Page 12 of Beautiful Lies

I’d be enraged, too, if I found out someone played me the way my father did him. But Knox Vale is a billionaire. A hundred thousand is nothing to him. He wouldn’t go through all the trouble of a marriage contract just to get the restaurant if he didn’t want more.

“I wonder what his long-term plans are for the restaurant.” Frustration tightens my voice. “The contract states he gets priority to decide what happens because of the loan, and I guess I just have to agree.”

“God,” Mia mutters, “I have no doubt he’ll sell it when the time comes. Or buy out your share and keep the restaurant.”

My heart squeezes, and my breathing slows. I look at her, sorrow squeezing my insides. “I don’t want to sell it. And I don’t want him to own any part of it, either.”

The restaurant isn’t just a building. It’s another member of the family. I grew up watching my grandparents pour their whole lives into it, guarding the legacy my great-grandparents carved out of nothing.

Their fingerprints are in the walls, their stories in the floors, their souls threaded through the bones of the building.

Even our name carries their history. Our family name was once Monrovsky. My great-grandparents changed it to Monroe when they came to America from Moscow in 1907—a measure to blend in, to survive.

They worked and saved for years before they finally bought the building in 1916, back when Park Avenue was nothing like the manicured stretch of wealth it is now. The structure they purchased had once been a sprawling railroad service depot—two floors of brick and steel, used decades earlier to store equipment and service the tracks before the city covered the rail line.

They turned it into a restaurant in 1919. And somehow it survived long enough for Park Avenue to rise around it, transforming it from a humble family business into a landmark sitting on some of the most valuable land in Manhattan.

My great-grandparents and grandparents had several offers to buy Monroes, but they turned down every single one, insisting the restaurant was to stay in the family and never be sold.

“Discussion of sale has never even been mentioned… until now,” I mutter, feeling the weight of everything pulling me under.

Sadness fills Mia’s eyes, and she shakes her head slowly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I think that part is out of your hands. Think of it this way: the restaurant is worth a lot. When you get your half of the money, it’ll be enough to set you up for life. And your mom, too. To be honest, with the amount of debt your dad got into, I’m surprised he didn’t consider selling it before.”

“Because it’s priceless.” As bad as my father was, I know he valued the legacy. “Now I’m going to lose it. Over a hundred years of precious memories… gone just like that.”

“Oh, Isla. I wish I could do something more to help.”

I sigh and bow my head. “Being here helps.” I meet her gaze. “I just wishIcould do better.”

It was my grandparents who encouraged me to become an artist. My parents wanted something morerespectable, as they called it. Law, medicine, business, finance. Anything but art.

Before Mom started working at the restaurant—before she got sick—she was a manager at the DoubleTree. That gave me the chance to hide away at Monroes and paint and draw to my heart’s content.

I practically lived there. It was the only place I ever felt free.

Having my grandparents’ support was a blessing, and when they realized how art-obsessed I was, they eventually convinced my parents to cool off and accept my dreams.

That restaurant feels like an extension of my artistic vision. Like the place where my dream was able to breathe and grow. It’s a part of me.

And that’s why it hurts so much to know Knox Vale will have any claim to it.

All because of Dad’s foolish mistakes.

“Please try not to worry,” Mia murmurs as she rubs my back.

I throw her a deadpan stare. “Are you kidding? This is exactly the time to worry. I’m helpless, Mia. I’ve got nothing but this.” I wave a hand toward the contract and grimace. “Thirty pages ofshit governing my life from the moment I sign it. And there’s a fucking clause for everything.”

I pick up the contract and flick through the pages. “There’s a clause for confidentiality, as if I’m going to broadcast to the world how my father screwed me over and now I have to marry Knox Vale. There’s one for conduct, as if I’m a child who doesn’t know how to behave. Oh, and my personal favorite is the one for public representation. According to this, I shall adhere to wardrobe and conduct standardsbefittingthe public image of the Vale family. To be determined by the husband or his appointed representative. Have you ever heard such bullshit in your life? And who the fuck says words likebefitting?” I scoff. “Just saying it makes me sound like I stepped off the set ofDownton Abbey.”

There were more clauses, but those were the ones that riled me up the most.

“It sounds awful.” Mia frowns.

I throw the contract down. “It feels like the damn curse again.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I don’t even know if I believe in that stupid carnival curse anymore, but every time something falls apart, it’s the first thing that comes to mind. The fact that I spoke those words out loud suggests I’ve officially entered freak-out mode.

Mia rolls her eyes at me and cocks her head so deep her hair falls over her face. She pushes it away and wags a perfectly manicured finger at me, disapproval on her face. “Isla, it’s about time you drop that. You are not cursed.”

My shoulders tense. “I don’t know anymore.Seriouslybad things keep happening to me. You’d think the same if you were me. Don’t you dare deny it.”