“Bye.” She didn’t wait for me to say it back before the line went dead. By now she knew I didn’t like pleasantries that people said just to fill time. I didn’t have enough time to be filling it with pointless words. And after the conversation with my father, that suddenly felt more true than ever.
Freddie Rossi wasthe closest thing I’d had to a friend growing up. He and Orlando Amato had both been there for me when I came back from Europe three years ago, offering their friendship and putting up with my cranky ass until I started to believe that they really did give a damn about me. And that was the only reason I was sitting in a rustic little restaurant/bar right now with the two of them, celebrating Freddie’s choice to forfeit his singlehood.
The place had this weird hunting cabin sort of vibe. The lamps all had that tree line silhouette that unoriginal men liked to get tattooed in a ring around their forearms,and everything was all warm wood and forest greens. It was charming if a bit of a strange choice for the middle of Boston.
“You made it,” Orlando said with a grin. “You should feel honored, Freddie. He left the office for you.”
I didn’t bother responding. I was a grand total of five minutes late. Yes, I was wearing the suit I’d worn to work, but I’d stripped off the suffocating tie and ditched the jacket. I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt and undid another button at the neck, trying to make the outfit more casual and less stifling.
“Can I get you something?” one of the bartenders asked with a flirtatious smile. She looked too young to work in a bar and way too young to be eyeing me.
“Corona,” I replied.
“How have you not graduated to grown-up drinks yet?” Orlando asked, swirling his scotch or whisky or whatever expensive-as-fuck alcohol he was drinking around his glass. “It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
“Fuck off, Amato.”
He just laughed. “Dude, that was way too easy. What’s up with you today?”
I didn’t answer, reaching for the bottle the bartender set on a coaster in front of me. When the cool liquid hit my tongue, some of the tension I’d been carrying around since yesterday finally bled out of my shoulders, and it was marginally easier to breathe. It wasn’t the alcohol so much as the taste. Beer tasted like freedom, like days spent backpacking through Europe and cookouts that Sierra had to drag me to but I secretly enjoyed.
“So what exactly are we doing here?” I asked,glancing around the bar. It was simple—a handful of tall, round tables, the bar, and a section with a single pool table and a couple of dartboards. “Aren’t there supposed to be strippers?”
I’d never actually been to a bachelor party. Orlando had gone out with his older brother for his bachelor party, and that pretty much covered all my genuine friends.
Freddie sputtered. “Jesus, Blake.”
“I’m going to take that as a no.”
“Strippers are for men who are willing to risk having their wedding canceled,” Orlando added.
“Good to know.”
We spent the next several hours drinking, playing darts and pool, and drinking some more. I was actually starting to relax and almost enjoy myself.
“Would you ever marry for money?” I asked, setting my empty glass down on the bar top.
There was a long pause that felt so damn heavy. A part of me wanted to take the question back, but these two idiots were the only people I trusted, and right now I could use some advice.
“I guess it depends,” Freddie said finally. “My instinct is to say no, but I’ve never had to really face that question before.” The Rossis weren’t quite as wealthy as my family or the Amatos, but Freddie had never wanted for anything in his life.
“Don’t tell me you’re having the kind of money issues that require you to marry into someone else’s fortune,” Orlando added. “How exactly does one lose several billion dollars?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t have several billion dollars. Never have.”
“You’re kidding. Are you telling me the Blake family fortune is a lie?”
“No,” Freddie said softly before I could answer. “He’s talking about his money, not his family’s.”
“Wait, what?”
“Hayden, what happened?” Freddie asked, his tone serious and more worried than I’d like.
“My father has cancer. The doctors gave him six months. And I have to get married to inherit his fortune.”
“Yes, join us on the dark side,” Orlando said with a grin. “We have cookies.”
I rolled my eyes.
