The Matchmaker (Beaufort Billionaires #1)

Sterling

STERLING

22 MONTHS EARLIER

A fat raindrop lands on my colorless diamond cufflink as I step forward. I close my fist around dirt, scooping it up, before hovering my hand over the open hole in the ground. The earth around it is unmoving. Too hard to drive a shovel through. They would have needed to use a machine to dig.

It’s all wrong.

The casket lies six feet beneath the sodden grass of the depressing graveyard. A place devoid of laughter. Of life.

He’d have damn well hated it here.

So would she .

I stare into the hole, the bleak, gray sky, and biting winter air barely registering. The last time I felt anything was weeks ago.

Rain hammers down onto the brass plaque mounted in the center of the lid. A lid that remained closed throughout the ceremony.

“Too badly burned… I’m sorry.”

I uncurl my fingers and the dark earth falls, splattering over the shining wood with an ominous staccato, like tiny bullets penetrating flesh.

“I love you, Son,” I whisper.

A sob.

My daughter, Sinclair, is being held up next to me on trembling legs. Her knuckles are white where she’s gripping my eldest son’s jacket for support. My only son now.

He gives me a terse nod, his eyes shining, as he wraps an arm around his sister and whispers into her hair. She nods in response, before a fresh wave of tears wrack her thin frame. She’s not old enough to legally drink, yet she’s burying her mother and brother today. It breaks what’s left of my shattered heart to see my little girl so overcome with grief that she can’t bring herself to eat.

The priest stands between the freshly dug side-by-side graves. “Take all the time you need, Mr. Beaufort.”

“Thank you.”

I signal to Denver, my head of security, and he subtly alerts his team to begin steering the mourners toward the line of black cars waiting to take them to the hotel where the after service is being held.

Women huddle beneath umbrellas, pressing handkerchiefs to their eyes while they talk in hushed tones about how much they loved my wife, Elaina. About how beautiful she was. How kind. What an amazing mother she was.

I recognize many of them. But their black coats and heels all start to blur into one, swallowed up by a sea of young men in suits. All fit and muscular. All adrenaline junkies, living life on the edge. Just like my youngest son did. Before death stole him from us.

Stole them both in the cruelest way.

They say death by fire is one of the most painful ways to die. That a person can still be alive for ninety seconds while their flesh is melted from their bones.

“I’m sorry you can’t see him… There isn’t…”

The coroner didn’t have to say the words. I knew what he meant. There wasn’t enough left of my son to see.

“?”

A strong hand rests between my shoulder blades. So much emotion conveyed through the weight of his heavy palm.

“It’s not goddamn fair, Mal.”

“Life isn’t. God’s a fucking piece of shit.”

It’s said low enough that Sinclair doesn’t hear her uncle’s admission above her muffled sobs. But Sullivan’s eyes meet mine over the top of her head.

“I’m going to take her to wait in the car, Dad.”

“All right, Son. I’ll come soon.”

He leads her away, the sounds of her heartbroken crying tearing at my soul and leaving behind a stain like a rusty hook.

“She’s strong,” Mal adds.

“She is. But I wish she didn’t have to be. This is all my fault.”

“That’s not true, so cut that shit out now, you hear me? It was an accident. A fucking awful accident. You couldn’t have done anything differently. No one could.” He runs a hand around his jaw, tears welling in his deep brown eyes. Eyes I’ve looked into countless times working together over the years.

Eyes so much like his sister’s. Eyes that gave me three beautiful children and thirty years of marriage.

I swallow down the bile burning its way up my throat.

Mal stares into the first grave.

Hers.

“It should have been me. Not them. It should have damn well been me,” I murmur.

As if to prove my point, my arm throbs beneath my jacket sleeve, the heat blazing a trail up the left side of my torso, culminating at my collarbone. I hiss out a rough curse, relishing the pain.

I deserve it. I didn’t save them.

Mal dips his head in respect at the graves, then squeezes my shoulder. “You want more time?”

I nod, unable to form words as emotion clogs up my throat.

He steps away, leaving me staring at two holes in the ground where what’s left of my wife and son are. The two mounds of earth piled either side sit ready, waiting to fill the holes. Allow them to be broken down and sucked back into the earth. Feed the flowers I know Sinclair will come and plant here in spring.

The circle of life.

What a goddamn joke.

Denver approaches, keeping a respectable distance so I can mourn in private.

After a few minutes, I turn and meet his eyes.

“Everyone’s gone, Boss. I sent the rest of the team to the hotel with the guests.”

I nod.

Like me, Denver’s chosen to go without an umbrella. The rain falls over his dark brown hair, dropping from his chin onto his black wool coat.

“Just family left, huh?” I ask, looking past him to the two remaining cars. Mal’s waiting by the side of one, and I can make out a hazy blur of blonde hair through the rain coated back window of the other, where Sinclair’s sitting with Sullivan.

Denver clears his throat. “What can I do?”

I stare into his eyes. “Help me find out who’s responsible. The yacht manufacturer, the crew onboard… I need to know what happened.”

“Yes, Boss.”

I turn back to my family’s graves, pulling their faces from my memories.

Smiling. Laughing. Alive.

I ease my diamond signet ring over my knuckle, studying the intricate ‘B’ logo on it.

Beaufort Diamonds. Our family’s empire.

What would have been our legacy to leave behind for our children.

I look at my wife’s grave.

Then I kiss the ring and drop it.

It clatters, landing on top of my son’s casket.

“I love you.”

I nod at Denver, and he turns and walks through the rain with me, the ominous gray clouds mirroring the storm inside my soul.