Page 201 of Morally Black Betrothal

Until recently, it had been all but a given that perfect eldest son Brendan was the front-runner for the position. Sure, Dad had cast some doubts last month when he announced in front of three hundred people that he would be nominating “one of his children” for the job in the next year. And sure, I had wondered for half a fucking second if maybe I, with my intimate knowledge ofeveryside of this business, would be the best fit for the job.That was before I wised up to the fact that our father was just toying with us yet again for his own amusement.

CEO was always Brendan’s to lose.

Which now begged the obvious question: why did he just throw the whole fucking game?

“Why the fuck would he do this? And whyme?”

“Probably because you’re also the one who’s been solving impossible problems for this family for years.” Liza echoed things Brendan had told me for years. “This is your chance for recognition, Ronan. For legitimacy.”

Goddamn it. Maybeshewas the witch this morning. She was certainly reading my deepest, darkest thoughts.

Maybe I was tired of being the family joke while Brendan got all the glory, Owen played his political games with the grace and personality of a rhinoceros, and Shea was crowned the princess while acting like a brat ninety percent of the time. Maybe I wanted people to see that behind the party boy bullshit, I was actually fucking good at what I did.

Maybe I could even be great.

“But…” Liza said.

I sighed. There was always a but. “Lay it on me.”

“The board—your father included—expects the CEO to meet certain standards. Family values. Stability. They want someone who’s going to settle down, get married, have kids. Present a respectable image.”

I frowned. “You’re kidding. Since when did Dad turn into a tradwife advocate?”

“Ronan, why do you think your brother suddenly got engaged? The newspapers figured it out yesterday too—he was doing what was needed to project that image. I doubt a fake engagement will do it for you, though.”

“So, what, am I supposed to get married now? To who, a fucking showgirl? Maybe a lady of the night?” I laughed again.The idea ofmewalking down the aisle with anyone, promising my life to an actual living human, was absurd. I could barely promise to remember a woman’s name, much less my fidelity and love.

“The board won’t care who you show up with as long as you look good doing it,” Liza said. “That’swhat I’m telling you.”

I stared out the window. The sun was fully up now, dimming the lights of the Strip under those bright golden rays. Ironically, it was the only time of day the Strip looked almost peaceful.

Maybe I could do this. There were chapels down the block. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’d ever done. That was the year I did the Carnaval in Rio and went missing for two weeks straight. Fun times.

“Liza, I need to think?—”

A knock cut me off as the bedroom door opened.

And there she was. My mystery nymph, wrapped in a sheet like a sexy burrito, hair everywhere, makeup smudged, but as edible as anything in a restaurant. Maybe more.

“Liza, I gotta go,” I muttered.

“Ronan, we need to?—”

I hung up.

“Hi,” said the girl.

God, even her voice was gorgeous. Melodic and throaty, like a magical bird.

Maybe this was why Zeus wanted to fuck a swan.

“Hi,” I greeted her as I stood. Fuck the mess in Boston. Fuck the board, fuck Liza, fuck this ridiculous marriage bullshit I was supposed to perform.

At least, that’s what I was thinking as I crossed the room to unwrap this little vixen.

Until she held out her left hand.

There, gleaming in the morning light, was a gold band.