“That sounds ominous,” I said carefully. “Also, is the guy’s name Earl or James?”
“James. Whoisan Earl.” Jesse let out a sharp laugh. “It’s not just ominous. It’s a fucking disaster.”
“Enlighten me.”
He turned to face me fully, looking at me like he was about to deliver awful news. “Do you remember Eugenie?”
I choked, and not metaphorically. I actually choked. The whiskey went straight down the wrong way and I coughed hard enough that I had to set the glass down before I dropped it.
“Eugenie,” I managed eventually. “EugenieEugenie?”
“Yes,EugenieEugenie.” Jesse said it like that clarified things instead of making them significantly worse.
“YourEugenie?” I asked.
“She’s not my anything, but yes.ThatEugenie.”
“The Eugenie who set off your car alarm at three in the morning because you didn’t answer your phone?”
“Yes.”
“The Eugenie who?—”
“Yes,” Jesse said, exasperation dripping from his tone. “Eugenie, the British maniac I hooked up with in college.”
I leaned back in my chair and stared at him. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
“James Roderick is her father,” he said gravely.
I picked up my drink again, downed a generous amount of it, and then looked back at him. “He has my deepest sympathies on that one, but I’m still not seeing how this ruins your life specifically.”
He let out a hollow laugh, but something cold settled in my stomach, the pieces clicking into place in my mind. There was, in fact, one thing my father had wanted for a very long time.
Something he’d come close to once before, but Trent and Alex had shut that down before Charlotte had gotten dragged into a future she didn’t want. Apparently, Dad hadn’t let it go when his plan to marry off our sister failed. He still had his eye on a certain prize.
“James is offering Dad a future Westwood having a royal title,” he said. “Provided, of course, that I marry his daughter and she produces my offspring.”
“The Rodericks are royal?” I asked lamely.
“He’s anEarl, Will. That’s royal,” Jesse said. “Apparently, that’s good enough for Dad.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. This was bad. Objectively bad. A lot worse than I’d thought. But I was still reeling when Jesse delivered one last, final blow.
“The Roderick sisters are on their way to Chicago as we speak.”
I stared at him for a long moment, waiting for a punchline I knew deep down wasn’t coming. Jesse did drama like other people did cardio, frequently and with questionable judgment, but this had a weight to it that felt different.
Less theatrical. More inevitable.
Oh, God. I think he’s actually serious about this.Still, I kept my features schooled into a mask of calm. “Let’s not panic yet.”
He barked out a laugh. “Youdon’t have to panic at all.”
“Technically speaking, I’m older than you,” I pointed out. “Which means that if they want?—”
“They’re not looking at you,” he cut in “This ismyleash, Will. I walked away from Westwood and Sons and this is their way of forcing me back into the fold. You heard Alex. They think I need something to anchor me, and apparently, that something is going to be a wife with a title.”
I brought my glass to my lips and took another deep, slow sip. At this rate, I was going to have to pour more whiskey. A lotmore. Jesse started pacing again, back and forth across the rug, pivoting, and turning back again.
