A Debt Owed(51)

“Elijah,” I mutter, putting down my glass.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, confused.

“You didn’t see? My name’s outside on the board.” He chuckles as if it’s no big deal even though it is.

“No, I mean, why are you here … at the bar? Aren’t you supposed to be entertaining guests?”

“Yeah, but I figured I’d take a break and talk to my sister for once,” he says.

I make a face and nod a couple of times before taking another sip.

“How are you holding up?” he asks after an awkward silence.

“How am I holding up?” I gaze at him for a second to see if he’s joking, but he seems dead serious. “Well, let’s see, I’m being held against my will in a mansion that’s more like a prison, I was forced to marry someone I don’t love, and now I’m at a place where freedom is flaunted in my face, but I’m not allowed to have it.” I cock my head and make a face. “How are you doing?”

A smile forms on his face, but it disappears in the blink of an eye. “That sounds … rough.”

I snort and take another sip of my drink. “That’s not even the half of it.”

He grabs my hand. “Look, I just wanted to say sorry.”

“Why?” I raise a brow. “You didn’t do shit.” I mean it when I say that. He didn’t cause this, but he also did nothing to stop it from happening either. He just sat there at my wedding and pretended nothing was wrong.

“Did you know Father exchanged me for money? The same money that bought your prized position as CEO?” I ask through gritted teeth.

His lip twitches as he swallows. “Yes, but—”

I hold my hand up right in front of his face. “I don’t wanna hear it.” And I take the last sip of my drink. Fuck. I’m gonna need to order a new one. There’s no way I’ve had enough alcohol to make it through this event.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” he says. “I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t matter what I said; Father didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.”

“You could’ve not accepted the position,” I retort.

“And then what? You’d still be in Mr. Van Buren’s hands,” he replies. “Besides, this was planned months ago. You know that.”

“You could’ve still refused. At least you would’ve been an actual brother for once,” I hiss back, and I signal the bartender. “Another tequila, please.”

“Are you here just to drink?” he asks.

“I’m forced to be here, so I might as well drink until I don’t remember any of it.”

He frowns. “Forced?”

“I don’t get a say in anything as a wife to that devil,” I say, swallowing away all the other words I want to spout about him.

He gulps. “So it wasn’t your idea to come here then?”

I make a face. “No, why would it be? Do you think I enjoy seeing people have fun because of my misery?”

His eyes narrow. “But how did Van Buren know about this event?”

“You’re joking, right?” I laugh. “You’re the one who’s hosting this party with Father. You invited him.”

“We didn’t,” he answers.

I pause and lower my drink for a moment. “But how did he …?”

“I don’t know, but I promise you, it didn’t come from us,” he says.

If my father and brother didn’t invite Easton, then who did? How did he know they were hosting this party at this restaurant? How did he find out that my brother’s CEO appointment was today?

“It wasn’t in the newspaper?” I ask.

“No. It’s all hush-hush. Private invitation only.”

I stare at my drink, clenching the glass, but the longer I stare, the more diluted everything seems. I feel lightheaded, sickly even, but not because of the alcohol …

Easton knew this event was happening for some reason, and the fact I can’t figure out why makes me queasy.

“We did send you an invite,” Elijah adds.

I gaze at him while lurking over my glass. “Where?”

“Your email. I thought you may still read it while being … there. You know.”

He can’t even say it out loud because, deep down, he knows it’s wrong. And still, he won’t act.

“You’re a lousy brother, you know that?” I say, taking a sip of my freshly made drink.

He sucks on his top lip. “I try my best.”

I snort and shake my head. “Typical. You were always Father’s favorite.”

“Someone had to be,” he says. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, but you know how Father is. It was his way or the highway.”

“Exactly why I’m in this situation as a mail-order bride.” I stare off at the wall in front of me that has racks filled with bottles of liquor on them, and I wonder which one I’m going to take next.

“Hey, you could’ve just … let him and his business sink, you know,” Elijah says.

“And then what?” I eye him. “You wouldn’t have had your shot at being CEO, and Father would be dead.”

“Dead?” Elijah looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.