The photo is from what I can only assume is a debutante ball. She’s wearing a ridiculous white dress that looks like an over-frosted wedding cake. Her smile is small. Reluctant. Her eyes are blue, crystal clear like a perfect spring sky. Her hair is blonde and done up in the most elaborate style it overwhelms her small features.
I prefer brunettes. Happy, sexy-as-fuck brunettes who know how to have a good time and laugh a lot. Redheads too. I don’t discriminate.
Well, I might discriminate against grumpy-looking blondes who seem pissed at the world.
“She looks like an angry virgin,” I finally say, my gaze still on the photo.
“Perry,” Mother admonishes.
Winston smothers a laugh.
“Didn’t she refuse to dance with every guy who asked her the night of her debut?” I remember reading something about this. My mother and Winston share a look, but don’t answer me. “Yeah, pretty sure she even turned down her father. Bet that pissed him off.”
“None of that matters,” Mother says. “I’m sure she’s changed.”
Yeah, right.
I toss the photo onto the table, immediately banishing her face from my thoughts. “She’s not my type.”
“If she spreads her legs, she’s your type,” Winston says gruffly.
I’m both flattered and insulted by his statement. He knows I can get pussy. I used to take any pussy I could get when I was younger, but I’m more discriminating now.
I use restraint. I’m not out of control like I used to be.
I ignore what he says, focusing on Mother. “I don’t like blondes, especially ones I don’t know.”
“You’ll get to know her.”
“Between the gossip about her and that photo, I don’t want to.”
Her lips thin. “You don’t have a choice. The contract has already been signed.”
What the fuck? A contract? “Not by me.”
“The deal isn’t between you and Charlotte. It’s between me and her father,” she says, as if that’s that. I’m going to agree because I always agree. Caroline Constantine’s most dutiful son is about to marry a woman he doesn’t even know.
“I’m an adult,” I remind her. “You can’t just marry me off to some random woman. I won’t do it.”
“You will,” Mother says firmly.
“No.” I shake my head. “Excuse my language, Mother, but fuck that. People don’t do this kind of shit. Not these days.”
“You’d be surprised,” she says cryptically, raising a single brow.
“Well, I’m not doing it.” I grab the photo and shove it back into the folder, slapping it shut before I push it across the table toward my mother. “Absolutely not. I refuse.”
“Perry. Darling. Please. Listen to me.” She ignores the rejected folder, her gaze never wavering from mine. “I need you to do this. For me. For our family. This is a power merger of two very established families, the likes which haven’t been seen in years. Fifty? Maybe even a hundred. When we come together, we’ll become a force to be reckoned with…”
“And we’ll be able to conquer the Morellis once and for all,” Win finishes for her. “And anyone else who attempts to come for us.”
I turn on my brother, incensed. “You actually believe this is a good idea?”
He’s quiet for a moment, as if searching for the right words to use. “I think it could be advantageous, yes.”
His answer feels like a betrayal. A slap in my face. Easy for them to say I should do this when they’re the ones who don’t have to marry a complete stranger.
“What if there’s a woman in my life already? What then? Am I supposed to tell her, ‘Sorry, babe, gotta marry someone else because Mommy says so’? How’s that going to fly with my girlfriend?” I ask, making up this shit as I go along.