Hell if I know. I can still taste the rum on my tongue that I was licking off…huh, what was her name?
“I can smell you from here,” Father says as I make my way down the moderate staircase.
“Yeah? What do I smell like?”
“Don’t test me,” he says just as I reach the bottom, and he shoves a phone in my face. “Care to explain?”
“Uh, yeah.” I pinch my brow, attempting to get my eyes to focus on the screen millimeters away from my nose. “That’s a mobile phone; they’ve overtaken the use of landlines.”
“Theodore,” Father booms, causing the stairs beneath me to quake.
Okay, okay, maybe I need to actually take this seriously. His spittle just landed on me, and when there’s spittle, there’s consequences.
Adjusting my eyesight and attempting to focus, I take in an article that reads, “Theodore Williams III Is Looking for a Fiancée.”
Oh shit.
“From the look in your eyes, I’m going to assume this is not a fake headline?”
I press my lips together and take the phone from my father, quickly searching through the article and glancing at the screenshots of my profile on Fiance-er.com.
Likes to suck on cherries?
Loves a long-lasting merger?
Jesus, Rupert.
“Why?” Father asks, ripping the phone from my grasp. “Why do you keep doing this? Getting yourself into these kinds of predicaments? Do you know how bad this looks? That the future Lord Dunebary is searching for a fiancée online?”
“Seems proactive to me,” I answer, trying to keep things light, but from the murderous look in my father’s eyes, I’m going to guess he doesn’t appreciate it. Clearing my throat, I add, “I mean, it doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”
Through clenched teeth, my father says, “It says you’re looking for an American wife.”
“Does it?” I ask, taking the phone back and scrolling through the article. “Huh,” I say when I spot it. “Don’t recall that needing to be a requirement.”
“None of it should have been a requirement, because you shouldn’t be on this website. You shouldn’t be advertising that you’re looking for a fiancée. You should be learning the family business.”
That almost makes me laugh out loud.
Learning the family business.
What is there to learn?
We’re supposed to strut around like we are of importance, when no one fucking cares about our title. We’re supposed to shake hands and offer people our attention like we’re gifting them with our presence. And when we get home, we’re supposed to boss people around so they wait on us.
Seems like I understand it perfectly.
“This is just typical you, always finding trouble, never following through on anything, and forcing your mother and me to dig you out of the mess.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
“Is it not?” Father quirks a brow. “What about the time you promised an entire primary school free scholarships under the Lord Dunebary estate?”
“That was just a splendid idea in my opinion. We don’t need the money.”
“That money is what keeps the legacy of our ancestors alive,” he shouts, blowing my hair back with his booming voice.
God, he’s fuming mad this time.
