Who else could build what is needed better than someone who has experienced it firsthand?
I stare at my brother as he considers what I’ve said. He knows what it feels like to have your privacy invaded. He knows what it’s like to want to make memories with your family but not have the space or place to be able to do that.
“The rich like to be treated like they’re rich. They also like to be made to feel normal. We know that better than anyone. Why do you think Dad took us to Montana every summer as teens? To let us feel like everyone else in America.” I sigh and pause for a beat, thinking of the summer months spent away from New York. It was a shift from the time we’d normally spend at the Sag Harbor house, but after our Mom had passed, it was too painful to stay there. “It’s a tricky balance, but one we could pull off in a venue that’s a smaller magnitude than our normal ones.”
“Everyone says they want to be treated normally until they are, and then they bitch they aren’t being stroked enough.”
“Know from firsthand experience?” I taunt and receive a middle finger in the air and a roll of the eyes in response.
“Look, in theory it’s a good idea, but we’d never recoup the money we’d sink into a place like that. It would take years to come close to the type of overhaul you’re talking about.”
“And you think we made back the fortune we spent at Ocean’s Edge or The Retreat in a day?” I ask, pointing out the two most recent property purchases and resort overhauls.
“It’s not the same and you know it. It’s a moot point. As I said, it’s not on-brand for us.”
“Fuck the branding. Step outside of it. Redefine it. Add to it.”
“This isn’t an exercise at Wharton. This is our company. Good idea. Bad business decision for us.”
“Tough shit. It’s my business decision and as I said, you’re going to go along with it.” I don’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. By the look on Ledger’s face, I don’t think he does either. “You make decisions every day about S.I.N. and the directions we take. Decisions we all follow. Now it’s time for you to do the same for me.”
Ledger’s forehead creases as he huffs out a breath. I’ve ruffled his perfect feathers. Good.
He crosses his legs. He looks around the room. There is no hurrying Ledger when he’s in this mode. But it’s when his eyes meet mine that I see the concern deepening in them. “Where’s all this coming from, Ford?”
“Sometimes it’s about more than the money. And yes, it’s so very easy for me to say that considering we’re drowning in it. I won’t deny that. But it’s about needing to do something more. Different. To stretch and challenge myself. It’s not an unreasonable ask.”
His nod is slow and measured. So is the sigh that falls from his lips. “It is about the book then.” When I don’t respond other than to stare at him, he continues, his tone softening, ever the big brother. “Dad loved each of us in his own way. Just because some author and publisher decided to edit the biography in whatever way they decided, doesn’t mean he loved you less. The people who matter to you, know the truth, Ford. And buying some dilapidated seaside something or other isn’t going to fix what it is that did upset you.”
I clear the emotion clogging my throat. “I’ve never asked you guys for anything like this. I’m asking now.”
Ledger rises from his seat and heads to the door but stops before heading out. He waits for a beat before looking over his shoulder and meeting my eyes. It’s a simple nod. It’s all he gives. But it’s enough to know I’ve been heard and while he might not understand the why, he definitely understands that it’s important to me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ellery
“Elle . . . I don’t understand.”
“Of course, you don’t.” My smile is tight, and my need to keep this uneventful even more so. “You and my brothers, or my dad, and whoever decided it was a good idea for you and me to get married. It was simply a merger of sorts to tie our families together personally and professionally.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” I reach out and grab Chandler’s hand, the diamond ring on my left finger sparkling. A symbol of love that we don’t really feel.
Or at least I don’t.
“It was easy to get caught up in everything. You. Me. The promises that were made behind my back to bring you into my family business and cement the future of our families simultaneously.”
“How did you . . .”
I didn’t know. I assumed. But his response just confirmed my hunch. That makes my need to do this even more urgent. Our chance meeting that wasn’t by chance. My brothers’ encouragement to go out with the man they deemed to be a great guy. Good stock. All the right boxes ticked. The whirlwind romance and the over-the-top proposal.
Everything you’d think a girl could want. Textbook romance but with a clinical feel to it.
It was all manufactured for a desired result. A successful business merger disguised as a picture-perfect relationship.
And I went along with it. Until I didn’t want to.
The question is, what made me have a change of heart?
Maybe waking up one day after a storm to realize that I wanted more than a contract to decide my happiness.
“Elle. Sure, it—us meeting, us dating, how beneficial us being together would be for both of our families—was an idea floated by your brothers, but then we actually fell for each other.”
“You realize how that sounds, right?” My nervous chuckle fills the room.
“I’m aware. Just as I’m sure you’re well aware of how the things you’ve said in the past sound.”
“As in?” I cross my arms over my chest and prepare for Chandler of the Hurt Ego to begin his degradation of me.
“As in the fact that you don’t even believe in love. That romance is a ridiculous notion. That a relationship needs to be mutually beneficial for everyone involved.”
“You’re right. I did say that. I do believe that,” I reply, hoping those same words will be what lets him off easy. “But don’t you want more than that? Just because I don’t believe in it, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve better.”
Kill him with kindness. Make it all about him. Flatter his ego.
“Elle . . . look at you. You’re intelligent and successful and beautiful. What man wouldn’t want you at his side?”
“One who deserves love? Who wants a family? Who . . . I don’t know.”
“But our sex life is good, is it not?”
A tight smile paints my lips. “Of course, it is.”
But good sex isn’t enough.
Isn’t that what this is all about? It has to be. Because for a woman who’s only ever been left by the ones she truly loved—first my father when I was nine and then my mother when I was eighteen—I don’t exactly subscribe to the notion of love.
It only leads you into a false sense of security before it devastates you and leaves you to fend for yourself.
So yes, this arrangement of sorts would have professionally benefited us. It might have given me a leg up in my family business dynamic.