Chapter 12 #2
“That’s wonderful.” Maura beams. “Oh, the time will fly by, believe me. You haven’t picked a date yet?”
I shake my head, chiming in. “No, we haven’t. We were thinking we’d try to keep our engagement short, though. Six months, maybe.”
Robert nods. “Eager to be married?”
“Definitely.” I give Olivia a smile, which she returns, though I think I can see the beginnings of worry in her eyes.
Mr. Quinn gets up from his seat to serve us dinner—a savory pot roast, cooked to perfection. For a few minutes, it’s quiet as everyone takes their first few bites.
“This is amazing,” I say, looking up from my bowl. “You made this, right, Mr. Quinn?”
“I did,” he says, looking pleased. “And call me Robert, okay?”
“No problem, Robert. It’s delicious. You’re a regular chef.”
“Well, it’s Maura’s recipe,” he tells me, indicating his wife. “I’m just more mobile, because of her MS, so I do the standing and vegetable chopping.”
“You’ll have to tell me what it is.” I swirl my fork in the sauce for a moment. “A couple friends of mine are really into cooking. I’m sure they’d be blown away by this.”
“Remind me about it before you leave,” Maura says graciously.
As we eat, my feelings from earlier about the Quinns’ situation resurface all over again. This time, though, I don’t feel as helpless or angry as I did before. Letting frustration with my father take the reins won’t do me any good—not when there are things I can do to help directly.
I excuse myself from the table for a few minutes to text my assistant. I ask her to begin researching rehab centers, specialists, and private physicians for multiple sclerosis.
I’m sure that, in the past, the Quinns have taken shortcuts when it came to finding medical care.
Options were probably thin on the ground.
But now, Olivia and I are a team, and money is no object anymore.
I’m the heir to the Eastwood fortune, and I’m ready and willing to deploy it in service to Mrs. Quinn’s health.
She should get the best care possible, regardless of how much money she has.
I re-enter the dining room, slipping my phone into my pocket. Olivia, who looked up as I walked in, frowns at the sight of the cell phone.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say, nodding. “It’s just work.”
I don’t want to get her hopes up, so I decide not to mention this to Olivia until I’ve found the right doctor. I can spend a lot of money on her family, but not even my nearly unlimited resources can cure MS.
The four of us finish our dinner, and Robert insists on serving us dessert—there’s a half of a lemon meringue pie left over from the other night. It’s every bit as delicious as the pot roast.
After dinner, Olivia helps her mother up from the table, guiding her into the living room to rest on the couch. I can hear the conversation continuing between the two of them—Maura has started telling Olivia something about her own wedding.
I start toward the living room to join them, but feel Robert’s hand on my upper arm. “Do you mind if the two of us speak in the kitchen, Reed?”
“Of course.”
I follow him into the next room, where I can still hear snatches of the conversation between Maura and Olivia, which seems to have transitioned to honeymoon destinations.
Robert tucks his hands into his pockets and leans against the counter, looking at the floor. In a low voice, he says, “You know, I would’ve liked to have gotten a heads up about this engagement.”
A flash of guilt goes through me. “Mr. Quinn—”
“Robert,” he corrects gently.
“Robert—I’m sorry that I didn’t mention it to you earlier. I was caught up in a bit of a whirlwind.”
He smiles, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder. “I understand. Love is love, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, exhaling. “It ambushed me.”
“That’s how it happens.” He glances toward the hallway fondly, pausing to listen to something Maura is saying about tropical islands and warm, sun-kissed beaches. “You know, it may have been a long time since we’ve seen you, but we both remember you.”
“You do?”
“Sure. While Maura was working for your father, you earned yourself quite the reputation as a little troublemaker.” His smile widens into a teasing grin.
“Well, I hope my reputation doesn’t precede me,” I say amicably. “I’ve done a fair amount of growing up since I was eight years old.”
“I should hope so.” He turns toward the cabinets above the sink, rummaging through the glasses. “You may have been a troublemaker, but you had a good heart. And I’m happy to see that you’re still just as kind as you used to be.”
His words are heartfelt, and for a second, I’m speechless, too touched to respond. Then I say, “Thank you for saying that, sir.”
“‘Sir,’ now?” He chuckles, giving me a wry look over his shoulder. “Please. For the last time—”
“Robert,” I amend. I offer him a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It’s just a force of habit.”
“You were a good kid,” he says. “And you’re a good man. No matter what the tabloids say.”
The tabloids. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hits me in a wave.
Since they knew me as a child, the Quinns have only seen updates on my life from the fucking tabloids.
It’s a miracle they didn’t kick me out of their house at first sight, and an even greater miracle that Mr. Quinn is being so amicable.
He finds a dusty bottle of whiskey and pulls it down from the shelf, pouring two tumblers of the liquor and handing one to me. He raises his glass in a toast, and I gently tap the rim of mine against his.
“To you and Olivia,” he says. “I hope that you both find lasting happiness with each other.”
The words are genuine, and as I swallow the whiskey, it burns my throat more than usual. It kills me to think that they have such a positive view of me, against all evidence—and despite the fact that I’m lying.
How is this going to work out? What will they do when they realize the truth? My promise to protect Olivia’s reputation weighs heavily on my mind. It’ll take some doing, but I’m confident I can protect her in a professional, public-facing sense.
But can I protect her family, too?
“We’re happy to see Olivia happy,” says Robert, oblivious to my nervousness. “I know we don’t need to approve her marriage—but if we did, we would.” He cracks a smile. “Not that you two are so old-fashioned.”
“I know how important family is to Olivia,” I say. “She wouldn’t be comfortable with it if you weren’t on board.”
He seems to appreciate that. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, then takes a sip, nodding. When he looks back up at me, there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “That being said, if you hurt my daughter, they’ll never find your body. You hear me?”
His tone and the look on his face suggest that he’s joking, but there’s something about the matter-of-fact statement that makes me realize he’s also completely serious.
I nod, meeting his gaze. “Believe me, I have no intention of hurting her.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
We stand in silence for a few moments. He takes another drink of whiskey, then nods to the door.
“We should join them in the next room,” he says.
As I follow him back into the living room, I’m lost in my thoughts.
Olivia lights up when she sees me, her smile wide enough that I almost believe the performance. I sit down beside her, and she puts her arm around me, leaning in. Her parents give her loving looks.
Olivia’s parents have bought our story, and in a few days, the whole world will know.
I sit on the couch, listening to the Quinns’ laughter, the realization sinking in: if I mess this up, then my optics—with Eastwood, with the world, and with everyone I care about—will be worse than they ever have been.
I’m starting to understand just how special my new fiancé is to everyone in her life. I know that, if I fail to keep my promises—if I do end up hurting her, the way Declan and Cole were worried I would—then I’ll have to answer to all of them.