41. Lily #2
Who the hell told him he could touch me?
“I’ll catch you later.” He winks and flashes me a seductive smile.
I hesitate. “ Sure.”
Giuseppe-slash-John follows after the waiter, waving at me from over his shoulder.
What the hell?
My questioning gaze traps my father’s. “You didn’t mention this would be lunch for three.”
“It was a last-minute decision. Lucky for me, Giuseppe was available,” he says. “Take a seat.”
I sit, placing my handbag on the chair next to mine.
The private room is appointed in the same tasteful airy décor as the rest of the restaurant. Other than an array of colorful flowers placed in vases, white is the predominant color.
My father sits down and reaches for the bottle of red.
He’s about to serve me a glass, but I stop him. “It’s too early?—”
“It’s not that early, but if you’re only rolling out of bed, it would be.”
I’ve had enough. “For your information, yesterday or the day before—I’m not certain—I ate something that didn’t agree with me and I’ve been sick all morning.
Both were Italian meals, so it could’ve been the cheese.
Since I barfed all over what I was wearing, I had to take a shower, wash my hair, reapply makeup, and get dressed.
That’s why I’m late. It’s not because I think tardiness is acceptable, nor is it because I was being lazy. ”
A fleeting flash of embarrassment darts in his gray eyes, but the remorse evaporates in a flash.
He squares off his shoulders, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “Why didn’t you say so when you texted me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
He considers me with his lips pursed.
No, you wouldn’t have.
“You have a valid reason for being late?—”
“Why are we having lunch with Giuseppe DeMaro?” I cut to the chase. “You haven’t bought a PR firm yet, so it’s not as if my presence here is necessary if the two of you are going to talk about Chandler’s political career.”
“This lunch isn’t about Chandler. It’s about you . Specifically, it’s about you and Giuseppe.”
“What do you mean?”
My stomach is acting up.
Crap.
To will it to settle, I reach for the bread. Not bothering with butter, I tear off a piece and shove it into my mouth.
“Dario and I think Giuseppe and you would form a good couple.”
I stop chewing.
I place a hand over my mouth. “I don’t understand.”
“Dario is a powerful man. We’ve brokered a few deals together lately and we’d love to see our alliance extend further.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“The best way for you and Giuseppe to get to know each other is by dating.”
I choke on my saliva. “What?”
“The DeMaros plan on being important players in Chandler’s campaign. Giuseppe is single and you’re single. It makes sense.” This isn’t a suggestion. It’s a decree.
“Let me get this straight”—I lift a hand up—“you decide the trajectory of my career. You decide which film school I’m going to attend. And now, you take it upon yourself to play matchmaker? When does it end, Father? Are you going to dictate who I marry next?”
“Yes,” he says. “The plan is for you and Giuseppe to get married.”
My mouth drops open.
“It will be the wedding all of New York talks about.”
That sets me off. “I’m not getting married to that man.”
“You don’t even know him.” My father frowns. “He’s a good guy.”
“He’s malleable. That’s why you approve of him.”
“Dario and I both grew up poor and made something of ourselves. Now that we’ve gained a certain amount of success, we want to make sure it’s passed on to the next generation, and the one after that.
The fastest way to increase your wealth is to marry into a wealthy family.
Giuseppe understands that. He’s willing to put the interest of his family first. He isn’t selfish. ”
But I am?
“Good for him. I’m not dating him. Forget about marrying him.”
My father’s nostrils flare.
His glacial blue eyes are glaring at me, but I hold his stare. I refuse to cower.
I shove more bread in my mouth because I’m this close from being sick again. And I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with this bug that’s creating havoc on my body, but everything to do with this ridiculous arranged marriage idea.
“It’s time for you to pull your weight in this family, Lily.” His voice is as cold as ice when he says that. I’m surprised I don’t see his frosty breath in the air.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’ve provided you with a charmed life. The best schools. A wardrobe full of designer clothes. A collection of red sole shoes.”
I tear off another piece of bread, chewing on it as if I’m mad at it.
“You have an enviable collection of jewelry, even though you insist on wearing that thing all the time.” He points at my medallion.
“It lacks the sophistication of the pieces I’ve offered you.
” That’s like a slap in the face. “When you were in Paris you lived in a multimillion-dollar apartment in one of the best arrondissements. You live in an enviable zip code in New York. You have a Black American Express card at your disposal and you don’t even have to worry about paying the balance. ”
“Things, Father. Those are all things.” I’m fuming.
“Things most people will never have.”
I stuff more bread in my mouth, storing the morsels between my cheeks like a chipmunk.
“After your mother’s death, you could’ve ended up in the system. Foster kids have it rough. Instead, you’ve been living in the lap of luxury.”
His words have the same effect as a catastrophic earthquake.
I masticate like a cow and swallow. “Why would I have ended up as a foster kid?” He forced me here to insult me? He could’ve done it by phone or text. This conversation is beyond aggravating. “You’re my father. When a parent dies, the other parent steps up to the plate.”
“And I did. And now, it’s payback time.”
I blink.
“If you were to become Mrs. DeMaro, it would help further the family not only financially, but also in the political arena. Dario knows the right people.”
All this vomiting must’ve affected my hearing. “Heading a PR company isn’t my dream career.” My hand cups my medallion. “I went along with your grand plan because I was hoping you’d accept me. I won’t prostitute myself for the good of the family––a family that would prefer I never existed––”
“Prostitute is a strong word. It’s a marriage––”
“If I was stupid enough to marry Giuseppe, I bet it still wouldn’t be enough to earn your respect or your love.”
My father lifts both of his brows, his attention fixed on me, his posture stiffening.
I keep offloading what’s on my chest. “This craziness stops here. I won’t do it.” I shake my head. “If you want to form an alliance with the DeMaros, ask one of your sons to marry Dario’s daughter.”
“She’s a handful.”
“I see.” I nod. “I have to sacrifice myself, but your sons don’t?”
“They’re—”
“I’m seeing someone.”
The evil smile stretching his lips should come as a warning. “And who is that?”
I lift a defiant chin. “Gage Hollingsworth.”
“He lives on the other side of the country.”
“He has an office here.”
“Los Angeles is his home. Not New York. A week here and there doesn’t make for much of a relationship.”
“I’m going to film school next year. Speaking of which, I plan on getting a job in PR in LA, so I can cut my teeth sooner rather than later.”
He levels me with a glare that could freeze an iceberg.
I soldier on. “The more experience I have under my belt, the better I’ll be at my job. And that will benefit Chandler.”
I sit straighter, my glare matching his.
“There’s been a change of plan.” He plays with his cufflinks. “You’re no longer attending film school in LA.”
“You’ve been campaigning hard, citing Los Angeles has the best film schools in the world. ‘ It would be a waste of time to consider any other option’. ” I throw his words back at him.
“I’ve reconsidered. The New York Film Academy is more than suitable. No need to go across the country.”
Wh—what?
My molars grind together as my hands fist. “I had my heart set on LA?—”
“On LA or on being in the same city as Gage?”
“Both.”
We enter a Mexican standoff for several beats.
“You may hate me now, but you’ll thank me in the long run.”
That sounded Greek to me.
I’m about to say as much, but he pulls his phone out of his suit jacket and checks it.
I let out of frustrated sigh.
He meets my gaze. “You’re willing to give up your life and move across the country for a man you know nothing about.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Did you know Gage is in love with another woman?”
The pain is as sharp as being stabbed in the heart with an ice pick.
“In fact, Gage and his girlfriend were spotted hand in hand entering Van Nuys Airport a couple days ago.” My father continues his torture.
A couple days ago?
He was supposed to be in Sweden.
His trip was delayed?
My heart is beating so hard. “You’re lying.”
He smirks. “There are two ways to know someone. One, the person is truthful and forthcoming. I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that’s rare. Two, you have them investigated.”
My eyes grow wide.
My father hands me his phone. “Here’s proof I’m not lying.”
I reach out for it and pray my father doesn’t notice how much my hand is shaking.
A paused video flashes on the screen.
My father places his weight against his folded elbow, reaches out, and presses the play button .
There’s no mistaking it’s Gage.
I lift my eyes. “You paid a private investigator to follow him?”
He points to the phone. “You’re going to miss the good part.”
Like a masochist, my attention returns to the screen.
Gage is holding a woman with black hair in his arms. I can’t see her face.
The camera zooms on his mouth.
There’s no sound.
He tightens his hold on the woman.
She lifts her head up at him, revealing her profile.
I squint.
She’s a woman with tawny brown skin.
Is she part of the sisterhood?
I didn’t meet her while I was in LA.
If her striking profile is anything to go by, she’s gorgeous.
Nope, I’m not jealous of her perfect curly hair or the insane volume.
Gage wipes away her tears.