Lucas shrugs. “Dad practically demanded it.”
“Did you guys get invited to the wedding too?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah,” Elliot says.
I scowl. “I thought he stopped inviting you to his weddings.” After Betsy married his half-brother. It’s too bad Dad doesn’t have another brother for Mom to marry. Then maybe we would’ve been spared the multiple nuptial bullshit as well.
“His wife wanted it.” Elliot sighs. “No idea why.”
The door opens again, and this time Dad walks in. He’s in black and white, his strides unusually long for a man of such modest height. His mouth is set in a nasty snarl, and he doesn’t even look at us.
A brunette who looks like she’s barely out of high school follows him in a bright magenta dress that comes to mid-thigh. She carries a huge purse, though for what reason, I can’t tell.
Maybe she’s another of those women who can’t spell “asshole” right.
I dismiss her without a second thought. Wife Number Six w
on’t stay around for long. Within half a year, Dad will get bored. Then she will be crying into crumpled divorce settlement papers, which will leave her with virtually nothing.
Dad spins around once he reaches his desk. His splayed fingertips rest on the smooth wooden surface as he leans forward. “I’ve never been so ashamed!”
Why, nice to see you too, Dad.
“What’s the problem?” Blake says, his voice hard but no less polite for it.
“You! You all not showing up at your own father’s wedding!”
“We”—I make a small circle with my index finger to include Blake and Elizabeth—“had to go to Mark’s wedding.” I should stop at that, but I can’t help myself. “It was his first.”
Wife Number Six gives me an open-mouthed, disbelieving stare. “It was my first too!” She has an usually high voice.
“I would hope so. Child brides are frowned upon,” Blake says.
Elizabeth coughs, and I suck my cheeks in. Elliot stares at the ceiling. Lucas merely smirks.
“I told all my friends all of you were coming.” Wife Number Six’s hand, however, gestures at me.
Ah. Now things are becoming clearer. I give her my most sympathetic smile. “I can send everyone an autographed poster. Just email my assistant their names and addresses.”
“Nowhere near good enough,” Dad says. “I’ve let you run wild for too long.”
Elizabeth’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She’s probably wondering which part of organizing charity events and feeding the hungry he considers “running wild.”
“Too wild…for too long!” Dad waves a hand. Agitated. “And I want to see all of you repent!”
Repent. Seriously? Wow.
“You’ll marry in the next six months,” he continues. “And you’ll stay married for at least a year.”
“And why would we want to do that?” Blake asks.
“Because”—Dad’s smile turns angelic, and goosebumps rise on the back of my neck; he only smiles like that before he goes for the jugular—“if you don’t, I’m going to donate your grandfather’s portraits of you to museums all over the world. You will never be able to own them.”
There is a moment of absolute stillness in the room. My mind runs like a speeding train about to derail. The painting…the painting that I set aside a special place for in my home for the time it would finally be mine. No way is Dad going to give it away! Over my dead fucking body!
All of us erupt at once, like a nuke landing on a volcano.
“You can’t do that!” Elliot shouts.