Page 2 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

ISAAC

I t was so damn hot I could feel the sweat pooling under my sunglasses as I lay stretched out in one of the deck chairs, baking like a rotisserie chicken under the midday sun.

The only thing moving was the occasional lazy buzz of some annoying bug zipping past my ear.

I could hear the pool filter humming too.

Normally, I had music blasting through the speakers around the pool deck that were supposed to look like rocks. They fooled no one. I didn’t understand the crime of having a speaker look like a speaker.

But today, I was just basking in the peace and quiet. And maybe nursing a tiny hangover. I thought about getting up and taking a dip in the pool to cool off.

But that took effort. How dumb was it to sit out here and roast myself instead of sliding into the pool and washing away the sweat pooling at the small of my back?

Because despite the heat, I was comfortable. Relaxed.

My dad and Kathy’s estate was basically a five-star resort with no rules and an open bar.

They were off on yet another honeymoon—third one this year?

Fourth? I’d lost count. Didn’t really care.

I was genuinely happy for my old man, but that didn’t mean I wanted to picture him grinning like a lovesick idiot, sipping margaritas with his new bride somewhere tropical. Gross.

They were enjoying their years together.

They had carried torches for each other for a majority of their lives, but they had each married other people, and hello, us.

My brothers and cousins wouldn’t be here if Dad and Aunt Kathy had got together.

Yeah, that was still a Jerry Springer episode.

My aunt was now my stepmother. My first cousins, my stepbrothers.

Whatever. That was not a situation to try and dissect. It was what it was. Everyone was happy. And they were doing all they could to celebrate their recent marriage.

Besides, their absence meant the place was mine for the summer. House staff included. Private chef, pool cleaner, gardeners, a fridge fully stocked with beer and whatever else I wanted. Life was good.

Sure, my old man had made a few passive-aggressive comments over the phone about how, “Isaac, the summer won’t last forever, and neither will your youth,” and “Don’t you think it’s time to start thinking about your future?”

Yeah. Sure, Dad. I’ll start worrying about my future when the rain starts falling and the parties end. This was my summer vacation. I had the rest of my life to work. Until then, I planned to soak up every last damn second of sunshine and irresponsibility.

I was just about to reach for the house phone to order a cold drink—maybe something tropical with one of those little umbrellas—when a shadow fell across me.

I squinted up through my sunglasses, expecting to see a server with my drink order already in hand.

I was slightly predictable. A Bloody Mary with a full meal stuffed inside the glass had become my breakfast of choice these days.

Instead, I caught sight of a tall, broad-shouldered figure standing over me like the grim reaper in an Armani suit.

Took me a second to register who it was.

Hectar Duvall. What the hell was he doing here?

I sat up slowly feeling very naked in nothing but my swim shorts. I shoved my sunglasses onto my head and stood, offering my hand. “Mr. Duvall,” I said. “Been a while.”

The last time I’d seen him was years ago, back when I was “attending” college overseas.

Truthfully, I’d spent more time hitting up clubs and jetting to Ibiza than sitting in classrooms, but my father and Hectar didn’t need to know that.

They met me for dinner once, some overpriced French place near my campus.

I barely remembered the meal, let alone the conversation.

Hectar shook my hand with a firm grip. His face looked even sterner than I remembered. He wasn’t here for a daiquiri.

“My father’s not here,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the house. “He’s on his honeymoon.”

“I know,” Hectar said. His voice was as smooth as a lawyer’s and just as untrustworthy. “I need you to tell him something when you talk to him. It’s urgent. I’ve tried calling but he’s apparently not taking any calls. I assume he would check in with his family.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Tell him I’m calling in the favor.”

I blinked. “Favor?”

“He’ll know what I’m talking about.”

Right. Cryptic rich guy code. Because God forbid anyone just say what they mean around here.

“Got it,” I said. “I’ll tell him.”

Hectar gave me a curt nod and turned on his heel, heading back toward the house without another word.

He disappeared through the French doors like he owned the place.

I watched him go and tried to figure out what my father was up to.

I didn’t think Hectar was sketchy, but when people called in favors, it was usually something shady.

At least in my own experience.

How the hell had he even gotten onto the property? Past the gates, the staff, the alarms? Then again, this was Hectar Duvall. If anyone could walk into one of the most secure estates in the state without getting stopped, it was him.

Still. Weird.

I shrugged it off and decided I may as well cool off now that I was up and out of the lounge chair. I dove into the pool, letting the cold wash over me. My body temperature immediately dropped to a more comfortable level.

When I surfaced, slicking my hair back, the world felt right again. Sun, water, freedom. No cares. I did a few laps before I climbed out of the pool, grabbed a towel, and flopped back onto the lounger.

My phone buzzed.

I checked it, grinning when I saw who it was—one of my go-to hookups. Melissa. Or Marissa? Whatever. I answered the FaceTime call with my usual charming smile.

“Well, hey there, gorgeous,” I said, laying the charm on thick. “You calling to tell me you missed me?”

She laughed. “Maybe. What are you doing tonight?”

“Hosting you at the Bancroft Estate,” I said easily. “It’s a pool party for two. Dress code is… optional.”

She giggled. God, they always did.

“What should I bring?” she asked.

“Nothing but yourself,” I said, grinning lazily. “And maybe a coat to arrive in. Don’t even bring panties.”

Her face turned pink, but she laughed again and promised to text when she was on her way.

I hung up, tossing the phone onto the chair beside me, feeling like a king surveying his sun-soaked kingdom.

Life was good. I felt bad—honestly bad—for anyone in the world who wasn’t me.

My parents were always teaching us to be humble.

The Bancroft name demanded respect. It wasn’t just the family wealth, although that certainly helped.

It was the business connections. My very large family had all built upon the Bancroft family name.

They started businesses in just about every avenue.

And all of my brothers and cousins were very successful.

No pressure at all. But there had to be one in every family, right? We couldn’t all be superstars. But it did kind of suck that the real screwup of the family, my brother Hudson, was no longer the screwup. He managed to turn his life around and had a good woman and a baby now.

But that was not going to happen to me. I was not the marrying kind. That was one benefit of having such a big family. I didn’t ever have to worry about the family line dying out. With the way my family reproduced, there was no chance of that happening.

I stretched out, letting the sun dry the water on my skin, already planning the evening. Drinks by the pool. Music cranked up just loud enough to drown out the sounds of passion. Skinny dipping.

Sex.

Lots of sex.

I was still thirsty. And hungry. But instead of relying on one of the staff my father paid very well, I got up and grabbed a towel.

The housekeeper would chase my ass out if she saw me dripping on her clean floors.

I wasn’t sure why they were working with my dad and Kathy gone, but whatever. It worked well for me.

The massive house felt too empty sometimes, despite the staff. Over twelve bedrooms and only one human resident. Me. Sometimes I wondered if that was why the staff showed up every day—out of pity. Poor rich boy, all alone in his castle.

I opened the fridge to see what kind of goodies the cook had left for me. I was pretty sure she was glad when Kathy was out of town. The cook got to actually cook. When Kathy was home, she liked to cook. They still paid the cook but it was one too many chefs in the kitchen.

I smiled when I saw the sub sandwich in plastic wrap. I grabbed it and a cold beer. When I heard footsteps coming down the hall, I took my bounty and rushed outside before I could get yelled at for leaving wet footprints on the floor.

I sat down on the lounge chair and reached for my sunglasses. Then I cracked open the beer, took a long drink, and shook my head. Hair of the dog. The sandwich was perfect as usual. The cook knew just how to make it with the right amount of mayo and extra meat slices.

My mind drifted lazily back to Hectar’s visit as I chewed.

The favor.

I wondered how deep that favor ran. It must be important if he showed up here in person.

What had my father promised him? Something stupid, probably.

Some backroom deal or old money nonsense I wanted no part of.

My dad did some shady deals back in the day.

That was how he ended up kidnapped a few years back.

I scarfed down the sandwich and chugged the last of my beer. That was exactly what I needed. It hit the spot. I leaned back against the chair and closed my eyes to sunbathe now that I had a full belly.

Life was good.

I grinned, imagining Melissa showing up in nothing but that coat like I told her. This was going to be a great summer. Maybe this was the last summer vacation I needed. Maybe, just maybe, I could finally find that motivation my brothers all had.