“We’ll go,” Sofia says quietly, taking my hand and hauling me up with unexpected strength.
I swallow but go over to Nana and kiss her on the cheek. “Nana, I—”
“I know, dearie,” Nana says, patting my cheek. “And Stefano knows too.”
I kiss her again, leaving before I start crying again. In the hallway, Sofia takes my arm and pats my hand. “You heard the doctor. He’s going to be okay.” That’s not what he said, but it’s what I need to believe. “Come on, let’s get back to Angela’s and feed everyone. It’s what we Italians do . . . feed a fever, feed a cold, feed to celebrate, feed to mourn, feed our families at every chance we get.” She’s trying to distract me with silly prattles, but the thought of going to Nana and Papa’s house and seeing his favorite chair empty as everyone studiously ignores me, is more than I can take.
“Aunt Sofia, I think I’m going to go home for a bit. I haven’t been there in . . . weeks,” I say with a swallow, remembering that most of my things are at Ross’s, but I don’t want to go there. I want to go to my little apartment, with the tiny tub I have to bend my knees to fit in, and just hide away from everyone and everything. “I’ll get Archie to take me.” I’m already pulling out my phone to text him before he leaves the hospital. I swipe away the dozens of missed calls and texts, some from Ross, some from Abi, some from unknown numbers.
My phone dings in my hand. “Archie says he’ll come around and meet me out front,” I tell her. After asking if I’m sure, she kisses my cheek and walks me in that direction.
The front sliding doors to the hospital open and suddenly, I’m blinded by a flash.
“There she is!” someone yells, and it’s like blood in the Amazon river. Instead of piranha, though, I’m surrounded by journalists, paparazzi, and more cameramen than were at the wedding.
“How’s your grandfather?” one asks, but it’s the only halfway sympathetic question yelled at me.
Every other question I can make out is insane.
How do I feel about my fraud? Am I a gold digger or a sugar baby? How much did Ross pay me? Did Colin pay me? What kind of magic pussy tricks do I have to get two of the city’s hottest bachelors fighting over me?
“What?” I cry out at that last one, horrified at his crudeness. “Excuse me,” I say, pushing my way through.
Behind me, I hear Aunt Sofia. “Just go, honey! I’ll get the cousins!”
I’m not sure if she means that she’ll get them to beat the shit out of the reporters, which while that sounds good, is definitely a bad idea, or if she means she’ll ride with them to Nana’s and to just leave her.
I pray she means the second one and dive into Archie’s car as he pulls up. He peels out of the lot, looking in his rearview mirror. “Sorry, Vi! I came up through the parking garage and had no idea they were out there.” He looks pale, and for his dark complexion, that’s saying something. He was scared back there too.
They think I did this for money because of who Ross is or because I’m some sort of kept-woman whore. Regardless of the questions, they all say the same thing. I’ve ruined my life and the lives of a bunch of other people, too.
* * *
Archie is hesitant to leave me and even fills my rinky-dink tub for me, but that just reminds me of Ross and the tears start to flow again.
Archie tries to joke lightly, testing the waters. “Oh, no, she’s leaking.” But even his overexaggerated look of ‘what do I do’ doesn’t change my dull expression.
“I’m sorry, Arch. I just can’t. You can leave me alone to wallow in my own pity party. I’m okay, I promise.”
He eyes me thoughtfully and then does what he always does, takes care of me. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll grab you a glass of wine . . . hmm, make that the bottle. And I’ll get your softest PJs and set them on the counter. You hop in the tub and cry it all out. I’ll have food delivered later, so answer the door, but look out the peephole first because I wouldn’t put it past those sharks to impersonate a delivery guy. You . . . bath, eat, sleep. Got it?”
I nod, not having heard most of what he said. But he leaves after a few minutes and finally . . . finally, I’m truly alone to fall apart.
Papa.
Ross.
What have I done?
Chapter 27
Ross—Thursday—5 Days After the Wedding
Despite my promise to my mother that I would fix this, as Thursday morning dawns, I’ve been doing a lot more talking than fixing. I’ve talked to the hospital, I’ve talked to doctors, I’ve talked to the media, and I’ve talked to executives around the company.
But I haven’t been able to talk to Violet. She hasn’t returned my calls or texts, and when I’ve called her office, all Archie tells me is that yes, he told her I called. I tried again yesterday when the couch she ordered for my office was delivered, but Archie said that the movers knew what to do. He’d apologized and said he’d be in touch soon, but it’d been his professional voice, not the friendliness I’ve come to expect from him.
Abi hasn’t been able to help either. The only time she’s been able to talk to Violet, she told Abi that right now, she’s focusing on her grandfather and that she’ll reach out when the time’s right.
So as I sit in my office, trying to prepare myself for what’s next, I feel like shit.
This isn’t what I want to be doing or where I want to be. I want to be doing whatever it takes to help Violet, to help Stefano. But I know that if I go in there, kicking down doors and forcing myself into the mix, it’s only going to make things worse.
I can’t drive myself into Violet’s life . . . but I can damn sure drive my way out of it.
“Hey,” Kaede says, knocking on my door frame. “Five-minute warning.”
“Thanks,” I reply, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. “How do I look?”
Kaede looks me up and down and smirks. “You want the truth or for me to kiss your ass?”
“The truth,” I reply, not going for his joke. He’s been doing his best to keep things lighthearted while attacking this clusterfuck from every angle by my side. He’s been my savior, the one holding me back and making me think, not just react.
I hate to say it, but he’s been right. In the last forty-eight hours, I’ve never thought so much. About what I’m doing, what I want, what my dreams are. I’m a damn psychology book of best-friend-supervised pseudo-therapy.
Even so, I’m doing what I’m doing today without his full support. He wants me to wait it out a bit longer, ride the storm and then make steps when things settle a bit. But I’m done waiting, done letting life take me wherever it sees fit.
I’m ready to captain the ship of my life. Finally, I realize, I’m ready.
And isn’t that the shit? Dad wanted me to grow up and follow in his footsteps. Well, I’m feeling pretty fucking grown right about now. It’s been a long time coming.
“You look like well-dressed shit,” Kaede replies, coming over and brushing off my shoulders. “The suit’s fresh . . . you’re welcome for that. But your shave sucks, and you’ve got bags under your eyes that’d qualify as checked suitcases. But other than that, you’re ready.”
I nod in appreciation of his honesty.
“You sure about this?” he asks for the tenth time this morning.
“I am.” I pause in the doorway. “Before we go in . . . I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you or held you back. If there’s anything I can do for you later on, if anyone gives you any shit about what we did—”
“Don’t sweat it,” Kaede says, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’ll just tell them that my boss was an absolute psycho, which everyone will believe after the stuff they’ve been publishing, and I was but a loyal soldier who tried his best to stop the debauchery.” He throws his voice, almost into a woefully piss-poor imitation of a British accent.
I laugh finally, the first in days, and though it’s slight, Kaede takes the win. I offer him my hand. We shake, and he falls into step behind me as we take
the elevator downstairs to the conference room. Two soldiers approaching the firing squad. We’ve been here before, a rag-tag team of two brothers facing down the other team on the football field, and later, the rest of the world, but now, we’re facing down our future.
It’s crowded in here today, because not only am I making my speech to the board, but there’s a TV camera to livestream this throughout the company and for the PR department to send out to the media just in case they want to chew on this case even more.
If I have any advantage in all of this, it’s that I’ve kept my speech to myself.
Dad, Courtney, the board . . . nobody knows what I’m about to say. Even Kaede doesn’t know all the particulars, although he knows the gist of it and helped me work out the framework of my speech. It wouldn’t have been fair to him otherwise.
The podium looks overwhelming, and as I set my tablet down on the metal surface, I have to take a few deep breaths in order to calm myself. As I do, I think about the one thing that matters the most, and as her face fills my mind, I find the strength to look up.
“Members of the board,” I say, looking over the accumulated stern-faced suits in the room, and then I glance to the camera. “And my fellow co-workers. Over the past week, I’ve been embroiled in a scandal that has reached much, much further than I ever thought possible. That scandal has brought embarrassment to this company and to my family, and for that, I am sorry.”
Bare-boned apologies while looking contrite, the start of any ‘oops, got caught’ press release . . . check. Time for a little personalization to make me seem human.
Is it bad that there’s a formula for this? Probably, but with everyone from presidents to corporate giants having to apologize for various things over the years, there’s actual science to back up the best way to save face when the shit hits the fan.
“I have spent my life as a representative of the Andrews name and this company. With that comes scrutiny and even lies. I’m sure you’ve all seen the headlines about my behavior, and certainly, the majority of those have been exaggerated, twisted, or flat-out made-up.” I pause, letting that sink in.
“Truthfully, I have always tried to do the right thing, act in what I felt was the best interest of the company, and I’ve never, ever intended to harm anyone else with my choices.” I swallow. “But the reality is, regardless of my good intentions, I have hurt the company and my family, and I will carry that burden with me for the rest of my life.”
I lean over the podium with practiced ease, making it seem like it’s only me and a small group of people speaking intimately. “May I speak frankly?”
There are a few raised eyebrows at my sudden change of tone and words, and down at the end of the front row, Dad tenses, looking like he’s about to jump up and cut me off if I push the line.
Thing is, I’m not going to push the line. I plan on obliterating the fucking thing.
“A few weeks ago, it was suggested to me by people in this room and in shareholder groups that I needed to settle down. They chose to believe the lies printed about me over the truth, and their worries about image and stock prices seemed more important than my own integrity. I ‘took one for the team’, as it’s said. I wanted to show that I was fit to run this company one day, willing to do whatever was needed to see that happen. I worried that without me, this company that my family built would suffer, that it would lose the path that it’s followed for decades now. Ironically, I see now that my plan was nothing more than the ultimate expression of my unfitness.”
I can see people looking to one another uncomfortably. They certainly didn’t push me to do what I did, exactly—that’s all on me—but they did put pressure on me.
“So that’s the ‘why’ from me about why I did this.” I intentionally don’t say that we got married as a farce because I’m doing my damnedest to be as honest as I can be. “As for Ms. Russo? She had much more honorable reasons. Again, the media is painting her as everything from a gold-digger to a scam artist. She is none of those things. She is a kind, beautiful soul who wanted only one thing out of all of this. She wanted to give her dying grandfather a final memory, a thank you for everything he sacrificed to raise her. She wanted to give him the opportunity to walk her down the aisle and give her away in a fairy tale wedding before he meets his maker.”
“That’s it. Nothing in her mind ever thought of money, or social climbing, or scamming anyone or anything. She did what she did because she loves her grandfather with all her heart.”
“And now, as Stefano Russo lies in a hospital bed, possibly dying due to our actions, I can only pray that he forgives us.”
“But as Violet’s scream pierced the chaos of our reception and I saw what we’d done to Stefano Russo, I realized the truth. Anyone who’s willing to engage in such a sham to appease a group of shareholders, who was willing to lie to his own family and more, is not ready to lead this company.”
There are gasps and murmurs through the room at the confession. This is something I’ve been groomed for since birth, and I’m admitting to an inadequacy in front of the whole world.
“So I’ve thought, and as I thought, I realized that there is an Andrews ready to lead this company when my father decides to step down many years from now. She stands at his shoulder every day at work and puts up with . . . well, more than I could. She’s smart, she’s capable, and she’s the true next generation of leadership for this company. Of course, I’m talking about my sister, Courtney Andrews.”
I look over to where she sits at Dad’s side. Her jaw drops open for a split second before she composes herself and smiles politely, dipping her chin at the people who look her way. See? She’s already ready for this—professional, strategic, thoughtful, analytical. With several more years at Dad’s side and his admittedly excellent mentorship, she’ll be a fantastic leader.
“As for me . . . well, in all honesty, as I wrote this speech, a lightness came to my heart. Because I realize that there’s something more important to me.” I don’t say her name, but it’s readily apparent who, not what, I’m talking about. Dad blinks rapidly a few times before his eyes narrow as his lips twitch. I wonder what Mom’s told him about my conversation with her. Does he know that he was right, after all? That his ‘suggestion’ that I settle down might have gone so shockingly wrong, but also so amazingly right?
“So effective immediately, I’m resigning from both the board of this company and as a vice president. I thank all of you for your years working with me and wish this company success in all its future endeavors. I am looking forward to setting out on my own and directing my own future where I see fit.”
Without taking any questions from the board, most of whom look more than a little shocked, I walk out and go back to my office. I’m surprised to see Abi in my seat, her feet up on the wood and her lips pursed.
“Falling on your sword?” Abi asks, taking her feet down. “Didn’t think that was your style.”
“Guess you watched it, huh?” I reply, sitting down on the couch Violet ordered. She was right, of course. Even unfinished, the casual seating area does make my office feel more welcoming. Too bad it’s coming right as I’m leaving. “What’d you think?”
She shrugs evasively and gets up to pour two glasses of scotch. She hands one over and sits down beside me. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, Abs. A little early for scotch, don’t you think?” Even as I argue, I take a small sip and swirl the liquid, looking for answers in its amber depths.
She takes a sip too, though she winces, and I remember that she’s not much of a drinker to start with, so straight scotch has got to be downright disgusting to her. She’s doing it for me.
“It’s to celebrate,” she says, lifting the glass to clink with mine. She looks for someplace to set the drink down. “You need a table.”
I huff. “Violet ordered one. I think it’ll be here next week, not that it matters. Celebrate what?”
She side-eyes me. “You finally stood up to Dad. It’s about damn
time.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Abs? I argue with Dad all the time. It’s literally what we do most here, lately. I’m just taking my ball and leaving the playground.” I shake my head, sure I’m doing the right thing by leaving the company but in shock that I actually did it.
“God, you are so blind sometimes. Please promise me that you won’t go open some hot-shot venture capital day trading multi-marketing pyramid scheme. You’re not cut out for it.” She rolls her eyes, and forgetting, takes another sip of scotch. She hisses out loud this time.
I don’t have a chance to argue because Courtney pops into the doorway. “Celebrating or commiserating?” she asks, lifting her chin toward our drinks.
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly.
Courtney pulls a chair over to sit across from Abi and me. The new ones haven’t been delivered yet. “I think you probably gave me the biggest endorsement ever,” Courtney says, her face a mask of confusion. “Why’d you do it? You could have just said fuck this place, popped a peace sign, and walked out without a single fuck given.”
“I could have,” I admit, “but I do care about this place, and about Dad and you, Court. And I meant every word I said. I would have even said more, but I didn’t want to spend ten minutes kissing your ass in front of the board. A big brother’s got to have his line in the sand. Simple truth . . . this company’s in damn good hands when Dad steps down.”
“Weren’t you just saying you were taking your ball and leaving? It doesn’t sound like it to me,” Abi says, inserting herself into the ‘Courtney’s the best’ lovefest.
Court looks at me, fury in her eyes. “Is that what you think you’re doing? For the love of fuck, Ross. How stupid are you?”
Okay, there are things in life that will make you feel like less of a man—screaming like a little girl at a bug, cringing away from a punch, and . . . having your two little sisters call you out back to back.
My Big Fat Fake Wedding Page 32
