1. Damien
ONE
DAMIEN
Ipace in front of the window of my bedroom, my attention on the phone call and the deep, sinking feeling growing within me.
My gaze, though, is locked on the little inn keeper dashing between the house and the small cottage she has in the back, which is where she sleeps.
She’s carrying tote bags and plastic bins into the space, which I can’t imagine is going to fit everything from the den, let alone herself.
“Are you listening to me?” Bradshaw snaps. The family lawyer is most definitely sick of me, but that doesn’t give him the right to be an ass.
“I was, until you started droning on about my inheritance.”
The man sighs irritably. “Then you missed the most important stipulation of accessing your inheritance, Mr Winthrop. You must be married.”
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach as I turn away from the window. “What? I thought I only had to be?—”
“Yes, you had to be over twenty-five to access a portion of your inheritance. You’ve spent all of that, or invested it, I don’t know. But to receive the full amount? You must marry.”
“What kind of archaic bullshit is that?” I hiss, dropping onto the bed. “Who the hell set that up?”
“Your grandmother, who very much wanted to see her family stable. She thought this clause would mean you were serious. That you wouldn’t be able to spend it on…well, what your father did.”
The mention of my father has me stiffening. “Yeah. Two marriages, going on three? Was the clause for him, too?”
“Why do you think she added it?” Bradshaw mutters, and I imagine him rolling his eyes at the thought of my dad, too. God knows what he’s done with his portion of the inheritance. If it wasn’t spent on my mother, it was spent on wife number two. And maybe on future number three.
That doesn’t even count all his children from said marriages. Or the ones who might appear outside of it.
My father never cared. He always got what he wanted.
And that, more than anything, was women who would fawn over him and do whatever he asked.
It’s why he can be on wife number two with number three in his back pocket, why he can walk around with affair after affair following him—and not a peep from the wives, because the prenup gives him the power to do what he wants.
I release a heavy, harsh breath and rub my eyes. “What the hell am I supposed to do? I need that inheritance. Now.”
“Find a new investor,” Bradshaw suggests.
“Or find a nice girl to settle down with. Or man, your grandmother didn’t want to discriminate for Cousin Bea and her girlfriend.
That being said, don’t try to go around it.
I mean it, Damien. If you are found to be, say, using someone to access your inheritance, then you will be dropped from it entirely.
No access to your trust. No help from the family estate. Nothing.”
My heart sinks into the deepening pit in my stomach. “She really meant it, huh?”
“She was dead serious.” And apparently, so is Bradshaw.
“I can tell you now, someone did try to do what I know you’re thinking about.
And there is a reason you don’t even know their name anymore.
Your family won’t help you with this one.
It would be easier to find a new investor for your lodge than to jump through the hoops your grandmother erected before she died. ”
Rising from the bed, I make my way back to the window, gaze catching on the innkeeper again. “What hoops?”
“Proof of relationship hoops. Proof of intention hoops. Proof you aren’t just doing this for access to the money hoops,” he replies, shuffling paperwork. “And because I know you, Damien, I know you are not anywhere near needing to jump through them.”
“But what if I am?” I ask, mind and heart racing. “Do you have any idea what’s been going on here, Bradshaw?”
The lawyer stops whatever he’s doing. “Damien…”
“There’s this myth about the town. No, the mountains.
You can look it up, the town loves to talk about it.
Anyway, it’s said the mountains have the power to bring two souls together.
It’s cheesy, but if I wasn’t watching it happen in real time, I wouldn’t believe it.
First Cade, then Tobias, then Callahan, and now August. They’ve all declared their love, and there are marriage plans and houses being bought—or built—and they’re all about to live their happily ever after. ”
“And what does this have to do with you, Damien?” he questions, his voice low, uncertain.
As soon as the little innkeeper comes into sight again, resolve settles within me. “I’ve been keeping it a secret. You know how the tabloids and internet can be. I didn’t want negative attention coming her way, or towards the lodge.”
“Do you understand how convenient that is?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply, smiling. “I do. But I’m not lying. I don’t know what’s in the fucking air here, but the moment I laid eyes on her, that was it. Like I was under the mountain’s spell. It just never seemed right to say anything, and she’s incredibly private.”
“So private she doesn’t exist?” Bradshaw mutters before coughing into his hand. “Who is she?”
I know my next words are either going to make this lie plausible or are going to turn around to bite me in the ass.
And I know better than to do this. Bradshaw is the family lawyer for a reason; he might not be as ruthless as Tobias once was in his corporate law days, but family law—and inheritance law—is Bradshaw’s domain.
And he rules over the paperwork for our family with an iron fist.
He’d sniff out the lie in a second, but it helps sprinkling some truth in there to keep suspicion off me.
If he knew how quickly my friends—especially the harder, more brutal ones like Callahan and Tobias—were falling to their knees and giving their hearts away, he’d understand I’m no different. I’m a lover, not a fighter.
I’ve never kept private relationships before, but that serves me well. All previous partners have been photographed with me, interviewed, and talked about. Because I never cared. But keeping my relationship private? That’s a sign he can’t ignore.
From the first moment I saw this woman, it’s true. She took my breath away.
He doesn’t need to know it’s because I thought we were going to be staying with a little old lady, and not a sweet, curvy twenty-something year old with rules and a garden she doesn’t let anyone into.
“Her name is Felicity, she owns the inn we’ve been staying at,” I reply, watching as the little innkeeper collapses against the wall of her cottage. “We’ve been seeing each other since we booked the place months ago.”
Bradshaw is quiet for a long moment, likely trying to see if what I’m telling him is a lie or not. He knows, though, where I’ve been staying since coming to town. Who I’ve been staying with. And how long.
He should know it all.
“Are you planning to marry the woman, Damien? Is that what you’re telling me?” he asks finally.
“Yes,” I reply with absolute seriousness. “I do.”
And now, I just need to convince her to say yes.