“Yes. I worked very closely with your father over the last five years. He was a great mentor to me. When we flew to different cities for meetings, we would gamble at other people’s casinos. It was the best way to learn from the competition. Robert was a great man. I miss him.”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice trembling. “Don’t. You don’t get to miss him. You don’t get to mourn him like I do. He’s not your father.”
The guilt immediately comes back. This man spent time with my father when I didn’t. I should have been there for him when he died. I should have gone to college closer
to home, so I could have spent more time with him. Instead, I was happy to get as far away as possible when my family suggested Yale.
“Oh, princess, I could never miss him like you do, but I still miss him.”
I freeze when he says the nickname he has adapted for me…except he didn’t come up with my name. My father did.
“You got it from him.”
His eyes narrow in response, but he has no clue what I’m talking about.
“You got the princess thing from my father. That’s all he ever called me. I’m sure if you hung out so much together, you heard him talk about me in that manner. Don’t call me princess—ever again.”
He looks sad when I say that, but I can’t deal with this. I can’t deal with the fact that he got to spend so much time with my father in his final years while I was away at school and got so little time. My life is not fair.
I feel the tears welling in my eyes, but I don’t let them out. Killian doesn’t deserve any of my tears. He doesn’t deserve to see me mourn a man who was mine, not his.
The waitress places our appetizer in front of us. It looks disgusting. A mush of stuff sits in the middle with raw carrots, cucumbers, and celeries lining the outside. I don’t touch it. Instead, I lift the wine glass back to my lips.
I have so many questions. I don’t even know where to start. So, I just sit and watch as Killian fills a plate with hummus and vegetables. Then, to my surprise, he places the plate in front of me before filling another one.
“Eat,” he says.
My stomach grumbles, so I do, but it’s not because he tells me to. I try the carrot in the mush. It’s not half bad, I realize, as I crunch on the vegetable, but I’m not going to let him know that.
“Ask me,” he says before taking a bite of his food.
“What?”
“Ask me everything.”
“When did you find out?” I ask hesitantly.
“When did I find out that your father wanted me to marry you before he would make me CEO?”
I nod, unable to say any words.
“Three years ago. It was when he promoted me to VP.”
My eyes are wide. He’s known for three years that he is going to marry me. He could have come up to me at any point in those three years and told me. He could have at least introduced himself to me. He could have done anything, but he didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He runs his hand through his hair, slightly messing it up, but somehow, it looks even better. “I wanted to. I learned a lot about you from your father. I stalked you on social media. I quickly realized that your father was right. You weren’t ready to meet me. You were too young and naive to meet whom you were supposed to marry. You’re still too young.”
“I am not!” I protest.
He smiles a smug smile. “Yes, you are.”
“Then, why did you agree to marry me if I’m so young and naive?”
“I haven’t yet.”
My eyes grow wide at his response.