“Now what?” Phoenix asks.
And just like that, my phone buzzes with an incoming email. As does everyone else’s. He must have spies casing the bar to alert him when we’re all together so he could send the big news. My dad always was a fan of theatrics.
“It’s an email from Dad,” Amelia chirps with a grin.
I don’t even pick up my phone. I’m not ready to face it. Not ready to feel that crippling weight when it says what I think it says.
Jack looks raring to see what’s hidden inside, so I’ll let him do the honors.
“I’ll read it,” he announces as I freeze with my lips to the rim of my gin and tonic.
Dear Kids.
There he goes again with thekidsbusiness. Never mind the fact that we’re all full-grown adults, half of us here still act like children. The lot of them are in for a rude awakening when they find out they won’t have Daddy Ronan around to spoon-feed them anymore.
This message is for all six of you: Julian, Amelia, Jack, Phoenix, Elizabeth, and Weston?—
This letter is a long time coming, and I’m sure you’ve guessed by now what it’s about. With the help of my business partner, Matis Moreau, I’ve managed L’Amour for the past two and a half decades. It is time for me to officially retire.
I feel my heart start to race as Jack reads. The walls of this bar are closing in. There’s a thrumming in my ears as I grasp desperately to every word Jack says, waiting for the moment when he utters my name and everything changes forever.
I’ve spoken to Matis about this, and we both agree that you should make the club yours now.
The thrumming stops, and everything goes silent. What did I miss? Did he not mention me by name? I must not have heard him right.
“Wait, who?” I snap as I grab my phone from the table. Quickly swiping open the email, I scan it erratically. “Who the fuck is going to own the club?”
“I think he means…all of us,” Phoenix replies, but I ignore her. I’m too busy absorbing my dad’s email in search of the line that goes a little something likeMy son, Julian, will own the club and be in charge with all of you underneath him—because I believe in him. Because he’s earned it. Because he’s just as capable as Jack.
But there’s nothing.
Because apparently…I’m not.
“All of us?” my sister asks innocently. “Own the club together?”
“Fuck this.” My blood is pumping so fast, I might pass out. The gin is swirling through my veins, making everything numb as I toss my phone on the table. I need to bemorenumb, so I pick up the glass and try to suck every last ounce of liquor from the ice.
Meanwhile, Jack continues.
I’ve known you all since you were born. Your parents created a legacy, and you were raised together like a family. You came to Paris with a dream, and you’ve all worked so hard at L’Amour. But what I see now are six adults who have lost their way.
I scoff. I haven’t lost my way.
I don’t know why I even cared so much about inheriting this club in the first place. It’s not like I actually wanted it. It would have been one more opportunity for me to fail. To show I’m not perfect.
I’m just a useless heir to the throne, and he’d rather hand the club over to hisfriends’ kidsthan entrust anything to his own son.
He thinks that because the owners of the original club were like family, forcing us to run this one together will make us family too. But we are not the original owners. And you can’t force that bond.
You’ve grown apart, and each of you has lost something you can never replace. I know how that feels.
My stomach sours when I remember what it is my father has lost.
I see your potential. Each of you brings something special to the table. If you really worked together, you could make a club even better than what your parents created.
There is nothing more powerful than family. The six of you are a family, whether you see it or not. There are three of you missing from this letter—Liam, Austin, and Scarlett. They are choosing another path for their lives, but this offer extends to them, should they choose it. And I hope they do.
Sure. Why don’t we just invite the rest of Paris while we’re at it? Maybe Geo wants a slice too. Or hell, might as well invite Mom’s poodle to own a portion of the club. Jack’s four-year-old daughter probably wants in too.
