My father, still in a suit, is sitting in a black leather wing-backed chair overlooking the backyard.
“Alice.” Dad gives me a clipped nod. “How is Declan?”
“Good. Happy to be back in Denver and to have won the championship.”
I’m fine too; thanks for asking.
“Would you like a drink, Alice?” Mom asks.
Compared to her sweater set and pearls, I feel casual in my white blouse and plain black skirt. The tight collar itches around my neck, but I don’t do anything to show myweakness. My mother will leap on it in a heartbeat if she catches wind of it.
“White wine, please.”
Taking a seat on the red sofa, I cross my ankles and wait for my drink. Tension creeps into my shoulders at sitting in silence. I hate it.
Handing me the glass, she doesn’t miss the opportunity to point out my posture. “You really need to sit up straight, dear.”
“Yes, Mother.”
I don’t know how I’m not because my spine is a steel rod made entirely of the tension I feel toward these two. Dad walks back to his desk as my mom sits on the couch opposite me. The Persian rug might as well be an ocean between the two of us.
I take demure sips of my wine. Sloshing it back too quickly will earn me another scolding.
The room is quiet. The old grandfather clock ticks away in the corner.
“Must you tap your glass?” Mom sounds exasperated.
“Oh, sorry.” I don’t even realize I’m doing it.
“Don’t be sorry. Don’t do it,” Dad tells me, standing and walking over to where we’re sitting. “We called you over tonight to discuss a few things with you.”
“Okay.”
Nerves flutter in my belly. What in the world could they have to discuss with me? Aside from monthly dinners and a phone call from my father’s secretary to set them up, that’s about as much contact as I have with them.
It’s for the best, really. I avoid this place at all costs.
“It’s about your trust.”
“My trust?” My heart falls. That’s the only reason I’m still coming to our dinners. “What about it?”
“If you’d let me finish, I would tell you,” my dad chides.
“Sorry.” I take a cool sip of my wine.
“The lawyer was reviewing the stipulations since you are going to be coming into the money in a few months.”
Eleven months and ten days to be exact. But who’s counting?
“Right.”
“What we weren’t aware of is a marriage clause.”
“Come again?” My mouth goes dry at their words. I couldn’t possibly have heard them right.
“A requirement of the trust is for you to be married. In order to receive the payout, you will need to be married by your birthday next year.”
“But why? Why didn’t we know this before now?”
