Chapter 39 Theo
Theo
My older brother kicks back in the passenger seat of my car, a single man for what I firmly believe will be the last time. His future wife has refused him a lift. Instead, she’s driving Bea and her mum down to Sorrel Farm in her brand-new Cayenne e-Hybrid—a wedding present from her lovesick fiancé.
This is a good thing for Miles, because the noise level in that car will be through the fucking sunroof. And it’s a good thing for me, because I seriously need to talk to him.
Having worked my ass off to earn the leap of faith necessary for Miles and my parents to entrust me with a serious opportunity in New York, I now have to do the one thing they all know me for.
Flake out.
Jump ship.
Ask for their blessing in chasing a shiny new project before I’ve broken ground on the one I’m supposed to be running with.
‘Got a problem,’ I tell my brother, squinting through my aviators as I tailgate some twat doing precisely seventy in the outside lane. ‘Move it, dickhead,’ I growl.
I’m not at my most relaxed. Not close. There are far too many moving parts in play for my liking. Far too many things that could go wrong. Things that stand between me finding happiness with Belle.
I’m not usually the kind of guy who needs my ducks in a row. That’s more Miles’ department. Or Belle’s. I usually act first, think later. But I’m about to take the biggest risk of my life. Gamble everything I have. My career. My heart. My trust fund.
And nothing is guaranteed.
It would be far more sensible, for instance, if I declared my undying love for Belle first and then furtively attempted to extricate myself from my Manhattan commitment later.
(And, by commitment, I mean my family’s giant and arguably blind leap of faith in me.) At least then if she tells me where to go, I can flee to New York to lick my wounds.
But no. I have to do this properly. Have to show her that I’ll put her first. That nothing else matters without her.
The geriatric in the Volvo finally moves into the next lane, and I flatten the accelerator. I can feel Miles’ judgmental gaze without looking at him.
‘What.’
‘I’d like to make it to my wedding alive,’ he says mildly.
‘Did you or did you not ask for a lift?’ I should probably be minding my tone with him right now, given what I’m about to ask him, but he’s winding me up.
‘Why don’t you tell me what your problem is?’
‘My problem’—I begrudgingly ease up on the gas—‘is Belle. Nora.’
‘I thought everything was going well with you two. You sure as fuck couldn’t keep your hands off her in France.’
Obviously, I will never tell my brother Belle and I started out with a fake relationship. He’s her client, and he’d also never trust me again.
‘There are a few issues you aren’t aware of,’ I say carefully. ‘She had a rough time of it, growing up. Her dad was a dick. He fucked off. And I’m not sure I’ve done enough to demonstrate to her that I can be a stable factor in her life.’
He’s quiet. He won’t be unsympathetic to Nora’s plight. I know he worries about what damage his unfortunate choice of first wife will do to Bea in the long term. Even if his choice of second wife couldn’t be better, for both him and his daughter.
‘Do you love her?’ he asks finally, twisting in his seat so he can face me.
I glance at him quickly. ‘Yeah. I’m fucking besotted. Like—head over heels.’
‘Is she the one?’
‘She’s the only one there will ever be for me.’
‘Glad to hear it. So what’s the problem? Has she explicitly told you you can’t make her happy? Give her what she needs?’
I sigh heavily. ‘We haven’t even spoken about it properly, to be honest. But I’ve reached that conclusion all by myself. I’m everything she doesn’t want in a guy.’
Miles laughs. ‘The way you two were practically fucking in the pool, and at Paloma, I don’t think you’re everything she doesn’t want.’
The heat of that weekend returns, bringing a warm glow to my belly. It was only a couple of weeks ago, and yet my goals were so different.
Wear her down.
Make her come.
Feel like the king of the world.
Repeat.
‘She has no complaints there,’ I say. ‘Neither of us do—it’s fucking smoking. But she sees me as a good-time guy. Nothing more.’
‘Mate.’ Miles pauses. ‘No one can deny you’ve had a few shockers over the years.
But a few bad judgement calls don’t define you.
We haven’t offered you the Manhattan gig to throw you a bone.
It’s because you’ve proven yourself. So it’s not about whether you’re the guy to make Nora happy.
It’s about whether you’re willing to do what it takes to make her happy.
Step up for her. If she wants something, and you believe that thing is important to her, then figure out a way to be the person who can give it to her. ’
Well, he handed that one to me on a plate.
‘Which is why I can’t go to New York.’
He jerks his head towards me.
‘Why the fuck not?’
‘It won’t be what she wants to do. I can’t just go to her and say hey baby. I love you. Walk away from your business and follow me to New York, will you?’
‘It’s called compromise, mate. It could be good for her.
’ His voice gets lower. More menacing. ‘Don’t fuck this up.
We’ve gone out on a limb for you with this one.
Yeah, you’ve put together a great plan. But a lot is riding on this.
Do it well, and it’ll make your career. Nora’s smart. She’ll understand.’
I rake my free hand through my hair in frustration.
‘Listen to yourself. That involves her compromising everything, and me compromising nothing. This family is like fucking quicksand. We all just expect everyone else to fall into line. March to our beat. Look at you—why aren’t you getting married in Ireland, where Saoirse’s family is?
And Margot hardly ever sees her folks. I know how lucky we are, believe me.
But our family can be a lot. So why the fuck should Nora put her career on hold—a career she’s worked far fucking harder on than I have on mine—for me?
That’s insane. And it’s not how I want to take this relationship to the next level. ’
He groans. ‘Why the fuck you’ve pushed and pushed to be given a chance to run with Manhattan when your personal life was up in the air, I don’t understand.’
He’s right, of course.
‘I didn’t know it was going to be serious. I thought it would be a bit of fun with a beautiful woman. Thought it would run its course, like they always do. But I fell so hard, I barely realised it. And now I’ve tied myself into a work commitment I can’t in good conscience take up.’
‘You are such a fucking headache.’ Miles drops his head back in despair. ‘Jesus Christ. I’m supposed to be focusing on marrying the love of my life tomorrow, not dealing with this bullshit, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Yeah.’ I’m the annoying little brother again. The four-year-old who used to idolise twelve-year-old Miles before we both grew up and I realised what a ruthless, painful bastard he was. ‘I know.’
We sit in silence, his fingers strumming on his thigh.
‘Theo,’ he says eventually. ‘The reason we all get so frustrated with you is because you’ve always had so much potential, you know?
You’re not a waste of space, even if we make you feel that way a lot of the time.
Nora’s a great girl—I really like her—but she’s not too good for you.
You’re a fucking Montague. If she’s the one you want, go after her, work out what she needs, and focus with every fibre of your being on making her ecstatically happy.
That’s what I’ve done with Saoirse, and it’s fucking worked.
And believe me, no one’s more surprised and delighted than me. I know you can do the same.’
My throat tightens. This is by far the most profound, even affectionate, interchange I’ve had with my brother in years.
‘Thanks.’ I swallow. ‘Means a lot, mate. And, you know, I don’t want to leave you in the lurch. It’s not an easy decision. I know you’ve pushed to make this happen for me. But at the end of the day… she’s more important. And you said it yourself. You told me not to fuck this up with her.’
He blows out a breath. ‘I know. I get it. If it was Saoirse… I’d walk away from everything. All of it, if she wanted me to. So, clearly you have some sort of plan to convince Nora you’re the guy for her. Want to fill me in?’
I check my wing mirror. ‘Not sure.’
‘Come on.’ Miles pokes me in the arm and smirks when I turn to him. ‘Don’t you want to brainstorm with the man Forbes called the best strategic brain in the global leisure arena? See if we can’t whip a plan into shape that’ll knock her off her feet?’
‘God, you are such a narcissistic twat,’ I breathe.
‘You know you want to tell me. At least make use of me before you end my life on the M25.’
‘Fine.’
I straighten up in my seat. Grip the wheel at ten and two, and move into the middle lane, where I can drive at a more acceptable speed and focus on this conversation.
‘She wants security, I’m going to show her security. Might set The Montague Group back another few million, though.’