Why was he talking like a Downton Abbey extra? And why did he say I’m ruined?
“I should kill you.” My father, the great Shepherd Townsend, shouldered through bodies to reach the stage. “Correction—I will kill you.”
Cold white panic coursed through me. I really wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, to Romeo, or to both of us.
My fingertips were so frozen, I couldn’t even feel them. I shook like a leaf blowing in the autumn wind.
I’d really done it this time.
This was no longer about failing random courses, sassing off to someone whose opinion my parents sought, or not-so-accidentally eating Frankie’s birthday cake.
I downright and single-handedly ruined my family’s good reputation. Tarnished the Townsend name to rubbles of gossip and condemnation.
“Shep, is it?” Romeo un-pocketed the hand not wrapped around me and checked the Patek Philippe on his wrist.
“It’s Mr. Townsend to you,” Daddy ground out, now onstage with us. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I see we’ve reached the bargaining portion of the night.” Costa gave me a once-over, as if trying to decide how much he wanted to bid on me. “I know Chapel Falls has a you-break-it-you-buy-it policy in place when it comes to your maiden debutante daughters.”
His words thrashed against my skin, leaving angry red marks everywhere they touched.
Now that no one could hear us, he no longer pretended we were an item and spoke to Daddy like a businessman. “I’m willing to buy what I’ve broken.”
Why was he talking like I was a vase? And what on earth was he proposing, exactly?
“I’m not broken.” I shoved him, halfway toward feral. His hold on me only tensed in response. “And I’m not a product to be bought.”
“Zip it, Dallas.” Daddy’s breaths came out labored and heavy. Sweat like I’d never seen on him before raced down his temples. He inserted himself between us as if he couldn’t trust either of us not to launch into a fresh session of lovemaking. And finally, Romeo released me. “Now, I’m not sure what you’re proposing, Mr. Costa, but this was nothing but a few kisses on a drunken night—”
Romeo lifted his hand to stop him. “I know what your daughter’s pussy feels like, sir. Tastes like, too.” He licked the pad of his thumb, never breaking eye contact with Daddy. “You can try to talk your way out of this until you’re blue in the face. The world will buy my version. We both know it. Your daughter is mine. All you can do now is negotiate a decent deal out of it.”
“What’s going on over there?” Barbara stood in the crowd. “Is there a proposal?”
“There better be a proposal,” someone else warned.
“I didn’t even know they knew each other,” Emilie cried. “All she talked about was the dessert.”
Shame colored my face pink.
The only thing keeping me up on my feet was the deep-set knowledge that I’d never let this awful man win.
My anger was so poignant, so tangible, I tasted its sourness in my mouth. It coated every corner, dripping into my system like black poison.
Daddy lowered his voice, leveling Romeo with all the hatred he possessed. “I promised my daughter to Madison Licht.”
“Licht won’t touch her with a twenty-foot pole now.”
“He’ll understand.”
“Will he?” Romeo arched a brow. “Put aside the fact that his fiancée was caught with my fingers up her dress in front of her entire hometown, I’m sure you’re aware we’re bitter business rivals.”
Ladies and gentlemen, the man who apparently wants to marry me.
Safe to assume Edgar Allan Poe wasn’t churning in his grave, worrying about being knocked down from the Great Poet pedestal.
“Hey, now. This is my daughter, and I—”
“Gave her away to a well-off prick, who I’m sure is going to treat her like a piece of baroque furniture.” There was no mirth in Romeo’s voice. No victory, either. He delivered the news like a sulky Grecian god deciding on a mere mortal’s fate. “There is no difference between what I offer her and what Madison Licht brings to the table, other than the fact that I am soon to be worth twenty billion dollars, and his company isn’t even public yet.”
The entire weight of the world came crashing down on me when I understood two things:
1) Romeo Costa had known exactly who I was when he’d arrived at this ball. He sought me out. Lured me in. Made sure he had my attention. I was always his objective. After all, he’d said it himself—Madison Licht was his enemy, and he wanted to ruin things for him.
And 2) Romeo Costa was such a bastard, he would marry me despite making every single person involved in this union miserable, just to spite my fiancé.
Former fiancé, more likely.
I raged forward, palms connecting with his chest. “I don’t want to marry you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” He stepped into my fiery touch, picked up my left hand, and glided Madison’s engagement ring off my finger. “Alas, a tradition is a tradition. I touched; I ruined. Say hello to your new fiancé.” Romeo examined the ring pinched between his fingers, unimpressed. “This thing barely costs sixteen grand.”
He tossed it into the crowd, and a few less-than-honorable girls tried to catch it.
The air drained from my lungs.
Romeo examined my father with a perfect poker face, confident that, despite my recklessness, I wouldn’t dare defy the patriarch’s order if he decided we should marry.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
“Daddy, please.” I rushed to him, lacing my arm with his.
He jerked away from my touch, scowling at his loafers, struggling to regulate his breaths. My cheeks pricked with rejection, as if he’d struck me.
My father had never been so cruel to me before.
I wanted to cry.
I never cried.
Evil had a face. It was breathtakingly beautiful…and belonged to the man who had just become my future husband.
“Why don’t we discuss this away from prying eyes?” Daddy peered around, worn out and pain stricken. I’d probably tarnished that tux for him, too, just as I’d tarnished my future. “Mr. Costa, report to my house immediately.”
Romeo Costa brushed his arm over my shoulder as he passed, not sparing me the faintest look.
“Ruined by shortbread.” He popped a cube of gum into his mouth as his imposing figure descended the stage. “How the mighty have fallen.”
CHAPTER
3
Ollie vB
@RomeoCosta, how’s it feel to pop your scandal cherry?
Welcome to the club, son.
We’ve got snacks. And the Kennedy family.
Romeo Costa
www.dmvpost.org/Von-Bismarck-Heir-Caught-Cozying-Up-To-Georgia-Governors-Wife
Ollie vB
Call me daddy, and I might just pass along my skills.
Zach Sun
Homewrecking is not a skill.
Ollie vB
Tell that to Rom.
He just broke an engagement, reputation, and future in the span of ten minutes.
The student has surpassed the master.
[Shia LaBeouf standing ovation GIF]
Zach Sun
Where is Rom now?
Ollie vB
Her house, probably torching her childhood memorabilia and drowning her pets.
Zach Sun
If I had a heart, it would break for her.
Ollie vB
Judging by the fight she gave him, if anything is going to break here, it’ll be your boy’s spirit by the end of the month.
4
ROMEO
Amillion Dallas Townsends waltzed on my brain, their pointy heels stabbing each fold.
I peeled my eyes open.
The room rocked back and forth as if I’d stowed away on a sinking ship.
“Shouldn’t have finished that Pappy Van Winkle by yourself, buddy.” Oliver’s spirited voice echoed from the depths of a toilet. “Sharing is caring.”
Zach tsked from a distance. “For the last time, von Bismarck, that Agent Provocateur model didn’t want a threesome.”
I hissed into a silky pillow at the Grand La Perouse Hotel, regretting every decision I had made that landed me in this hellhole.
Spurred on by a last-minute discovery, the three of us had arrived in Chapel Falls half an hour before the ball.
Presently, we occupied the four-bedroomed presidential suite. Not so much because we enjoyed each other’s company, but because we knew some schmuck had booked it ahead of the ball.
Taking joy in other people’s misery was one of the smallest pleasures in life.
One I often indulged in.
Oliver ambled into the room, his mouth enveloping an unlit cigar.
“You needed to numb the pain away. Erase the memory of fingering a prepubescent girl in front of Fortune 500’s finest.” He shouldered into a polo. “The tab was forty grand on alcohol and cigars alone, by the way. We should get into the business of throwing debutante balls. The world would never be short of privileged young women in need of billionaire husbands.”
The idea of ever wasting my time like this again revolted me. “You’d turn the place into a gambling joint and father a few bastards before the first waltz.”
He plopped onto the edge of my bed, hiking up his riding boots. “Yes, to gambling. No, to bastards. I always pack my meat. No glove, no love.”
Considering he viewed women as a conveyor belt of warm holes to park himself inside for the night, I doubted Oliver was familiar with the notion of love.