Chapter 29 #2
“So, Lila,” my father says, steepling his hands on the table like he always does when he’s about to dive into something serious.
“I’d love to hear more about you, and how you got Archibald’s attention?
” He chuckles, turning up the same charm I’ve seen him use in business meetings and at charity galas, but never behind closed doors at home.
“I wasn’t sure this one would ever settle down.
He seemed quite content with his bachelor lifestyle. ”
The comment is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a disapproval of my character disguised in a jest, and I bristle, my guard raising.
Lila’s hand drapes across my chest as she leans into me. “We all have to kiss a few frogs to find our fairytale princess.” She giggles. “Or in this case, his goddess.”
My father breathes out a laugh that sounds only-slightly uncomfortable, and again, I wonder what’s gotten into him
“Well, I think this is great,” Louis chimes in. “My wife and I are excited to have another married couple in the family. You must vacation at the cottage with us this summer.”
“That sounds lovely,” Lila tells him.
A picture of Lila at the Fisher “cottage”—which is actually a ten thousand square foot waterfront estate in Martha’s Vineyard—plays out in my head.
Her in front of the large window that looks out across the water’s edge.
Lila wearing one of her flowy dresses, the sunlight catching on the fabric.
Her paintbrush sweeping across the canvas in front of her.
I smile to myself, loving the vision.
The waiter comes back with our drinks and takes our orders before disappearing again.
“So, you’re an artist?” My father asks her, taking a sip of his Old Fashioned.
“I am,” Lila says proudly. “I paint, and sometimes sketch. I love it.”
He nods, resting his glass on the table. When he smiles again, it’s toothier. Sharklike and sharp-edged. “Fascinating. And you’re part of the art collective at the firehouse?”
We never told him that. He obviously did some digging on her.
Lila blinks. “Um, yes.”
“Interesting,” Father muses.
Louis huffs an uncomfortable laugh. “Anyway…Archibald, when does the second round of playoffs start for you?”
I shoot my brother a grateful look. “We have three days off, then our first game is on Wednesday.”
Louis holds his martini in the air. “Well, I hope you guys sweep the whole thing. It would be brilliant to have a Stanley Cup champion in the family.”
“I’ll toast to that,” I say, tapping my water glass against his cocktail with a laugh. Louis is acting more like the brother I grew up with at this dinner than I’ve seen in ages, and his warmth toward both me and Lila has my defenses coming down.
The waiter delivers our food, and we eat in silence for a few minutes before my father opens his annoying mouth again.
“You know, I have to say, Lila…it’s a wonder that the firehouse means so much to you and then you end up married to my son before the sale goes through.” He hums, like he’s considering this fact for the first time. “Quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”
I freeze at the question, but Lila seems to take it in stride.
She swallows a bite of her roasted chicken before responding, “Not really. Fisher is an avid art collector, and we artsy people run in the same circles.” Lila offers my father a placating smile, popping another chunk of chicken into her mouth.
“Is that so?” He says, easing his fork onto his plate. “I would love to hear more about how you two fell in love so quickly…so quickly you were able to plan a wedding and outbid Fisher Group on the firehouse at the same time?”
I straighten in my seat, trying to stay calm. I should’ve known he’d figure it out, he has several private investigators on retainer. I’m sure it was easy enough for them to dig up our contract with Rebecca.
“If you recall, Father, I tried to convince you not to demolish the historic firehouse, but you wouldn’t listen,” I remind him, keeping my voice calm.
“The firehouse means a lot to Lila, and the entire art collective there. So, obviously, I stepped in to help my wife. There are plenty of other properties that Fisher Group can purchase instead. I even compiled a list.”
Father leans in, staring me down with those striking, intelligent eyes. “I know this sham of a marriage was simply a ploy to snatch your inheritance and purchase my property. And I can prove it.”
Louis clears his throat. “Father, this is not what we agreed to. We were going to let some time pass, then gently convince Archibald to let us purchase the property…you swore you wouldn’t ambush him.”
My eyes fly to my brother, my breath catching in my throat. I know we haven’t been close since we were kids, but it hurts that he was part of this. That I let myself believe he actually was happy for me, that he cared about my hockey career and my wife.