Trillion(37)

She nods, the pallor of her complexion fairer than when she walked in a few minutes ago. To be honest, she looks like she’s about to lose the contents of her stomach. While she may have agreed to my offer, I’m not sure she’s one hundred percent at peace with her decision.

“Go, Sophie.” I release her hands. “I’ll see you tonight—at home.”

When she’s gone, I have Broderick finalize the contract.

I don’t want to risk a last-minute change of heart.





Twenty-Six





Sophie

Present



“What’s with you today?” Mom asks that afternoon. “You’re biting your nails. You never bite your nails.” She swats. “Stop that. You’re going to ruin your manicure. Lord knows you pay an arm and a leg for those in the city.”

I tuck my hands beneath my thighs and take a deep breath. There’s no easy way to preface any of this. Maybe I should’ve told my friends first, practiced on them. But it didn’t seem right to tell my family last.

“I’m getting married,” I blurt. I steady myself for her reaction, only to be met with her signature silent response.

“What? When?” Emmeline asks from the other side of the kitchen table. “And to who?”

“To whom,” my mother corrects before turning to me. Her brows lift as she awaits my answer.

“His name is Trey.” I clear my throat. “Trey Westcott.”

“Wait,” Emmeline says. “Isn’t that your boss?”

“My boss’ boss’ boss’ boss,” I say, “Or something like that … but yes. He owns Westcott Corp.”

Mom takes a seat, practically collapsing in the wooden chair. I should’ve told her to sit before I broke the news. I haven’t dated anyone since Nolan, not seriously anyway, and that was nearly a decade ago. And while I’ve had my fair share of hook-ups and a couple semi long-term friends with benefits, I’ve never allowed a single one to step foot inside my mother’s home.

“How did this happen?” she asks. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

“I’m just as shocked as you are … we ran into each other in the hallway at work one day.” I don’t tell her it was just the other week. “Next thing I know, we’re spending time together outside the office. It all took off from there.”

“And now you’re getting married?” Her expression twists in disbelief. “Don’t you think you’re moving a little fast? We haven’t even met him.”

“You will,” I say. “Soon. I’m actually moving in with him.”

“This is so exciting,” Emmeline claps. “I can’t wait to go wedding dress shopping!”

Mom shoots her a look before turning back to me. “Have you set a date yet?”

I shake my head. “We’re still working out the details.”

“Where’s your ring?” Her attention descends to my hands, which are still hidden beneath my thighs.

“I don’t have one yet. Everything happened this morning …”

Mom rests her elbows on the table, staring out the tiny window beyond our kitchen table. She doesn’t congratulate me, doesn’t manufacture an ounce of feigned joy. Not that I expected her to. I know where she stands on things like marriage and men. They’re nothing but dirty words in her vocabulary.

“You’ll love him,” I tell her, placing my hand on hers. I need to sell this.

She won’t look at me. “I’m sure you think that or you wouldn’t be marrying him.”

“He’s excited to meet you. I’ve told him so much about you both,” I say. Silence rests between us. “It would mean the world to me if you’d give him a chance.”

“Would you change your mind if I didn’t?” she asks.

Emmeline’s watchful stare passes from Mom to me and back.

“No,” I say. I already signed the contract, though I don’t dare mention it to her. If Trey and I divorce in a couple of years, I can chalk up the millions in my bank account to a prenuptial agreement. She won’t think twice given the infinite wealth that accompanies his name.

I lace my words with a hint of enthusiasm, ignoring the tension in my shoulders and the swirl of nausea in my center.

I remind myself of his words to reaffirm my decision. And even if I changed my mind, it’d be a breach of contract, and to be honest I didn’t read the fine print. I have no idea what kind of repercussions I’d face if I backed out. A part of me didn’t want to know.

Life is fucking short.

The number of good, humanitarian things I could do with those millions is endless. Charity work. Donating to Third World countries. Orphanages. Animal shelters. Unable to sleep last night, I sprang up and made a list of everything I could do with that money.

Personal happiness aside, I could spend the rest of my life making the world a better place.

I wouldn’t be able to do that if I dedicated those years to a corporation.

Not to mention, I’d be able to ensure Emmeline would always be cared for should Mom get sick again.

“You really want this?” Mom asks. Her tea has cooled, untouched, though her hands wrap the powder blue mug tightly. Her body language holds words she won’t dare say. I’m almost certain she’s thinking about Nolan and the aftershocks of my time with him.