this.”
“Right. Of course. Well, let’s get down to it then.” Joe took his briefcase and opened it on Kevin’s desk. Just seeing him take a seat in Kevin’s chair made my chest ache a little bit. Grief was odd. It showed up at the most random times. Seeing another man sit in Kevin’s chair brought about a sadness I didn’t realize. My eyes watered at the thought that Kevin wasn’t going to be sitting there ever again.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the handkerchief Damian had given to me earlier to wipe away my falling tears.
“There goes Little Miss Perfect with her alligator tears,” Catherine remarked.
“Oh, piss off, will you, Catherine? Nobody liked you anyway,” Grams scolded, walking over to me and taking my hand in hers. The squeeze of comfort let me know I wasn’t the only one mourning Kevin’s death.
“As you all know, Kevin thought highly of each of you,” Joe stated. “Which is why he found the need to write each of you a personal letter, describing what he left for each of you.” He handed out a letter to every individual in the room. The women were quick to rip theirs open to see what they were receiving, and they hissed and whined when it wasn’t up to their standards.
“His record collection? Why on earth would I want that?” Denise complained.
“Well, Kevin stated your first date was at a record store. He said you used to
dance to the songs, and the collection would hold value to you.”
“How much are they worth?” she questioned with lowered brows.
“Enough,” Joe commented with a bit of disdain in his mouth.
“He’s really leaving me his New York penthouse?” Rosalina asked, stunned.
“What?! I want that!” Denise yipped.
“I see you still never learned how to shut up,” Grams remarked.
“Oh, go flip some damn tarot cards, Maple.” Denise flipped Grams off, and Grams smirked in reply.
“Yes, Rosalina. He said you loved Broadway shows,” Joe explained.
“I did.” She nodded, tearing up a bit.
Honestly, out of the ex-wives of Kevin, Rosalina was my favorite. She was kindhearted at times but came with a world of personal trauma that made her act out in intense ways. When she was levelheaded, though, she was so gentle. If I had to choose a favorite stepmother out of the bunch, Rosalina would’ve been it. But that wasn’t saying much, truly. The best of three evils.
“That was our first date,” Rosalina said. “The New York Theater.”
“He also left you his season tickets to the ballet, paid off for ten years,” Joe informed her.
“I also got his jewelry.” Rosalina giggled with glee. With a wicked smile, she looked in Denise’s direction. “I suppose this means I was loved more than you.” She then looked toward Catherine. “What did he leave you?”
“Hopefully more than you both. He did, after all, marry me twice,” she remarked.
“Divorced you twice, too,” Denise shot back. “A double loser, if you ask me. Just like how you lost Miss America twice.”
“Screw you, Denise,” Catherine snapped.
“Ladies, ladies. Let’s not get too carried away with comparing. He wrote them as letters to each of you for the simple fact that he didn’t want to have it be a public affair,” Joe stated.
“Speaking of affairs, why does Catherine even get anything? Seeing how she’s the one who ended my marriage,” Denise scolded.
“Oh, please. He was over you before he even married you. It was a given at his holiday party that you were on your way out. You can’t blame me for moving right on in,” Catherine sneered.
“This can’t be real life,” Damian muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as the women all broke out into an argument about who Kevin loved the most. The room was filled with shouting women searching for validation they would never truly get because Kevin was gone.
He’s still gone.
“Will you all just shut the fuck up and let Joe finish reading whatever the fuck it is he needs to read?!” Damian boomed, his voice filling the room and making all the screaming voices come to a sudden halt. Goose bumps prickled against my skin as his deep voice rocketed.
He smoothed out his suit, and Denise’s eyes fell to him. “No, really, who the hell are you?” She turned to Joe. “And if he was going to simply give us letters, why bring us all here tonight? This could’ve been an email. Christ. I hate when people hold physical meetings over subjects that could’ve been sent as an email.”
I couldn’t disagree with Denise on that. We disagreed about pretty much everything else in the world, except for our hatred of unnecessary meetings taking place.
I held my letter in my hands. I couldn’t find the strength to open it yet. I wasn’t ready to read his final words to me. It felt a little too much like goodbye.
“For this part.” Joe started unrolling a piece of paper. “These were Kevin’s last wishes, written in his own words, and he asked me to read them to you.” He cleared his throat and began reading words that changed everything. “If you all are hearing this, then I am on the other side of forever, and I hope none of you meet me here for a long time. I am bringing you all here to carry out my final wishes. To all my ex-wives, hi. How are you? You look great. Have you lost weight?”
The women giggled as if he was truly complimenting them.
Joe continued. “As you all know, I am a firm believer in marriage—so much that I did it four times over. Each one of you gave me something different. Rosalina, you gifted me with your sense of wonderment and adventure. Catherine, your stubborn yet strong personality, and Denise, you gifted me a head of gray hairs.”
I snickered to myself as Denise rolled her eyes, and Joe resumed.
“With all three of you combined, one could say I had the perfect marriage. Which is what I wish for both Damian and Stella.”
“What does that mean?” Damian grumbled.
Joe held up a finger to silence the room. “My final wish is to leave Damian and Stella with the remainder of my wealth, including my stock shares, my bonds, my estate, and over five hundred million dollars that will be split down the middle between you both.”
The ex-wives broke out into a fit over the idea, and I felt as if I was trying to swallow the biggest lump in my throat.
He left all of his belongings to me?
And Damian Blackstone?
But why?
“That’s not all,” Joe said, raising his voice to try to recollect the power of the room. “In order for this to happen, it is of the utmost importance that Damian and Stella wed for six months’ time. Within those six months, the two must live within the same household, spending at least five days out of the week under the same roof. They cannot go more than forty-eight hours outside of the home together. No loopholes. This arrangement will start no later than a week from today.”
“There’s no way in hell,” Damian and I said in unison. What was with us speaking the same words at the same time?
“This isn’t fair!” Denise whined. “Why do they get the good stuff?”
“Denise, hush,” Grams said.
“What? It’s true. No offense, we don’t even know who this man is, and for some reason, we are supposed to think he deserves a cent of Kevin’s belongings? He has the least amount of rights to that money.”
“She’s right,” Catherine chimed in. “He has no right to a cent of that money.”
“As it turns out, Damian is Kevin’s son. Therefore, he does have a right to the money,” Joe added.
The women’s eyes fell on Damian, and the shock that hit them all was the same shock that hit me earlier that day when the realization set in.
He blankly stared and nodded toward them all. “Hello, stepmothers.”
“Whose kid is he?” Denise asked, looking around at the others.
“Don’t look at me,” Catherine remarked. “Does this body look like it bore a child?”
“Honey, a good California surgeon could work miracles on anyone. Just ask Rosalina and her nose,” Denise slyly remarked.
“I know you’re not talking, Ms. Booty from Dr. Kent,” Rosalina shot back. “Turns out, hips can lie.”
It was like watching a live-action viewing of The Real Ex-Housewives of Los Angeles.
Joe cleared his throat. “None of this matters, ladies. All that matters is, if Damian and Stella keep the deal, they get all the income. Along with one of the ex-wives receiving twenty million dollars based on who Damian and Stella decide is worthy of the gift.”
“Prize money?” Rosalina asked, sitting up straighter. “For the best wife?”
“Yes.” Joe pointed at the paper. “It says right here. Each wife should spend one evening with Damian within the six months’ time and showcase why they should receive the money. Since you all already spent time with Stella at a young age, Kevin believes it’s important for you to get to know Damian on his own.”
“This is insane,” I muttered.
“Which is why I’m not taking part in any of this,” Damian stated, turning to Joe. “No offense, Joe, but you can tell dead Kevin to shove his money up his ass. I don’t want it. That’s not why I came here.”
“What happens if Damian doesn’t want the money?” Denise eagerly asked. “If they refuse the deal or break the rules?”
“Well, it will be split between the three ex-wives,” Joe explained.
I swore their eyes lit up as if it were Christmas morning. “I think that’s for the best,” Rosalina mentioned.
“Go ahead,” Damian said. “Take it.”
He turned and walked out of the room, allowing the door to slam behind him.
“That’s the right thing to do.” Catherine smiled, feeling pleased. “We all deserve it after having to raise that kid of his. I deserve it the most, seeing how I raised her the longest.”
She spoke about me as if I wasn’t right here.
“All you care about is the money?” I asked, feeling as if my mind was in a washing machine and my thoughts were being forced to spin round and round at such an uneven pace. I couldn’t even piece together everything being said, let alone the idea that Kevin wanted me to wed Damian.
Why would he do that?
Knowing for a fact that I was in a long-term relationship, too.
“It doesn’t matter what we care about,” Denise said. “It matters that these were Kevin’s final wishes. And do you really want to go against them? He wanted the money to come to me.”
“Us,” Rosalina corrected.
I felt nauseous.
Grams turned to me and smiled. “You don’t owe this world a thing, sweetheart. Not even Kevin.”
The comfort she gave was kind, but I didn’t believe her words. In a way, I owed Kevin everything. He gave me a world when I had nothing left. I didn’t understand why he did it, but I knew he had to have a good enough reason.
“He wanted this, Grams,” I whispered in a shaky voice.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But what do you want?”
To make him proud.
Without much thought, I raced out of the office to find Damian with his hand on the front door of the home, ready to leave.
“Damian, wait!”
“Why? There’s nothing left for me here.”
“Yes, there is. The will—”
“Is complete trash. I should’ve known better than to uproot my life and move to this fucking state all because of a random letter from a man who didn’t give a damn about me. I’m leaving.”
“No, you can’t,” I said, inserting myself between him and the door.
“Christ, not this again, lady,” he muttered.
Western Waves Page 3
