The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(9)

I turn away from her without a word, staring out the window as I watch the city pass us by. We’re going in to Manhattan for dinner close to the Lancaster headquarters. I looked up photos of this townhouse they live in uptown. It’s fucking huge.

“Your first son, perhaps you can give him the name of Lancaster. Lancaster Constantine has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Mother asks.

No. I think that sounds fucking ridiculous. Again, I don’t answer her.

After I found out the name of my fiancée, I looked up Charlotte Lancaster on the web because who wouldn’t? You google any of us Constantines and you’ll find out something. Most of the time it’s completely inaccurate information or a flat-out lie, but there we are. Recent photos. Articles about our various businesses. Features on Winston in financial or business magazines. Write-ups on Keaton from his glory days playing rugby.

Photos of me at parties. Coming out of a club with a woman on my arm. Hell, there were even recent photos of me and Tinsley together, and the jackass who wrote the article about us said I was dating her.

Bet that jackass got fired when they realized she was my sister.

Charlotte Lancaster, though? There’s not much about her, especially lately. A few family photos with her included, though she’s a kid in most of them. A teen with a mouth full of metal in another. A bunch of photos from the infamous debutante ball, where she’s scowling and looks so pissed off, I’m surprised she didn’t melt the camera she glared at.

Girl has a major chip on her shoulder, that’s for sure.

She slipped off the radar completely about a year ago, and no one really has any idea why. Sex scandal maybe?

Ha, I wish.

“Her dating record is nonexistent, which is a good thing,” Mother continues.

“That you know of,” I mutter. Money like the Lancaster family has can hide all of her indiscretions. No one would be the wiser if she has some major skeleton in her closet. Bribes work well in shutting others up.

I’d have no clue. None of us would.

“Perry, you’re so negative about this entire situation, which is very unlike you.” She pastes on an encouraging smile. “You’re about to meet your fiancée. You should be excited.”

My mother is delusional. What the hell do I have to be excited about? I’m being forced into a marriage I don’t want.

If this was any of my other siblings, they would’ve already told her hell no. I’m the stupid one who agreed. Who acted like I didn’t have a choice, when we always have one.

Even me.

“This isn’t a conventional arrangement that I can be excited about. I’m marrying a complete stranger,” I tell her, letting the irritation show in my voice. My entire demeanor. The more we talk about it, the more incensed I become. I welcome the anger that suddenly floods my veins and I clench my fists together so tightly, my rings cut into my flesh.

“Do it for me,” Mother says, her voice soft. “For the family. For all of us. And for your future. If the deal goes through that your brother is working on, the Constantine legacy will live on. Forever.”

“I thought that was already guaranteed,” I mutter, resting my fists on top of my knees. I wish I could hit something.

Anything. Just to get my frustration out.

Not a normal feeling for me. I’m the easygoing Constantine. The only one who knows how to have a good time—publicly. Feels like everyone else in my family has a stick up their ass most days.

I can feel that stick now, trying to lodge itself permanently in my ass. All due to my new and very unwanted circumstance.

“Nothing in life is guaranteed. We constantly have to fight for what’s ours.” She hesitates for only a moment. “Never forget that.”

How can I, when she’s constantly throwing shit like this in my face?





Chapter Four




Charlotte


I can’t stop staring at the front door of the restaurant, mentally willing Perry Constantine to appear so we can get this evening over with.

But he still hasn’t shown up. It’s now twenty minutes past our agreed meeting time, and I’m getting antsy—to the point that I can’t stop squirming in my seat.

“Charlotte,” Mother whisper hisses, irritation written all over her face. She even grabs hold of my arm, like I’m a five-year-old child having a public tantrum. “Stop fidgeting!”

I go as still as possible, holding my breath until my lungs ache. When she releases me, I exhale all at once, reaching for the glass of ice water, wishing it were wine.

So close to twenty-one, I can almost taste it, but not yet. Besides, I’m sure my mother wants me sober tonight. Not that I’m ever drunk around her, but she wants me to have my wits about me, as she says.

Some old-fashioned cliché saying no one uses but her.

It’s all part of my penance for what happened in Paris. Once I came home broken hearted and a complete disgrace, my parents—specifically my father—kept me under lock and key. Never to be seen again.

The shame he must feel in regards to me is painful. How could a stupid months-long romance with an Irish nobody when I was nineteen bother him that much? Who cares?

He does, that’s who.

The restaurant door swings open and Caroline Constantine glides inside the restaurant, her gaze sweeping the room before her attention is caught by the hostess greeting them.