51. Meg
51
MEG
T ime ceased to be. I drifted, suspended on a cloud of pure nothingness, where not a single thought or worry dared to disturb the quiet perfection of it all.
I was curled up against Byron as he read from The Alchemist , and I listened, lost in the tremor from his voice and the rhythm of his words.
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep, and sometime later, when I woke up, he was asleep, his arm cradling me possessively. Moonlight poured through the windows, casting a silver glow across the room. As if the night itself had chosen this moment to show Byron to me.
A faint smile curved his lips, and he looked peaceful, almost godlike in this light. And looking at him made my heart flutter relentlessly in my chest.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me I'd not eaten enough food today. Suddenly, all I could think about was what kind of snacks the boat had tucked away.
I carefully untangled myself from Byron's arm and started to slip off the bed, but of course, he snagged my wrist. “Where are you going?” he mumbled sleepily.
“I'm starving,” I declared, laughing as he yanked me back. “I need to recharge, you’ve depleted my energy.”
He growled, pulling me flush against him, his mouth finding that spot below my ear that always had me squirming. “Can't even say I'm sorry for that,” he murmured, “because I'm really not.”
“My stomach is making noises. And while I’m sure it’s an incredibly sexy sound, it’s also waking me up.”
“Then let me cook for you, my minx.”
“You can cook?”
“Yes, and then we can talk about the big plan,” he said, getting out of bed and throwing on his boxer briefs.
I rolled across the bed, stretching, and caught him looking at me with a mischievous smile. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“I've never slept with anyone after sex before. Never wanted to. But I knew I'd love it with you.” He bent over and kissed me. “Why don’t you nap, and I’ll bring you food. So, you can replenish your energy. And then we can discuss the plan.”
A half-hour later, we were in bed, dining on one giant bowl of pasta, while I wore his shirt.
“Please don’t tell your mom I used dry pasta,” Byron pleaded.
I laughed, spaghetti dangling from my mouth. “I won’t. She’d probably demand an exorcism.”
“How does it taste?” he asked, eager to please me.
“It’s amazing. This dish should be labeled an aphrodisiac. Like a warning. A dish designed to steal hearts.”
Byron looked at me with a wolfish grin. “There’s only one heart I’m after. So, this dish had better do its job.”
It was the intensity in his voice that made me pause, fork halfway to my mouth. I set it down, wondering if I really knew what I was doing here.
And not to sound like a whiny fool, but was Byron this smooth with every woman? Was being charming and sexy not his trademark? Was I falling for a man who was going to break my heart?
I’d never had my heart broken, but I’d seen it happen with Isabel. And trust me, it ranked just above getting your wisdom teeth ripped out with a blunt, rusty knife.
Byron watched me carefully, as if to make sure the moment didn’t slip away.
“You know this is not just about sex, right?” he said, his voice soft, emphasizing every word.
I didn’t look up, instead, I stabbed at the pasta aimlessly. “Oh? The last few hours say otherwise.”
Then he continued with that tone of his, all patience and charm. “I think the world of you, Megan. And I get it, you’ve got every reason to be wary. But if I tell you that you are the most extraordinary thing that’s ever happened to me, I want you to know that. Even if you decide I’m not what you want.”
Well, hell.
“You’re not what I want?” I asked, scaling the edges of bewilderment. “What tipped you off? My first, my second, or my third orgasm?
“As I said,” he replied. “It’s not just about the sex. Not for me anyway.”
Then I made the mistake of looking up into his eyes, where it took me less than a second to get lost, falling headfirst into that storm of sincerity. “We barely know each other, Byron. Like not at all.”
“Romeo and Juliet didn’t know each other either,” he offered, and I groaned.
“Oh, don’t start with that… Like I said before, look where it got Romes and Jules. Five days of bad decision making, dead in a crypt with a body count.”
“Romes and Jules?” he laughed, twirling a forkful of spaghetti and offering it like a peace treaty. “Tell me, honestly, that there’s not something more going on here.”
Sure, this crush wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t cute or convenient. It was disruptive. Like a brain virus in the shape of Byron’s smile. It infiltrated my brain, scrambling the wires, and now it was tossing out words like soulmate , and suddenly everything felt way more dramatic than it should.
I accepted the bite of pasta and swallowed my pride. “Fine. There’s more going on, but it’s still mostly about being naked and having a great time while being naked, no?”
He smiled. “You want to hear about my plan where Roman brings Isabel back to Belmont Manor?”
“Sure, I’m all ears.”
He took a bite of pasta, getting his thoughts together. “If I can convince my father to drop this whole idea of Roman marrying Genevieve Verlaine, we’ll be in the clear for Roman to marry Isabel AND for him to remain head of the Trust.”
“Your father just came out of a coma, Byron. I’m not sure he’ll be capable of making serious decisions any time soon.”
“Then you don’t know Henry Belmont. He tricked death. He’s the strongest man I know.”
“And what if you can’t convince your father. Then Roman is stuck.”
“That’s the thing, it doesn’t matter because Roman has already decided what he’s going to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“When it comes to business, Roman is always in complete control. That’s how he leads. That’s what makes him the formidable businessman he is. But the last few days, he all but sat back in meetings, important meetings , handing me the reins. And I realized that what he’s doing is getting me ready to lead the Trust because he’s going to walk away.”
I was speechless. “When? Has he said anything to you?”
“No, he hasn’t. And knowing him, he doesn’t plan on saying anything until the day he decides I’m ready. It could be three months from now, it could be a year from now, I don’t really know.”
My heart twisted in my chest. “A year is a very long time, and I’m worried to death about Isabel, and I miss her so much.”
Byron cupped my face with his hand. “You’re strong, you’re going to be fine. Remember, Isabel is safe. There’s a reason she chose to go where she is. I will be working as hard as I can to prove to Roman that I’m capable of helping him run the Trust. And you’ll be at my side, helping me, I hope. Roman also can’t know that I’ve figured out his plan because I don’t want anything to influence his final decision. It has to be his and his alone.”
“You make it all sound so simple and easy, though.”
“The only snag is if my father doesn’t give in, and Roman abandons the Trust anyway for Isabel.”
“That leaves you holding the bag. Spare to the heir and all that.”
“Exactly. No pressure, right?”
I stared at him, horrified. “Please tell me your father isn’t going to make you marry the Genevieve chick if that happens.”
“I’m not saying he will,” Byron said with a dry smile. “But he might.”
My face must’ve been a picture of sheer incredulity. “Another day walking around pretending to know why rich people do what they do. So, what now?”
“I’m going to make myself unavailable.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“By getting married.”
“Married!? To who?”
“Well, that depends entirely on your answer to my next question, Meg,” he said with the barest hint of a smile. “Will you marry me, please?”
Of course, I laughed. I laughed because it was wickedly and wildly funny. The only hitch? Byron wasn’t laughing along. He’d stopped mid-chew, fork dangling in the air, like a man watching the fuse burn down.
I wiped the smile off my face. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
"You want to get married?"
“To you, yes.”
“You know that’s insane.”
“Maybe,” he said calmly, “but two million dollars says it would be insane for you to say no.”
My heart stalled, and my jaw dropped. “Two million dollars?”
“I think that’s a fair amount for, say, a year of your life, don’t you?”
The stupid psychic haunted my thoughts. Take the leap of faith…big decision involving the heart or a life choice…make the decision and never look back.
Two million dollars would make life a breeze for Mom and Pops, and they’d finally be able to retire without a worry.
It would give Mimi the chance to open the beauty salon of her dreams. Mona could pursue her art in Italy, free from the weight of student loans. Isabel could open her little pastry shop. And I could start my own law firm once I stepped away from the Belmont Trust.
There was no denying that two million dollars could transform all of our lives. But at what cost emotionally and psychologically? I toyed with the pasta, buying time, each swirl a quiet avoidance. Then I looked up and locked eyes with Byron.
“No, I can’t,” I said adamantly. “I really can’t. It will destroy my parents if I don’t marry for the right reasons. To them, marriage is pretty sacred. Besides, what do you think Isabel will do when she finds out, even if the marriage is just for show?”
“Nobody will know. Except Emily. And probably Nelson. But definitely not Roman. Or anyone else. And after a year, we annulled the marriage. That’s to say you still want to do that.”
I shook my head. “I could never hide something like that from my mom. I know it’s a lot of money, and it could probably do a lot for my family, and I appreciate the offer—”
“It wasn’t an offer, Megan, it was a genuine question.”
“No, it’s ridiculous. I’m sure there are plenty of women out there you could ask.”
“I’m sure there are, but none of them are you.”
I wilted under his gaze, horrified that I would even consider it. “And what if I fell in love with you, Byron? What then?”
“God forbid you fall in love with the man you’re married to. I mean, would that be the worst thing to happen?”
“Why don’t you ask Isabel about falling in love with the wrong man?”
“Wrong man? Not the feeling I got from the last five hours, but okay.”
“So, is this what all this charming the panties off me was about? The whole seduction spiel. To suck me into marrying you to save your ass?”
“I won’t even try to justify that, Meg, because you know that’s not true.”
“I’m flattered, but the answer is still no.”
Then Byron shrugged. Yes, he shrugged. And then he had to make it worse.
“Well, that’s too bad, I was really hoping you’d say yes,” he said casually, “But I’d still appreciate it if you looked over the contract my lawyer drew up—just in case I ever meet a woman who doesn’t think a year married to me is the worst thing she could do.”
A twinge of disappointment coiled through me. It was just a cold, calculated transaction to him. “No problem. I’ll look the contract over for you. I should go home. I have a lot of work to do.”
Was I talking to the damn wall? Because Byron hauled out his phone and stuck it out for me to take. “It’s a short contract, I’d appreciate it if you could look it over now.”
I couldn’t believe his audacity. We were locked in a willful stare, neither one willing to back down. “Fine,” I said. “But then I’m going home.”
“Sure. While you read, I’ll go clean up. I like to make breakfast in a clean kitchen. I also saw some biscotti, so I’ll make us cappuccino to have with that. Take your time.”
He left with a bowl, whistling a stupid little tune. Oh, wait, was he whistling Bohemian Rhapsody, my favorite classic rock song? Was this all just a big joke? Or was it some kind of test, which, by the way, I had no interest in passing.
I was left with the distinct feeling that I was at a crossroads, just as the nutty psychic predicted. And that whatever decision I made tonight could change my life.
All I wanted, at that moment, was to talk to BB, the voice of reason, my calm in this storm. I needed him to convince me that one year of my life was worth that two million dollars, and that marrying a man I barely knew wasn’t as insane as I thought it was.
Honestly, how many people really knew their spouse before the vows? And besides, it would only be for a year. But what if I fell in love? That’s to say I wasn’t already.
I texted BB.
Me: Quasi? Can you talk?
As I sent the text, a faint ding emanated from somewhere in the room. Byron’s phone was on my lap. My own phone was in my hands. I was definitely losing my mind.
I texted again.
Me: It’s nothing serious. But I really need to talk to you.
I pressed send. And there it was, the ding again.
My senses zeroed in on Byron’s pants lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Inside the cabin, it had become very quiet, but sounds from outside slipped in. The soft splash of water against the hull, the creak of dock lines, and the faint tap of a halyard above.
Slowly, I started stringing the clues together, one damning lightbulb at a time. How had I missed this? It wasn’t subtle. The signs were loud, practically tap-dancing in neon light.
The number-one spot went to the BB avatar. It was shocking how quickly I’d dismissed that.
Then there was Byron showing up at the meeting where he didn’t need to be.
In Roman’s office, when Byron said everything sounded made up to me.
When I walked into the library, sending BB the text and Byron’s phone dinged.
Belvedere 10 being his favorite drink.
The Alchemist… need I go on?
And I called myself a lawyer.
Just to legitimately crown myself Fool of the Year, I fished the phone from Byron’s pants. And there it was. A treasure trove of the chats between BB and me.