Chapter 7 Andrew
I step into the lobby and head straight for the building’s private garage, where my driver, is already waiting by the car. He’s been with the family for years, always punctual and dependable—just the way I like things.
“Morning, Robert.”
“Good morning, sir,” he replies, closing the door behind me and getting into the driver’s seat. “Where to today?”
“The Camellia Condos site,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I need to check on the progress.”
We pull out of the garage, merging into the busy streets of downtown Boston. The drive to Camellia Condos is short, but traffic always manages to stretch it out.
I settle into the backseat, my mind already running through the issues Don mentioned earlier. The structure’s already several stories high, but there’s always something cropping up—today, it’s the windows and the electrical wiring.
That’s the nature of construction.
As we move through the city, I keep my gaze on the passing buildings, a mix of old Boston charm and new, gleaming structures.
Camellia Condos is supposed to be our latest standout project—a blend of luxury and modern comfort. It’s something I’ve poured a lot of time into since I got back.
We pull up to the construction site. Cranes towering above, workers bustling around. Camellia Condos is coming together, but there’s still a lot left to do. I get out of the car, Robert giving me a quick nod before pulling away to park.
Outside, the sun bounces off the surrounding skyscrapers, and I pull my sunglasses on as I approach the site.
The sound of heavy machinery fills the air, mixed with the constant hum of voices. Workers in hard hats are scattered around, all focused on their individual tasks .
I nod to the site manager, as I make my way toward him. “Morning, Don.”
“Hey, Andrew,” he replies, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “As I was telling you, we’ve hit a few snags on the electrical for the upper floors and some of the window fittings. They don’t match the specs we were given.”
I frown. “The windows? How bad are we talking?”
“Not too bad. The frames are slightly off, and we’ve already sent word to the supplier. Shouldn’t set us back more than a day or two if they fix it on time. But it’s still a pain.”
I glance up at the towering structure, mentally running through the timelines. We can’t afford too many delays. “Make sure the supplier knows we need that correction ASAP. What about the electrical?”
Don shifts, looking over at the wiring team on the upper levels. “Turns out a few of the plans didn’t account for the structural beams in certain areas, and it’s causing trouble with the cabling.”
“Has the architect weighed in?”
“He’s supposed to be here later today, meanwhile, we’re trying to reroute without losing too much time.”
I nod, absorbing all the details. The project is moving, but these issues need to be smoothed over quickly. “I’ll talk to the architect when he gets here. Make sure the wiring crew doesn’t waste time while we wait.”
Don gives me a nod, already moving to handle it.
As I pull out my phone, I notice the time. Still a while before I need to meet Jack. I scroll through messages and stop at one I sent Emily this morning.
My mother insisted I tell Emily about one of the best bridal dress shops in town—an upscale place with a long waiting list, but apparently, I could pull some strings. Emily had only replied with a quick “thanks.”
I dial her number and wait as the phone rings. She picks up after a few rings .
“Hey,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Just wanted to check in. Did you get the dress?”
Emily’s voice is cool but polite. “I’ve been busy with work, but I made an appointment for later this week.”
The words hit harder than they should. Busy? This is our wedding—even if it’s for business, it’s still important. A strange feeling of jealousy creeps in. Did she take this long when she was supposed to marry Daniel? Why does it feel like she’s pushing this aside?
“I see,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “It’s important to get this done, Emily.”
She lets out a soft sigh. “I know. I’m handling it.”
There’s a pause, before she speaks again. “Your mother called me yesterday,” she says, her tone changing slightly, sounding a little uncomfortable. “She offered to go dress shopping with me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What did you say?”
Emily hesitates. “It didn’t really feel like I had a choice. And, well, I didn’t invite her the first time around, so I said yes.”
My mother has good intentions, but she can come off as overbearing, abrasive even, without meaning to.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say, my jaw tightening. “She means well, but I don’t want you feeling pressured.”
“It’s fine,” Emily replies, though her tone says otherwise. “I’ll manage.”
We exchange a few more words before I hang up. My mother bulldozing her way into Emily’s dress shopping? Not what we need right now. This situation is already awkward enough. I dial her number quickly.
“Andrew, darling,” she answers, her voice cheerful.
“Mom, did you push your way into dress shopping with Emily?” I ask, cutting to the point.
There’s a pause before she responds, not quite defensively, but close. “I should be there, Andrew. She’s going to be my daughter-in- law, and I’ve never had a daughter. This might be my chance to have one. Goodness knows I shouldn’t hold out hope for Daniel.”
I sigh. “I get it, but go easy on her. Let her choose her own dress. Don’t force your opinion.”
“I would never do that,” she says, sounding offended.
I smile to myself, knowing full well how she takes charge of…well… pretty much any and everything. “Of course, you wouldn’t,” I say, sarcasm thick in my voice.
Then, as if flipping a switch, her tone softens, concern lacing her words. “Have you had any more episodes?”
The question makes my stomach drop, and the lightness in my mood disappears. My family treats my PTSD like it’s something they have to monitor constantly. It pisses me off.
Most of the time, I’m fine. It only bothers me at night, when the nightmares come. I don’t need everyone hovering over me, waiting for me to crack.
“I’m fine,” I say curtly, not wanting to discuss it. “I’ve got to go.”
I end the call before she can dig any deeper, clenching my phone in my hand for a moment before slipping it back into my pocket.
I take a few more minutes to oversee the work at Camellia Condos, talking to a few contractors, making sure the project is still moving, despite the setbacks.
By the time I finish at the site, it’s nearly time to meet Jack. I text Robert to meet me at the front. The ride to the boutique gives me a chance to go over my email and respond to the ones my PA has marked as urgent.
The front of the boutique on Newbury Street has frosted glass windows that give nothing away as to what kind of store it is.
Inside, shelves of meticulously folded fabrics line the walls, ranging from rich wools to luxurious silks. Jack is lounging in a chair, his rugged form looking out of place among the refined fabrics and measuring tapes .
“Took you long enough,” Jack says, standing up. “Thought I’d have to go through this tuxedo torture alone.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “You wouldn’t last five minutes.”
The tailor, an older gentleman named Luciano, approached us as soon as I entered. He’s taken care of the male members of my family for as long as I can remember.
“Mr. Bennett,” Luciano greets me before turning his attention to Jack, who stands next to me. “And Mr. Jack I just met of course.”
Jack’s face crinkles, “I said, just Jack!”
I could tell they’d had this conversation a time or two while they were waiting for me. “We’re both getting fitted,” I change the subject quickly.
Luciano nods, gesturing for us to follow him toward the back of the boutique, where the private fitting area awaits.
Jack whistles, taking in the espresso bar in the corner, a cart with high-end whiskey on offer, and a full-length mirror framed in dark wood that reflects the soft lighting of the room.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Luciano says as he gestures toward the plush leather chairs, his voice smooth and practiced. “Would you care for an espresso, or something stronger?”
I shake my head, but Jack grins. “I’ll take that whiskey, thanks.”
“So, this is how the other half lives,” Jack says as he settles into one of the chairs.
I can’t help but grin. Jack and I come from completely different worlds—he grew up in a modest home, while I’ve lived in the thick of wealth and privilege my whole life. But it never seemed to matter much, especially when we served together.
Out there, in the military, none of this luxury – tuxedos, whiskey carts—made a difference. It still doesn’t, at least not to him. But he enjoys watching me squirm in settings like this .
Luciano returns with the whiskey, handing it to Jack. “Are we thinking classic black tie, or would you prefer something with a modern twist?” he asks me.
“Classic,” I say, my tone firm. The wedding may be unconventional, but I’m not. No point in complicating things. “No flash, no embellishments. Just sharp.”
Luciano hums in approval. “Excellent choice, Mr. Bennett.”
Jack watches the exchange, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, this is something else. Back when I got married, we rented our tuxes from the shop down the street.”
I grin. “You mean they didn’t serve you whiskey and take your measurements like royalty?”
“Hell no.” Jack grins, then takes another sip. “I guess I’ll live vicariously through you.”
Luciano motions for me to step onto the platform in front of the mirror, and I do so, holding myself still as he works efficiently, measuring every angle and jotting down notes.
“Would you like any adjustments to the classic cut?” Luciano asks as he moves around me, measuring the breadth of my shoulders. “Perhaps a slimmer fit?”
“No,” I say. “Keep it traditional.”
Jack chuckles from the chair. “Look at you, all business even when it comes to a tux.”
Luciano finishes with me, and Jack takes his turn on the platform, still grinning as the tailor starts taking his measurements. Jack is dressed in a t-shirt that reveals the tattoos on his arms.
He works for a private security firm as a personal bodyguard, and he seems to thrive in the role.
As the tape moves around him, Jack looks over his shoulder at me, eyebrow raised.
“You really stepping into your brother’s shoes just like that?” Jack asks .
“It’s not about filling his shoes,” I say evenly. “It’s about business. We both know this marriage isn’t about love.”
Jack whistles low, shaking his head. “Man, I still don’t get it. This is your life we’re talking about. I can’t imagine marrying someone I wasn’t in love with. You’re missing out.”
“Not everyone has the luxury of waiting for love, Jack,” I say, the words coming out fast, like a defense. I see the way Jack is with his wife, Sarah. But that’s not in the cards for me.
Jack looks at me for a moment, something serious in his gaze. “Maybe you should think about it, man. You’re making it sound like a job, but marriage should be based on love.”
I don’t expect him to understand. Jack found the perfect woman for him. Sarah is quiet where he’s loud, steady where he’s impulsive. They’re happy. I see it every time we are together.
But not all of us get that, and not everyone has the option to wait. Some of us have a larger responsibility towards our families.
“Have you heard from Daniel?” Jack asks.
“Not a word,” I say. “Nor do I expect to. Cowards have a way of disappearing when the pressure’s on.”
“It was cowardice not to tell Emily to her face that the wedding was off but he probably figured out that he wanted real love. I don’t blame him for that,” Jack says.
I scoff. “Daniel wouldn’t know real love if it bit him in the ass.”
Jack raises an eyebrow, but stays quiet, letting me continue.
“Look, I get it. Everyone wants that ideal, perfect connection. But Daniel? He doesn’t even know what he wants, let alone what love looks like. He ran because it was easier. No commitment, no responsibility.”
“And you think you’re the opposite,” Jack says, half statement, half question. “Doing what needs to be done, even if it’s for the family and not for you?”
“I’ve already made my decision and I’m not in the habit of second guessing myself. I’m marrying Emily and that’s that. ”
Luciano finishes taking the measurements and steps back. “I’ll have the first fitting ready for you in a week, Mr. Bennett. As always, we strive for perfection.”