5. Dirt Poor
DIRT POOR
Lorelei
A sultry breeze whipped off the bluff, scattering wisps of blond hair across my face as I marched up the cobblestone walkway. The immense white and grey Cape Cod style manor loomed over the cliff overlooking the marina below.
I’d spent every summer I could remember here with my family escaping the oppressive heat of Boston. And now, with my father’s finances in shambles, we stood to lose it all.
I drew in a breath and focused on the churning sea below. Dozens of yachts dotted the Copper Cove coastline, confirming summer was in full swing. In a little over a month, I’d be forced to board one of those luxurious vessels and float off to my happily ever after with Brock Haversham.
Only I refused to let that happen.
I glanced at my watch and quickened my steps up the path. My future fiancé would be here soon to say goodbye, but I needed to talk to my dad first. I had to find a way to get out of this engagement.
After one evening with Brock, I was certain of one thing: I’d never survive this arranged marriage. I’d rather be penniless than submit to that asshole ever again.
Okay, maybe not dirt poor, but I’d have to find a way out of this somehow.
I hurried up the steps and swung the front door open. “Dad!” I called out the moment I crossed the pristine threshold.
The sky-high entryway drew my attention to the whitewashed rafters above and the sparkling chandelier.
Across the great room, the shimmering waves rolled in the distance.
Greta Battenberg might have been a shit mom, but she sure knew how to keep a home.
Or rather, she knew how to boss around the staff until everything was perfect.
Senator Grayson Battenberg appeared at the top of the spiral staircase in a pink polo, khakis and Ferragamo loafers, super casual attire for the man that lived in designer suits.
He was clearly in summer mode, clutching a newspaper in one hand.
I’d probably interrupted him from his morning read on the veranda.
“Why are you shouting, Lorelei?”
“I need to talk to you before Brock and his father get here.”
Huffing out a breath, he tucked his copy of the Wall Street Journal under his arm and shuffled down the steps. “What’s this about?”
Smoothing down my floral Lily Pulitzer sundress, I steeled my nerves as he approached. “Let’s sit down.” Motioning to the sitting room off the main entrance, I flopped down on the white couch.
“This sounds serious.” Dad’s silver brows furrowed as he folded down onto the armchair across from me.
“It is.” I swallowed hard, the weight of my father’s stare suddenly stealing my resolve. All the words stuck at the back of my throat as he studied me expectantly.
“Well, what is it? The Havershams will be here shortly. We don’t have all day.”
Damn it, Lorelei just spit it out!
“Right. About that… Please don’t make me marry Brock.” The words spilled from my mouth on a sharp exhale. There.
“What? Why in the world not?”
Because he’s an abusive asshole, borderline rapist who gets off on degrading women.
How could I admit that to my father? “He’s not as perfect as he seems.”
“Lorelei…” He threw me a disapproving glare.
“I’ve already told you how important this union is for our family.
Lloyd Haversham has promised me a significant dowry in exchange for your hand in marriage along with my vote against the upcoming bill on restricting oil refineries.
Without this influx of funds, we’ll lose everything. ”
Geez, how much was he giving us anyway? A million, two? I couldn’t imagine how much money was needed to sustain our lifestyle. Extravagant vacations, multiple homes, a slew of staff, not to mention my mother’s designer shopping expenditures.
“There has to be another way,” I muttered.
His pale blue eyes tapered at the edges. “Are you willing to drop out of Stonewall University? Get a job?”
Ugh, the visual of me slinging burgers at the local diner made my skin crawl. “What if I could find another way to get us that money?”
“I’ve tried everything, Lorelei.” He dragged his hand through his graying hair. “We’ve been barely treading water for over a year now. I didn’t want to tell you and your mother because I had hoped I’d find a way to resolve this, but there is none. You must do what’s best for our family.”
It wasn’t fair. Why did I have to sacrifice everything?
I squeezed my eyes closed and ghostly fingers closed around my throat. The scent of chewing tobacco singed my nostrils, and my stomach heaved.
“He’s a monster,” I blurted, tears burning my eyes. “You have no idea what he expects of me—”
My father raised his hand, cutting me off. “Please, Lore, spare me the details. And don’t pretend you’re some innocent little virgin. I’ve seen you with those fraternity boys at Stonewall. If you can get on your knees for them, surely you can suck it up now for the good of our family.”
A gasp erupted from my lips. A slap in the face would have hurt less. A tremor raced through my body, and my flight reflex kicked in. I slid to the end of the cushion, my feet compelling me to run.
How could he speak to me like that? Worse, how did he know about the guys? He’d never met Killian and to my knowledge, had no idea of the things he made me do.
But after seeing how different Killian behaved with a woman he actually loved, I realized I deserved more, too. I didn’t want to be treated like garbage for the rest of my life.
My mind churned, my gut roiling at the idea of an eternity in misery.
Fuck no. I refused.
“I can’t go on the yacht for a week with Brock,” I blurted. “I have to go to summer school.” The lie fell so easily from my lips I surprised myself.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m behind on my business classes and if I don’t take a few over the summer, I won’t graduate next year.”
“Christ, Lorelei, how did that happen?”
“I guess it’s all the fraternity guys I’ve been fucking.” I threw him a hate-filled glare.
My father rose from the chair, his brows gnarled and lips twisted into a scowl. “Watch your mouth, young lady.”
“Whatever…”
He pointed a warning finger at me. “The Havershams will be here shortly, and I expect you to be on your best behavior. You’ll have to make up for missing the yacht trip somehow.”
I slapped my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at my dad. My track record with men suddenly made a lot more sense.
“I’ll put on a fake smile and pretend for now. But I promise you this, I will not marry Brock Haversham. I don’t care what I have to do, but I will find another way.”
“As long as that other way means five million dollars in our bank account by the end of the summer, I really don’t care what you do,” he gritted out.
Fuck, five million?
How the hell was I going to find a way to make that much money by September?