Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
ENFIELD
The phone ringing wakes me. I roll to grab for it, expecting my parents. I’m surprised when it’s not. For the past week, they’ve been calling me no less than half a dozen times a day to bitch. At least half the time, I let it go to voicemail.
This morning, it’s Nash. I hit the green button before it goes to the pit of no return, and no answer, that is my voicemail. It’s full. No one can leave anything more, something that my parents also demand I fix and I have no intention to.
“Hello?” I answer, voice thick with sleep.
“It’s nine,” he says. His frown is loud this morning.
“You’re no less disappointed in me than my parents. I’m charmed.”
He sighs. “Get up and come into the office. I want to talk to you about something.”
“You find something?” I ask, leaning on my elbow. I try to ignore the hope that flares in my chest.
“Just come in. Bring me coffee.”
“I suppose that’s cheaper than you telling me to bring my checkbook.”
“We don’t accept personal checks. I trust you’ll have your credit card on you,” Nash returns without missing a beat.
I laugh. “I’ll be there soon. Thanks for the wake-up call.”
The call disconnects, and I let myself fall back. It’s been a week since I was released from prison. I’ve spent the week getting my hands on anything official or legal-looking that concerns my family—either side—and the business. When I’m not doing that, I’m visiting my children.
Someday, I’d like to get all three of my kids together so they can meet and form a relationship with their siblings. Coming from a family where I’m not close to mine, I want something different for my kids.
My siblings and I were never on the same page. They hated that I ‘made a spectacle’ of myself in my determination to get out of the fate they live. They also hate when I throw in their faces how much they hated certain parts of their contracts that they were forced to live by.
They live within their chains. I don’t want that.
I can admit I’m a spoiled rich boy, and I’m also not willing to give up my piece of the family legacy.
I enjoy my comfortable lifestyle, and since I now have three different child support checks going out every month, my money will dry up.
It’s a matter of time. Not if but when. I have a deadline looming ahead.
It’s my own doing. I don’t regret my children. Never have I ever regretted my decision to have my children. However, I was na?ve to think that any one of them would be my ticket to accomplishing the freedom I’m determined to have.
Kids are expensive. More than that, I want them in good neighborhoods.
I want them in safe homes. I want them to go to top-tier schools.
That all costs money. Sarah and Amelia refused to let me put them up in better places to live.
I haven’t fought it hard because my kids aren’t old enough for school yet.
When they are, I’ll fight a little harder.
Then again, Lissander just turned three. He’s getting close to preschool age. Amelia is agreeable about half the time when it comes to raising him. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about my wanting to change his school district. She loves the little house she bought weeks before I knocked her up.
Courtney is the only one of my children’s mothers who has no problem letting me take care of them monetarily.
I’ve made it clear that once Ronan is in school full time, she needs to do something productive that doesn’t include sitting around at home and getting her nails done.
I’m providing a good life for them because he’s my kid, and I feel guilty about using her the way I did. That doesn’t mean she gets a free pass.
Hell, if I had a stable situation, I would take full custody of him.
Courtney is a decent mother, but she doesn’t want to be a mother.
As much as it pains me to say for Ronan’s sake, I know she’d hand him over to me without complaint.
Without argument. I know she resents me, and I’m pretty sure she resents Ronan sometimes.
However, right now, I have other mountains to scale. I will get myself in a position where I can give all three of my children the life they deserve.
I force myself from my comfortable bed and go through my morning routine.
I stop at the coffee shop down the road where I picked up all three baby mamas and order two coffees.
At this point in my life, I know Nash’s coffee order.
I enjoy joking that he might as well be my lover since I know more of his personal preferences and likes than I do anyone else’s.
He doesn’t appreciate the observation. Which is why I make it.
His office is only ten minutes down the road. I met Nash shortly after obtaining my second degree. Not unironically, we met at my favorite coffee shop. We ordered the same drink and hit it off.
Not romantically, of course. I’m not into guys.
But our friendship certainly began as the start of an epic bromance.
Then I was arrested for vandalizing my parents’ pool house—I don’t know why they didn’t find the giant penis I spray-painted on it as funny as I did—and I made my one call to my new lawyer buddy.
Our friendship is now mostly lawyer/client. Primarily because I always seem to be in trouble, and he’s always there to dig me out.
Because I’m feeling a little sentimental when I finally get let into his office, I yank him from the chair and wrap him in a hug.
Nash is so startled, he only awkwardly pats my back.
After a minute, when I don’t let him go, he asks, “Are you dying? Is it real or another misguided attempt at shirking your contract?”
I snort. “No, I’m feeling nostalgic as I stopped at our place for coffee.”
Nash sighs. He’s always sighing at me. But my statement does prompt him to give me an actual hug, which we both know is what I’ve been waiting for.
“Actually, stopping in for coffee did make me reflect a little on our friendship and… thank you. For all that you do for me. One day it won’t be so one-sided.”
His arms tighten. “Don’t take this the wrong way.
I’m already regretting my decision to say it.
” I grin in anticipation. “I know you don’t check your card statements because I haven’t charged you in two years, Enfield.
I hate that you’re miserable and stuck in this stupid loop of archaic family traditions and chaos, where you’re succeeding in your own self-destruction more than anything else.
I want to help you out of this cycle. I want to see you happy. ”
“You do love me. I knew it. Four for four, the coffee shop should be a match-made-in-heaven shop.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Nash pulls away.
“Thanks,” I say, and he meets my eye. “I’m going to pay you back for the free help one day. I promise.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t need you to pay me back. I need you to stop causing mayhem. You didn’t warn me about your royal affair. Our agreement is that you give me a heads up.”
I stare at him for a minute, unsure of what he’s referring to. It’s not often that something I’ve done to make headlines and piss off my parents catches me by surprise.
Nash turns his screen to face me, and there’s a series of three shots of me hardcore making out and groping with a very recognizable face. I grin as I read the headline.
HEIR OF DISASTER, ENFIELD UNDERGROVE, HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THE MARRIED DUKE OF ENGLAND, EDWARD STIRLING.
I roll my eyes. “There’s no such thing as the Duke of England. He’s the Duke of Somerset.”
“Is he married?” Nash asks.
There’s no containing my grin as it spreads across my face like I’m possessed. “He is! And has two kids, too.”
“Enfield.”
“Relax,” I say and drop into the chair on the other side of his desk. “Those are AI.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not interested in guys. Edward is, and this is his way of coming out without actually having an affair.
We met on a trip and lamented the family expectations, and came up with this scheme.
The plan is that the photos are ‘leaked.’ Neither of us makes any statement at all.
I’m sure someone somewhere has already identified them as AI, and eventually the entire thing blows over, but not before causing free mayhem.
It’s not monetarily costing me anything. ”
Nash sighs. There’s no way I’d go through a meeting without him sighing. I wouldn’t recognize him if that were the case.
“So… that what you called me in for? We could have talked about this over the phone and I’d be back asleep by now.”
Nash shakes his head. He takes his seat and sips his coffee. “You’re not going to like this, but I have an idea.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “What is it?”
“I think your best bet to receive what you want is to go through with this—”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Listen to me,” Nash insists. “Just hear me out.”
I press my lips together. Dread trickles up my spine. The last thing I want is for Nash to tell me this is hopeless and give up.
“A good thirty percent of this contract is archaic, as you so eloquently point out every time we talk about it. You’re not wrong.
Over the years, I’ve made note of everything you’ve ever told me about your parents, your family, interactions, conversations, and literally anything that sounds relevant or irrelevant.
As of right now, and with all the miles of documents you’ve provided me, I can’t find a way to release your trusts or company shares to you—or anyone—outside of these marriage contracts.
I’ve done some digging, and the trusts themselves are tightly sealed.
Believe it or not, the company is even more so. ”
I sink further into my chair, trying to keep my frustration in.
“However, what I’ve been plotting—yes, I’m using the word plotting, universe forgive me—I think will end how you want it to end. You need to be okay with hurting your wife in the process.”
“I realize I was just arrested for abuse, but I can’t actually do that, Nash.”
He gives me a half smile. “Not what I meant. From what you’ve told me, your parents make themselves present in your siblings’ lives constantly.
Including, and especially, times which are very clearly outlined in your contract, not at the discretion of the contract holders.
I remember a very heated conversation on your end after your eldest niece from your sister was born, and how your parents busted up in their hospital room and took their daughter out of her bassinet without your sister’s permission.
That, in and of itself, has rendered their contract null and void since your parents explicitly broke the terms. And since your parents are the ones breaking the terms of the contract, they have broken the ties that keep the trusts and company shares frozen unless you’ve met the terms outlined within.
It actually lays that out in very specific detail. ”
“Huh.”
“We can talk about how your mother overtook your brother’s wedding, much to his wife’s chagrin. If I’m not mistaken, you said she was so upset that she cried on several occasions, correct?”
I nod.
“That’s also in breach of their contract, assuming it’s the same as yours. In both situations, in the thirty days prior to both of your siblings’ marriages, your parents specifically showed up at their houses, unannounced and uninvited, which is also against the terms of the contract.”
“So you’re saying if I sign a contract, they’re going to break it.”
“Without question.”
“Tell me the part where I’m hurting my future wife.”
Nash nods. “First, I’m going to point out that these contracts are very clinical.
You’ve stooped far lower in your actions attempting to get out of this contract, so while I don’t relish suggesting it…
the terms of your contract are basically a checklist of events that need to happen—in what order, on what deadline, and parameters on how to live your life, meeting specific checkpoints along the way.
It doesn’t state that you need to be a good spouse.
I bring this up because you are actually a caring person, so I want you to go in prepared that what you’re doing is going to hurt her.
You need your wife to go through with the contract, too; therefore, if you want the outcome you’ve fought for for years, you’re going to need to keep her in the dark. ”
“Got it. What’s the plan?”
“Agree to a contract. Sign it. Marry. You need to stay within the contract for a minimum of three months, which brings you to term with the bare minimum requirement, in which your family shares are already signed over and one of your trusts is released. You don’t need to be a good husband.
You don’t even need to consummate your marriage.
During that time, your parents are going to be tallying up the terms of the contract that they’re breaking. ”
“But I have to get married. I have to go through with it first?”
“You’ve managed to get me a copy of Eloise’s original contract and then the one that included her husband’s family’s terms. Some things change, so we’ll have to see what it looks like.
From what I can tell, I think it’s best to at least go through with the marriage.
We’ll annul it just following the sixty day mark.
As soon as you have a new contract that is personalized to your new wife, send it my way once both parties have signed.
That way, it’s already legally binding.”
I nod. “I hate the idea of giving in. Even if it’s on my terms and will end how I want it to.”
“It’s relatively painless. If you discount that you’re playing an innocent woman like a fiddle with complete disregard for how this affects her.”
“I did that to Courtney,” I say, shrugging.
“You did. It’s also the one regret you have in your life, Enfield. It bothers you every day.”
I scowl at him for pointing that out.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“I need to think about it, but… you’re right. This seems relatively painless. What if that last part is pulled from the contract and I’ve already signed it?”
“I’ve done some digging, and it seems this clause is nearly always included. It serves as a protection to the new couple, allowing them to lead their own lives and not be puppets to their parents.”
“Is that the legal term?”
Nash smirks. “Close enough. Unless you want to learn some Latin, we’ll call it the legalese of your contracts.”
“So marry for money. My money.” I shake my head. “You know, I’m probably going to remain a bachelor for the rest of my life after this. Even though I’m the one who’s going to be an asshole, I feel like I’m going to come out of this traumatized.”
“Think about it. Let me know.”
“I will.” We both already know my answer. This is the only way I’m going to get what I want. Then I’m going to find a way to make my parents absolutely fucking miserable and make sure both of my siblings know that their contracts are void because my parents are overstepping dicks.