"It doesn't matter," he told her quietly, not caring to see the pain on her face.
"That's why I did not feel comfortable taking help from you. He was a fraud. I thought he had been a hero, stepping in front of a bullet. But it wasn't that." She shrugged.
"And your father was there to talk to him about some inconsistencies in the books. He had been stealing money and using a few vehicles to transport drugs across state lines. It was his way of trying to pay off his debts." She sighed softly.
"I was his princess. That's what he would call me, 'my princess.' He shattered my illusions when I found out the truth."
Reaching across, he touched her hand briefly. "We have this tendency to think of our parents as superheroes and less than human. They make mistakes, and I'm not condoning what he did, but I have a feeling he loved you."
The urge to move into his arms and beg for comfort was so great, she had to take some more champagne. Forcing a smile to her lips, she changed the subject.
Chapter 3
In their separate suites a few feet away from each other, two people lay there in bed contemplating the intricate designs of the ceilings, their thoughts going over the day.
Indigo reflected on the change in her status and what it meant to her. She had taken off the rings, just slid them off her finger and put them carefully inside the velvet box. Now lying in bed, she recalled the conversation between them. He was easy to talk to, she realized. He had that relaxed way about him that invited confidences. Several times during the meal, she had been tempted to ask him if he was seeing someone and, if so, what the person had to say about his marriage.
And if he would still be seeing her. For some reason, the thought was unsettling. Of course he would be with someone. He was a man, wasn’t he? And besides that, he was a handsome man with a vast amount of money.
She was aware of his reputation. In the past, she had just glanced through the articles that gleefully reported his latest exploits. Parties on yachts, a scandal involving a senator’s daughter. The actresses he was with or some famous singer.
There was always something going on with him. Until recently, the reports had stopped. He had told her he had cleaned up his act because of the board and because he wanted to take his rightful place at the helm of his company.
She knew that his mother was now acting CEO. That must rub him to the bone.
But why not marry someone from his society? Why her?
She had asked him that much, and he had told her bluntly that it would not do.
“I want the freedom to concentrate on some ideas I have for the company. I’m not interested in a physical relationship just now. Now, it’s time for me to start working. I disappointed my father, and he still believed in me. It’s time for me to prove to myself that I have it in me to take over the running of the company.”
Shifting on the pillows, she curled onto her left side, hands stacked under her cheek. She was married. And it was not going to be intolerable after all. She had her own suite, money in the bank, more money than she had ever seen in her lifetime. She was grateful to him for rescuing her and her brother.
She would stay out of his way. He was used to living alone. And she was going to respect that. She would give him his space.
Inside his gold and blue bedroom, Brant sat up in bed, his back against the mound of pillows, a drink of good whiskey in his hands as he stared off into the encroaching darkness. Thelight from the dying flames flickered across the room, dispelling shadows at intervals. He was married. She hadn’t gotten him a ring and had wondered about it, but he had told her it was no big deal. Turning his left hand slightly, he gazed at his finger. And wondered himself.
She seemed very interesting. Her voice was cultured and soft. Her smile illuminated her round face. And those dimples! Christ! He could bounce a dime into the space, and it would fit. She smelled nice too, not too strong, a subtle scent that was uniquely hers.
Her skin was smooth and flawless. And she was easy to talk to.
Tomorrow was Sunday, and he usually played tennis with a few friends. But not tomorrow. It would look weird if he left his new wife to go about business as usual. He would spread the word that he had gotten married, and there would be surprise and speculation.
He was going to suggest they attend the Christmas gala put on by the “wives” of members of his club. He would make the introductions there and wait for the reactions. Thankfully, he hadn’t been seeing anyone recently. His last relationship had ended three months ago when he had been pestered with questions of where this was going.
He had wanted to choose his own bride, and he had. He would give it a year. Sex was not on his list of priorities at the moment, and that made him smile. In the past, he would not have gone a week without getting laid. It was going on three months and counting now.
He was happy they could sit and talk. Once every now and again, they would make time to have dinner and a conversation. And hopefully they would be friends. He would love that. There was no reason for them to be otherwise. They would be sharing the same space, so it would go better if they had some sort of friendly relationship.
Taking a sip of the whiskey, he recalled her laugh, the way her eyes lit up and the transformation of her face. He was surprised to discover that she was actually lovely. She might not be the type he usually went for, but she was a beautiful woman. And she had a way about her. The way she tilted her head and fixed her gaze as if what he was saying was of interest to her.
Finishing the drink, he put away the glass and slid down, hands stacked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He was married and not having the usual wedding night. There was a woman sleeping in a suite a few feet away. Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, he drifted off.
He awoke at half past seven the next morning, vaguely disoriented. He was usually an early riser, a habit he had developed after his dad’s death, when he had come to the realization that he was wasting his life. Sitting up against the pillows, he frowned in thoughtful contemplation. There was something nagging him at the edge of his consciousness, something that he should be remembering. Something... His eyes widened as it hit him.
He was married. As of yesterday, he was a married man, one who was sleeping alone in his bed. A marriage of convenience. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he sat there for a minute or two to process. He had tied himself to another person for the duration of one year. Twelve months.
Shaking his head, he swung his legs off the bed. He would grab some coffee and go for a run. It was cold, but he did not mind the biting feel of the wind. It would help to clear the fog from his mind. He could always use the well-equipped gym downstairs, but he preferred the outdoors.