A Debt Owed(7)

“Easton Van Buren,” he says, and he holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

We shake hands and end it with an awkward smile. Luckily, he immediately hands me my drink because I wouldn’t wanna be caught fidgeting.

“Boring wedding, right?” he mutters under his breath, laughing it off a little.

“Yeah,” I reply, trying not to make it sound as though I actually know these people even though I do. Too well. I wish that wasn’t the case right now because this is embarrassing.

“If I had that much money, I wouldn’t spend it on any wedding. I’d cruise the world, or build my own home, or start a whole chain of clubs, or create a charity fund,” he says.

I take a few sips of my Coke. “A charity fund? For?”

“Children in poverty,” he says. “But you know… no one gives a shit about charities like that,” he says while chopping ice to put into the glasses.

“I do,” I say, clutching my glass.

He stops picking the ice and cocks his head. “Really? Or are you just saying that to sound cool?” He raises a brow.

“Nah, I mean it,” I reply, taking another sip of my drink.

“So if you were rich, you’d donate money to my hypothetical charity?” He puts up a smug face that makes it hard to say no.

So I nod. “I would,” I say. “But only if you swear on it that you’d do the same.”

“Fine,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll swear on it.”

Damn, he’s serious about this.

I grab his hand and shake it again. “Deal.”

His grin is infectious. “Now all we need to know is which of us will get rich first.”

I try to contain my laughter, but it’s hard. I don’t want him to think I’m a douche. I mean, if I was rich, I would do it. But my father’s the wealthy one, and I’m not sure he’d ever spend it on a charity.

“That prick who’s getting married right now doesn’t give a shit about any of that, I’m pretty sure. You’re the first who’s shown any interest in talking with any of the staff.”

“The only one? I doubt that.” I narrow my eyes, ignoring the fact he just called my father a prick.

“Literally the case. No offense,” he says. “I mean, I don’t wanna be an asshole, but you know how rich people are …”

I rub my lips together, not knowing how to answer that.

“Charlotte!” My father’s voice immediately makes me turn my head. He beckons me to come over. “Ahh …” I mutter when Easton’s eyes travel toward my father.

The one who got married is my father. And I’m the spoiled, rich daughter.

His smile slowly dissipates.

Our eyes connect again, and at that moment, he knows what I think of him. That he was a dick for insulting my father, but I don’t even mind because he’s right. In his eyes, I’m that filthy rich girl who could do everything she wanted, and the world envies people like me. But they don’t know what goes on behind closed doors and how we miss things like human interaction and actual love.

And even though I’d love for nothing more, we’ll probably never talk again. Our worlds are too different, too far apart for that to ever happen.

“Shit,” he stammers. “I didn’t … I wasn’t …”

“I know,” I say, smiling it off as if it means nothing. “My father’s a dick.”

He grimaces. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s the truth. I should know,” I reply. “Besides, you know how rich people are.” I wink, but that doesn’t make the hurt any less.

I wish my father hadn’t called out my name, so we could’ve continued this pretty little lie until the end of the night. At least then this wedding might’ve been fun.

“If it makes it any better, I don’t think you’re like that at all,” he adds, clearing his throat.

“Like what? An asshole who cares only about money?”

He licks his lips and looks down at the glasses he was pouring. “I apologize. If I’d known he was your father, I’d—”

“No. I want to know what people think of him,” I say, taking another sip of my Coke. “Makes for some fun conversations, that’s for sure.”

I put down the glass and take a deep breath when my father calls me again, this time a little harsher. “Charlotte! Come here!”

I sigh out loud. “Good luck with work today,” I say, turning around.

“Have fun,” he says, and I can’t help but notice the contempt in his voice.

I don’t blame him. I’d feel cheated too. “Thanks,” I say, trying to add a smile, but it’s not genuine.

“I hope your father’s new wife is nice to you. You deserve it,” he adds after I’ve already started walking. “I promise next time I won’t be such an asshole!”

Shaking my head, I laugh and yell back at him over my shoulder, “You’d better not!”

Then I walk back to my father, whose penetrative stare could cut through mountains. The few steps there feel like a walk of shame because he seems royally pissed. “Could you have taken any longer? Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” He gives me the stink eye.