“No.” I snorted down laughter. “Maybe I’ll find an heiress to a crumbling British manor or someone else who actually needs my money. It could be a win-win, like it was for Sterling and Laney, or Jameson and Sadie.”
Gage arched an eyebrow at me. “Or you could consider finding love the old-fashioned way.”
“I tried the newspaper ad.”
“No, I mean do it like a normal person. You know, meet someone in person, ask them out, date for a while, fall in love, and then propose. It’s worked for billions of people and it could definitely happen for you.”
This time, I didn’t manage to catch my laughter in time to snort it down. It barked out of me like a dry gunshot filled with bitterness and amusement. “That’s not how it works in my family.”
He frowned. “Why not? Your old man wants you to get married. Most fathers do once you hit our age. Moms start whining about grandbabies and Dads start talking about carrying on the family name. It’s not unheard of, so why can’t you just go out and do it the same way as everyone else?”
“How much time do you have?” I asked, then signaled the bartender for another whiskey. I got it and took another swig. Gage was still looking at me expectantly, so I took it upon myself to shatter this illusion he was under about how things worked. “In my family, marriage is a deal. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Take my parents, for example. They didn’t fall in love. They merged. Generational wealth doesn’t protect itself, and apparently, neither does our reputation. It’s up to us to craft our lives in such a way that we responsibly and efficiently protect it all.”
His brow furrowed before he scoffed. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Exactly,” I said. “It’s a rich-people thing. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ve never been happier about my middle-class upbringing,” he said, shaking his head as he picked up his glass again. “Is this, like, the West Coast norm?”
“Nope.” I finally looked up while I sipped my drink, realizing for the first time that O’Reilly’s was actually pretty full tonight. Maybe there would be some British heiresses around.
Across the room, a group of women were eyeing me over their cocktails. I caught one of them giving me a slow, deliberate onceover, but I turned back to my drink. They weren’t the kind of women I would marry. Something about their vibe warned me to steer clear.
Gage noticed them too, inclining his chin toward them before glancing back at me. “There’s a whole horde of potential wives right over there. It might be the cheerleader effect, but they seem pretty hot. I’ll wing you. Let’s go over and see if we can get a bite from someone who’s not a catfish.”
I grimaced. “In the old days, I would have taken you up on the offer, but it’d be a waste of time now. I’m not looking for one-night things anymore. I need a damn wife.”
He chuckled. “Spoken like a true romantic. Can’t you have Garvey find you someone?”
Garvey was the family butler. He had been with us for years, as polished and with as stiff an upper lip as my parents themselves. I laughed. “Now that’s a fun mental image. Old Garvey is so blind, he’d probably set me up with one of the brooms.”
“Do your folks even have brooms?” he asked.
I looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, man. Our housekeepers aren’t genies.”
We made fun of each other’s lives for a while, and it was nice to forget about the ticking clock over my head.
A couple hours later, I headed home, the city lights bleeding gold, orange, and red through my Uber’s window. I leaned my head back against the seat, just watching the streets roll by and wondering if there was anyone out there who wanted what I had to offer. Someone who wasn’t a total train wreck.
It seemed unlikely. Maybe starting the hunt on a different continent really was the answer. Find me a Downton Abbey girl looking for a lord of the manor. We could ride horses and I could pretend to like tea.
My apartment was quiet when I walked in, just the way I usually liked it, but somehow, it felt a little too quiet tonight. It had been that way for the last few months, the silence so deafening that it often felt like the walls were closing in on me.
I kicked off my shoes, dropped my jacket over a chair, and grabbed a shower before I headed to bed. Alone. Tomorrow would be another day of failing to find a wife in the most spectacular ways possible. Clearly, I needed my beauty sleep for that.
By the time morning rolled around, I’d gotten two hours sleep at most, rest seriously not coming easy these days. I padded to my kitchen barefoot, wearing only my boxers, my hair a mess after all the tossing and turning, and my breath probably smelling like shit since I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet.
Pinnacle of romance, me. Come on, who wouldn’t want this?
At least my sense of humor hadn’t abandoned me yet. I fixed myself a double-strength espresso and finally decided to open the burner email one last time. If there was nothing there, which I was fully expecting, I’d find out if one of my brothers would be using the jet later.
London was pretty this time of year and I loved England. It couldn’t hurt to go sniff around there for a few days.
Much to my surprise, the inbox was not as empty as the seat across from me had been last night. There was a new message waiting from a different person. It was short and to the point, but there were no obvious signs of it being a prank. I stared at it for a minute, weighing the odds.
What are the chances of thisnotbeing another setup? Slim, probably.But the longer I stared at it, the more tempted I was to reply.Oh, goodie. I’m not done humiliating myself in the pursuit of matrimonial bliss yet. Fucking A.
I sure as hell wasn’t booking the most romantic restaurant in the city again, though. There would be no candlelight, no tasting menu, and no expensive wine ordered in advance. Instead, I typed back a time and place, nothing fancy, and hit send.
