Not that he believed that bullshit. Age didn’t matter as much as experience. Hell, there were days he looked in the mirror and expected to glimpse a bent, wizened old man instead of his thirty-year-old self.
“I could accept that if I weren’t the only grandchild hit with that proviso. Doug and Christina might both be married, but neither of them had that particular restriction on their inheritance. Just me.”
“Why?” he demanded.
Confusion and anger sparked inside him. He was familiar with Reagan’s older brother and younger sister, and both were normal, nice people. Maybe a little too nice and, well, boring. But Reagan? She was the perfect image of a Royal socialite—composed, well-mannered and well-spoken, serving on several committees, free of the taint of scandal, reputation beyond reproach. So what the hell?
She didn’t immediately reply but stared at him for several long moments. “Most people would’ve asked what I did to earn that censure.”
“I’m not most people, Ray,” he growled.
“No, you’re not,” she murmured, scanning his face, and then, she shook her head. “The why doesn’t really matter, does it? What does matter is that at twenty-six, I’m in this holding pattern. Where I can see everyone else enjoying the lives they’ve carved out for themselves—and I can’t move. Either I chain myself to a man I barely know and don’t love to access my inheritance. Or I stay here, static for another four years while my own dreams, my own needs and wants wither and die on the vine.”
Once more, she’d adopted that placid tone, but this time, Ezekiel caught the bright slashes of hurt, the red tinge of anger underneath it.
“I’m more than just the daughter of Douglas Sinclair. I’m more than just the member of this and that charity committee. Not that I’m denigrating their work. It’s just... I want to...be free,” she whispered, and he sensed that she hadn’t meant for that to slip. For him to hear it.
What did she mean by free? Not for the first time, he sensed Reagan’s easygoing, friendly mask hid deeper waters. Secrets. He didn’t trust secrets. They had a way of turning around and biting a person in the ass. Or knocking a person on it.
“Surely your father can find a way around the will. Especially if it seems to penalize you but not your brother or sister,” he argued, his mind already contemplating obtaining a copy of the document and submitting it to Wingate Enterprises’s legal department to determine what, if anything, could be done. Some loophole.
“My father doesn’t want to find a way around it,” she admitted softly, but the confession damn near rocked him back on his heels. “My grandmother did add a codicil. She left it up to my father’s discretion to enforce the stipulation. He could release the money to me now or respect her wishes. He’s decided he’d rather see me married and settled. Taken care of, are his words. As if I’m a child to be passed from one guardian to another like luggage. Or a very fragile package.” She chuckled, and the heaviness of it, the sadness of it, was a fist pressed against Ezekiel’s chest. “That’s not far off, actually.”
Understanding dawned, and with it came the longing to grab Douglas Sinclair by his throat.
“So that’s what the introductions to man after man were about?” he asked.
“The night of James Harris’s party?” She nodded. “Yes. And the not-so-subtle invites to our home for dinner. In the last week, there have been three. I feel like a prized car on an auction block. God, it’s humiliating.” For the first time, fire flashed under that calm, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to applaud the emotion or draw her into his arms to bank it. He did neither, retaining that careful distance away from her. “I just want to yell screw it all and walk away completely. No money, no husband I don’t want. But...”
“But family loyalty is a bitch.”
A smile ghosted over her lips. “God, yes. And a mean, greedy one to boot.”
“Ray.” That smile. The awful resignation in it... He couldn’t not touch her any longer. Crossing the small distance he’d placed between them, he cupped the back of her neck, drawing her close. Placing a kiss to the side of her head, he murmured, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Family can be our biggest blessing and our heaviest burden.”
Brushing his lips over her hair one last time, he dropped his arm and shifted backward again. Ignoring how soft her hair had been against his mouth. Or how his palm itched with the need to reshape itself around her nape again. How he resisted the urge to rub his hand against his leg to somehow erase the feel of her against his skin. “Whatever you decide, make sure it’s the best decision for you. This life is entirely too short to deal with regrets.”
Her lashes lowered, but not before he caught a glint of emotion in her eyes.
Oh yes. Secrets definitely dwelled there.
“Regrets,” she repeated in her low, husky tone. “Yes. Wouldn’t want those.” Shaking her head, she smiled, but it didn’t reach the gaze he stared down into. “I need to go. A meeting. Take care of yourself, Zeke,” she said.
With a small wave, she turned and strode down the cemented path, her hips a gentle sway beneath the flowing material of her dress. Tearing his regard from her slender, curvaceous form, he returned it to the grave in front of him. But his mind remained with the woman who’d just walked away from him and not the one lying in the ground at his feet.
I chain myself to a man I barely know and don’t love to access my inheritance.
I stay here, static for another four years while my own dreams, my own needs and wants wither and die on the vine.
Her words whirled in his head like a raging storm, its winds refusing to die down. And in the midst of it was his own advice.
This life is entirely too short to deal with regrets.
He should know; he had so many of them. Not calling his parents and telling them he loved them more often. Not being more insistent that Melissa spend the night at his house instead of driving home that night. Not letting his uncle Trent know how much he appreciated all that he’d done for Luke a
nd Ezekiel before he died.
Not being able to turn this WinJet disaster around for the company.