Page 5 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

I was going to kill my father.

I sat stiffly at the small, elegant table, my back straight, my fingers toying with the napkin in my lap while the low hum of the restaurant buzzed around me.

Candlelight flickered. Silverware clinked.

Somewhere behind me, a woman’s laughter rose a little too loud and then dissolved into a breathy giggle.

It was definitely fake and meant to ensnare whatever dude she was having dinner with. I knew the trick.

Been there, done that.

I felt like an idiot sitting at the table.

If this asshole stood me up, I was going to kick his ass.

It’s bad enough I was being set up, but to get stood up…

hell no . That would be the last straw. The only reason I agreed to the stupid date was because my father had guilted me into it.

He used that stupid champagne tower as leverage.

All I had to do was go to dinner with Isaac Bancroft and my debt would be paid.

Until the next time I had a little too much to drink and did something really stupid.

I should have said no. Should have said hell no.

The last time I’d even seen Isaac Bancroft, he was fourteen, and I’d caught him making out with a sixteen-year-old kitchen staff girl behind the punch bowl at one of my father’s gaudy Christmas parties.

I remembered standing there, half-horrified, half-impressed, as his older brothers elbowed each other and snickered.

“Now he’s gonna be insufferable until Easter,” one of them had said, and they’d all laughed.

And if my antics were bad, the Bancroft boys were next level. They made me look like a dove. Isaac’s cousins were notorious. Tales of the Vancouver Bancroft family always circulated at parties because they were just as bad as their cousins in New York. The men were womanizers. That much I knew.

I’m torn by the feeling that our fathers are pushing us together to see if we get along.

My father’s desperation for me to settle down, especially after the tension that followed my breakup with Sampson is why I’m here.

He’s taking matters into his own hands. He had such high hopes that I was on the path to a happily ever after, relieving him of any responsibility for my future.

I’m not sure I’m ready to start over again.

In a way, I hoped Isaac did stand me up.

That would make things easier. I could tell my dad I did my duty but Isaac failed to do his.

My father would have to accept the fact Isaac wasn’t interested.

He was going to have to give up on the idea of me marrying a Bancroft.

I knew their worth. It rivaled my father’s worth.

Put us together and it was like two royals from large, powerful countries marrying.

I had a feeling both my father and the Bancroft patriarch were eager to have us married regardless of whether Isaac and I got along.

I looked up.

And there he was.

Isaac Bancroft strolled in like he owned the place, confidence in every step, that cocky half-smile already tugging at his mouth.

He was taller now, broad-shouldered, lean.

His dark hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it on the drive over.

A lazy five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw.

And of course, before he even glanced in my direction, he was already hitting on the hostess.

I watched, slack-jawed, as he leaned in, said something that made her laugh, and flashed her a grin that probably belonged in the bedroom.

She blushed and scribbled something on a napkin before slipping it into his hand.

Isaac winked at her, tucked the napkin into his jacket pocket, and casually made eyes at a woman at the bar as he passed.

Unbelievable.

My dad was out of his mind if he thought I was going to be hooking up with another womanizer. Burn me once and I’m good. I don’t need to have multiple scars to learn a lesson. Men sucked. Womanizers sucked more.

And Isaac Bancroft was the definition of a womanizer. I could see why. He was tall, dark and gorgeous. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was the way he carried himself. The guy oozed sex appeal and charm. I could see the women all watching him as he slowly made his way to my table.

By the time he finally spotted me, I was seriously considering ducking under the table. He broke into a wide smile and, to my shock, dropped into a low, exaggerated bow as he reached me.

“My lady,” he said grandly, taking my hand and brushing a kiss over my knuckles. “It’s been far too long since the days of forced holiday merriment and terrible canapés.”

I yanked my hand back, half-horrified, half-fighting a laugh I absolutely did not want to give him.

“It’s been a long time,” he finished, pulling out his chair with a flourish and sitting down. His eyes raked over me shamelessly, lingering, assessing. “You look…” He paused, dragging it out just to make me squirm. “Well, you look damn good, if I’m being honest. You really grew into your feet.”

I blinked. “ Excuse me?”

He gave me a grin so dazzling it probably ought to be illegal. “Come on. You remember. You had huge feet back then.”

“Wow,” I said flatly, reaching for my purse. “You’re just determined to torpedo this, aren’t you?”

“What?” He laughed, all warm and easy, like we were old friends catching up instead of two strangers forced into a date by their overbearing fathers. “Don’t be mad. We were all awkward teenagers. Some of us had braces and wore tearaway pants, for fuck’s sake. Can you imagine?”

I froze, remembering—vividly—the hideous windbreaker pants era. Okay, maybe he had a point.

“Would you like to insult the buckteeth I had?” I asked dryly.

“Big feet aren’t a deal breaker,” Isaac added cheerfully. “Now that you’re taller, it’s all balanced out. And you have beautiful teeth. They enhance that pretty smile.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Balanced out. Pretty smile.”

“Perfectly proportional,” he said, giving me a mock-serious nod.

I couldn’t believe this was what worked for women. He was cute but the moment he opened his mouth, it ruined it. For me to crawl into bed with him, I would need a roll of duct tape. And not for anything kinky.

This was never going to work. If we couldn’t have a conversation, this was all a waste of time.

I didn’t want to be here anymore than he did.

He’s here because my father obviously asked him to be.

And I understand my dad is trying to help fix the Sampson situation.

And I’ve been a bit of a dick to my dad lately.

This felt like an easy way to show how sorry I am.

“This is so stupid,” I muttered.

“Why don’t we just leave?” Isaac said.

“Great idea.” I shoved my chair back, standing up. “Goodbye.”

He smiled again and gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

We walked together through the restaurant. I expected it to be awkward, but it wasn’t. Not exactly.

When we stepped into the cooling evening air, Isaac walked beside me. He didn’t say anything until we were halfway to the parking lot.

“You know, the last time I saw you, your dad made us all sing that godawful carol he wrote himself.”

I groaned, unable to help laughing. “‘Merry Little Billionaire Christmas.’”

“That’s the one,” Isaac said, grinning. “It was so bad. Your cousin tried to fake a stomachache to get out of it.”

“Honestly? Respect,” I said, shaking my head. “We all should’ve followed his lead.”

Isaac chuckled. It was an easy sound, and against my better judgment, I found myself smiling.

When we reached my car, he stopped and turned toward me.

“It was good seeing you, Mina,” he said, genuine for once. “No worries about bailing. I get it. Our parents can be persistent. I don’t know your story, but I’m guessing your dad pushed you into this like mine did to me.”

He wasn’t wrong.

We were from the same world. The same pressures. The same expectation to perform, to be perfect, to follow the life script handed to us without complaint. I felt a sharp, surprising flare of kinship with him.

“Goodnight,” Isaac said, starting to turn away.

Before I could think better of it, I blurted, “Wait.”

He paused, looking back at me over his shoulder.

“Maybe…” I hesitated. “Maybe sharing dinner together couldn’t hurt. It’ll satisfy our fathers. Get them off our asses. We can go back to our lives.”

For a second, he just blinked at me. Then that cocky smile came roaring back to life.

“Lead the way, princess.”

We headed back inside.

Our table was already gone. I turned toward Isaac to suggest we just cut our losses?—

But he was already turning on the charm. Again.

“Hey,” he said smoothly to the hostess, who practically swooned at the sound of his voice. “You don’t happen to have a better table for us, do you?”

She bit her lip and nodded so fast I thought she might snap her neck. “Right this way, Mr. Bancroft.”

I rolled my eyes but followed him outside to the patio.

And okay, it was stunning.

The sun was setting, creating the perfect soft lighting. Tiny fairy lights twined through the trellises above us. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and something spicy from the kitchen.

The hostess handed us menus with a lingering touch on Isaac’s arm, which he either didn’t notice or was too used to it to care.

I shook my head and sank into my chair.

Isaac ordered us both a drink—the signature cocktail, apparently—which arrived in crystal glasses dusted with edible glitter and real gold flakes.

It was absurdly over the top, and yet somehow perfect for this strange, surreal night.

This was our world. Looking at Isaac, I get the feeling he feels like a square peg.

Me too. It’s a glamorous world with plenty of perks and I know we’re fortunate, but it comes with plenty of traps as well.

He raised his glass to me. “To bad dates that don’t totally suck.”

I clinked mine against his, laughing despite myself.

The coconut shrimp arrived not long after. It was perfectly crisp, drizzled with some kind of spicy-sweet sauce. I realized I was hungrier than I thought.

For a few minutes, we just ate, not talking much, and it was surprisingly easy.

Across the table, Isaac flipped open the wine menu, studying it with exaggerated seriousness.

“You know, you don’t have to flirt with every woman you see.”

He looked up, one brow raised. “But where’s the fun in that?”

I laughed, a real one this time. Light and surprised. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning.

I sat back in my chair, sipping my drink, watching Isaac pretend to agonize over wine choices like it was a matter of national importance.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so horrible after all.

Maybe, against all odds, I might actually have a nice evening.