Page 1 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

I clutched my glass of sparkling water and wished it was champagne to take the edge off the night.

Parties like this one—complete with crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, escargot on every plate, diamonds on the napkin rings—had begun to feel like a noose around my neck.

Once upon a time I’d enjoyed these lavish affairs. Now?

This wasn’t my world anymore. It was my father’s.

Across from me, Amelia tried to gracefully eat a cracker smothered in escargot. She caught me watching her and giggled with her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed.

“Good?” I prompted.

Amelia nodded, swallowed, and sipped her wine.

“Delicious.” She smacked her lips and looked around the ballroom.

She twirled a lock of her sleek blonde hair around her finger and paused when she spotted a server with a silver tray full of lemon drop martinis.

For a moment it looked like she might go grab one, but she didn’t.

I sipped my sparkling water and stared into the glass like the carbonation had personally victimized me. Oh how I wish you were a lemon drop martini. Looking back up, I cast a longing look at the doors to the ballroom.

“You look like you’re about to bolt,” Amelia said with a laugh. “Don’t worry. I already scoped out the exits.”

“My father would have my head if I tried,” I muttered, swirling my water in the glass. “He made it very clear this morning that my attendance tonight was mandatory. Some nonsense about mingling, making connections, keeping up appearances?—”

“And meeting someone,” Amelia cut in, waggling her eyebrows.

I made a face. “Please. I’m done with men.”

Amelia snorted into her wineglass. “Yeah? After what happened with the last guy you met at one of these things? What’s his name?—”

“Sampson,” I snapped, my heart twisting violently in my chest at the mere mention of him.

It felt like a donkey kick to my chest, the way it always did. The betrayal. The humiliation. The way I’d let myself believe in fairy tales again, only to have the whole world watch as he tore it all down. I was trying hard to forget he existed.

Before Amelia could say another word, I spotted a waiter passing by with a tray laden with champagne flutes. Without thinking, I plucked two off the tray and tossed them back, one after the other, ignoring Amelia’s raised eyebrows. The lemon drop had been tempting, but the champagne? Irresistible.

I shoved the empty glasses back onto the tray of another waiter passing by. “Bring me some shots, would you? Something strong. Tequila.”

“Coming right up,” he said and rushed off.

Amelia sighed under her breath. “Oh no. Here we go.”

I knew I shouldn’t start because once I got the first bit of numbing juice, I wasn’t going to stop. I knew it. But the ache in my chest needed to be soothed, and I had limited options at this stuffy party. People assumed the pampered princess lived a charming life.

They had no idea.

The waiter returned with two tequila shots. It was funny because he thought one was for Amelia. I took one, leaned my head back, and swallowed it down. I put it on the tray as the waiter stared at me with shock. I grabbed the next shot and down the hatch it went.

The burn felt good.

“Can I have a whiskey sour?” I asked the waiter, flashing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Make it a double.”

Amelia winced, shaking her head. “And now begins the self-destructive portion of our evening. Should I alert security or your father first when you decide to swim in the fountain later?” The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile.

She understood me like nobody else did, and she knew telling me this was a bad idea would only hurtle me straight toward the bar.

“Very funny,” I muttered, already feeling the tequila warming my blood. “If I’m going to survive another lecture about how I’m wasting my potential and disappointing the family name, I need something to keep me from screaming.”

The waiter returned with my whiskey sour faster than I expected. I took a long sip, relishing the tartness that cut through the alcohol burn.

“Oh God,” Amelia whispered suddenly, grabbing my arm. “Three o’clock. Your father’s coming this way, and he’s got company.”

I turned, nearly spilling my drink as I caught sight of my father’s imposing figure cutting through the crowd. His silver hair was perfectly styled, his tuxedo impeccable as always. But it was the man beside him that made my stomach drop.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass. I didn’t recognize him, but I recognized the type. Another trust fund baby with an Ivy League education and a smile that promised nothing but trouble.

I was done with men.

“Mina, darling,” my father said. “This is Alan?—”

“Sorry, Alan, I have to pee,” I said.

I turned and walked away, leaving my father standing there with his mouth hanging open.

I could hear Amelia’s laughter behind me as I stormed off, but I didn’t care.

My heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as I made my way through the crowd, nodding stiffly at people who looked my way.

The whiskey sour sloshed in my glass. I downed the rest of it before setting it on a random table.

I had a good buzz going. I wasn’t wasted but it was enough to give me the “no fucks to give” feeling.

The ladies’ room was mercifully empty when I pushed through the door. I leaned against the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup and hair were still flawless, courtesy of my glam team, but my eyes gave me away—glassy from the alcohol and bright with anger.

“Breathe, Mina,” I told myself. “Just breathe.”

I took a few cleansing breaths and pushed down the feelings that were trying to bubble up. I wasn’t going to be sad or mad. I just had to get through the night.

I left the shelter of the bathroom and got myself another drink. Then another. And another.

My vision was blurry and it felt like I was walking on the deck of my father’s yacht in a violent storm. I grinned. Mission accomplished. I was shitfaced. I wasn’t feeling a damn thing.

But I was thirsty. I looked for another passing waiter but didn’t see one.

But up ahead there was a towering display of stacked champagne glasses near the dance floor.

Someone had really outdone themselves—over a hundred delicate crystal flutes balanced on top of each other in a pyramid of wealth and waste.

It looked ridiculous.

And completely in my way.

I knew there was no way I had the ability to carefully grab a flute and chose to find a drink elsewhere. I passed it with a wobble but my elbow caught the edge of the bottom tier. Time slowed.

I heard a collective gasp from the crowd. The tower wobbled precariously. Or maybe I wobbled. There was definitely wobbling.

And then it collapsed in a glorious, glittering waterfall of broken glass and sticky champagne.

Oops .

I turned and smiled sweetly at the horrified faces around me. “My bad.”

A hand clamped down on my arm.

“Mina,” my father spat in my ear. “Enough.”

I shrugged him off, pivoting toward a nearby waiter. He flinched as I leaned in.

“Hi,” I purred. “What’s your name, pretty boy?”

He looked around desperately for backup. None came.

I could hear Amelia giggling somewhere behind me.

Classic, Mina, I heard someone whisper.

What a mess.

I looked around, but my bleary vision made it hard for me to focus.

Women in lavish gowns with diamonds around their throats sprouted second and third heads.

Men with furrowed brows and ridiculous bow ties clicked their tongues and whispered sympathetic words about how hard things must be for my father dealing with me all the time.

Like they have it all together, I thought loathingly.

“Frauds,” I managed to say around my thick tongue.

Had I ordered vodka at some point? Whoops.

Not my friend. And neither were any of these uptight, hypocritical losers.

Just a couple years ago they would have all wanted their first-born sons to marry me. Now? I was a social pariah.

Good. I wanted nothing to do with them either.

I swayed on the spot as the whispers continued to gather momentum.

When I locked eyes with a particularly judgmental looking women with pinched features and a crystal-studded clutch tucked under her arm, I rallied a full-scale assault of colorful adjectives and prepared to word-vomit them out at her.

Before I could wage my attack, my father stepped between us, planting himself like an immovable mountain.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he said under his breath.

I giggled. “No, I’m embarrassing you .”

His grip tightened on my elbow. “Come. Now. ”

I yanked my arm away. “Relax, Dad. Someone else will do something stupid next weekend, and then the press will forget all about me knocking over a stupid champagne tower.”

“You think this is a joke?” His voice was dangerously low.

“Yes,” I said brightly. “A very expensive one.”

He didn’t find it funny. Shocker .

Dad’s hand felt like a vise on my elbow as he steered me through the gawking crowd.

I slapped on a smile and lifted my free hand to give the queen’s wave.

Dad muttered under his breath about my disappointing behavior while he kept me steady all the way down the front steps of the hotel.

His Rolls Royce waited at the curb to ferry me away.

“Louis, help me get her in the car,” my father growled.

Louis, our driver and longtime family employee, studied me solemnly. His evident disappointment was the only thing that managed to get through my drunken haze.

“Come on, Miss Mina,” Louis said softly before reaching for me. Louis put his hand on top of my head to make sure I didn’t bump it on the roof of the car as I lowered myself slowly into the back seat. The leather was cool beneath my palms and the Royce smelled richly of treated seats and polish.

“He’s mad at me,” I whispered to Louis with a small giggle that got cut off by a hiccup.

“He’s just trying to help you,” Louis said. “He’s trying to do what’s best for you.”

My father slid into the back seat with me. “Mina, this behavior will not continue.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve said that before.”

“This time, I mean it. If you don’t get yourself under control, I will cut you off. No more credit cards. No more trust fund. No more charity board seats or magazine covers or?—”

“Glorious invitations to soul-sucking parties like tonight?” I cut in. “ Promise ?”

His nostrils flared. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” I said, stretching out my legs and yawning. “It’s not like you’ll actually follow through. You never do. I’m your little princess you like to trot out.”

“Mina—”

“Let it go, Hectar,” Louis said gently from the front seat, surprising both of us. “Miss Mina will find her way. She’s young.”

Louis always called me Miss Mina. There was an affection in it, an old loyalty. He’d called me Miss Mina since I was a little girl. I was twenty-eight and missed those days when things were simpler.

“She’s going to ruin herself if she doesn’t wise up,” my father snapped.

“She’s finding her own way,” Louis said gently. “Sometimes the road isn’t straight. Sometimes it’s rocky.”

I snorted and slouched lower in my seat. I think I dozed off because the next thing I knew, we were driving through the gate of the massive Duvall estate. The white pillars, manicured gardens, a fountain in the shape of some long-forgotten Roman goddess.

I stumbled drunkenly out of the back seat. I heard my father muttering an apology to Louis.

“I understand,” Louis said with a small smile. “It’s been a long night.”

Tori was waiting for us at the front door, looking worried.

She was one of the house managers, technically, but she was also my closest friend—the only one who hadn’t bailed after my spectacular crash-and-burn with Sampson.

“Mina?” she asked, her eyes darting between me and my father.

“Get her to bed,” my father barked, stripping off his tuxedo jacket. “I’m done for the night.”

Tori nodded, taking me gently by the arm. I shot my father a mocking little salute as he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Tori guided me up the grand staircase, holding on to me to keep me from falling down the stairs.

She led me into my bedroom, a sprawling space bigger than most New York apartments.

It wasn’t really a bedroom in the classic sense.

It was my own space. My own apartment minus a kitchen.

Although I did have a fridge and microwave for late-night snacks.

“Oh, Mina,” Tori said.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled as she helped me out of my shoes. “Too many cocktails.”

The house cat—appropriately and lazily named Cat —trotted in and leapt up onto the bed, purring loudly.

“Hey, buddy,” I murmured, scratching under his chin. He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand, soaking up the affection before he had enough. He hopped off the bed and vanished back into the hallway.

“Typical man,” I said, flopping backward onto the mattress. “Get what you want and you’re out the door.”

Tori laughed softly as she tried to help me out of my gown. “This have anything to do with Sampson?”

I cringed at the name.

“No,” I said sharply. “Sampson’s in the past. I was bored. You know how much I hate those parties. Mixed my drinks. Too many cocktails.”

Tori didn’t argue. I rolled onto my stomach and let out an exaggerated, fake snore.

Tori sighed and stood, pulling the covers over me like I was a child who had worn herself out with a tantrum.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were still bent out of shape,” she said. “After what he did… anyone would be.”

I kept up the snoring, louder now. She took the hint. I heard her footsteps retreating down the hall.

Tonight was supposed to be my beginning.

Instead, it was just another reminder of everything I’d lost.

And everything I would never have.