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EMORY

I watch my dad flip through the architect’s plans on Tuesday, sitting on my hands to keep them from trembling. I hate being in his office at the casino. It smells like cigarette smoke and desperation. I force myself to focus on the numbers I memorized, in case he has questions.

This is it. Either he approves the funds or he doesn’t and I go down with the ship. The revenue projections are there, along with the sales projections if we sell off even half of our acreage, and I’m hoping it will convince him.

“Did you account for building materials?” Dad asks, stabbing one large finger at the page. He has a head for numbers, but not like I do.

“Yes.” My voice comes out strong, thank god. “The projections are conservative. It assumes 25 percent year-over-year growth and a 4 percent increase in prices of building supplies from now until completion.”

He makes a considering sound before his eyes lift.

He steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair, the universal sign for I’m about to drop something on you.

It’s the same look he had when he told us about Aiden’s family ruining ours.

The same one when he gently explained to me at sixteen that having a crush on Aiden Prince was Not Acceptable.

That look makes my whole body tense like I’m eighteen and I just crashed his car.

“Tell me about the land,” he says. “How is it that you’re getting it from Aiden?”

“With Aiden,” I correct before I take a long breath. “I’m getting it with Aiden because we found the deed I told you about. A married Prince and Hunter get the land.”

His eyes narrow. “And he won’t try to fight you on it?”

“No.” I shake my head. “He actually let me pick our parcel first. He’s trustworthy, Dad. I’m a good judge of character. You know that.”

My father’s brows go up, but he nods. “Generous of him. How long do you need to be married?”

I bite my lip, and Dad gives me an amused look. “I know it’s not real, Em. It’s obvious you don’t know each other. Clever, though.” His voice is approving. Clever is a compliment in Dominick Hunter’s world.

I sigh before I admit, “Just until the paperwork goes through the court. And don’t say anything. We need the judge to believe the marriage is real.”

“And then you’ll divorce him, right?” His eyes bore into mine, like he can see the discomfort those words cause. There’s no reason for me to hesitate, though. Aiden and I agreed on the timeline on the first day.

“Right.” The words don’t sound certain, and my dad clearly notices.

“You are going to divorce him, right, Emory?”

I press my palms together between my legs. I am divorcing Aiden.

“I won’t have him involved in the business,” my dad warns. “I won’t let him have power over anyone in this family. Him or his grandfather.”

“Of course not,” I say in a rush. “I would never stay married to him. That was never the plan.”

There’s a pounding in my chest. My knee bounces under the table. This feels wrong. All of this feels fucking wrong.

Do I even want this anymore?

Would I trade all of this for Aiden? Would I trade all of this for something else?

No.

I’m just in my head because things are getting tough. I need to stay focused. I’m so close to being on top.

My dad runs a hand over his hair. “I never wanted this for you, Em,” he says tiredly. “I never wanted you to be part of their world. I spent half my life vying for their approval unsuccessfully.” He smiles ruefully. “I should have spent that time building my business.”

Something twists in my stomach. “This isn’t that, Dad. We’re building something for ourselves, not for them.”

The look on his face says he doesn’t believe me, but he nods. “These projections would lead to a massive increase in income . If we do this. I can’t ignore it. You did good, kid.” I smile, but he shakes his head in warning. “I’m not agreeing yet.”

“Okay.” I bite my lip while hope surges through me.

He leans forward and taps the papers. “And I’m not building anything with a Prince involved. You divorce him, Emory, or this doesn’t happen.”

“Of course,” I say quietly.

Wrong, my body screams. Wrong.

“Maybe marry a nice Italian boy,” he says with a smile.

“Ew. I don’t want a guy like Benny or Andreas. No thank you.”

My dad chuckles. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for any of my kids.”

I feel sick as I walk back to my office.

This is what will make me happy.

So why do I feel like crying?