Finally, the edge comes off my hunger. “What’s that?” I gesture at the papers.
“The contract for that investment,” Bethany answers without looking up. She jots something down in a spiral notebook. “My web comic thing.”
“Any problems
?” I ask. Her brows are pinched with more than just concentration.
“It’s just so…grabby. It’s like nothing I create would be my own anymore. Ditto for the other artists I want to showcase. I can’t have that. I need to talk to my lawyer about it.” She purses her mouth.
“Can’t you just walk away? You can just raise the capital you need through crowd funding.”
She shakes her head. “It isn’t that simple. I’ll owe them fifty thousand dollars in a break-up fee.”
My jaw slackens. “Oh my gosh.”
“It’s my fault. I should’ve read the initial agreement more carefully. I was so excited that I basically skimmed it.”
Oliver squeezes her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Anybody in your position would’ve done the same.”
I nod. “What your wise husband said. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it work. You’re too smart not to.”
“Thanks,” Bethany says. Her chin firms a bit. “And you’re right. I will.” She returns to the contract.
I munch on the food, watching my stepsister. No matter what she faces, I know she’ll find a way through. She’s the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be…but somehow can’t seem to manage to become.
Chapter Eight
Paige
The next day, the house is empty after breakfast. Oliver went to work, and Bethany went to see her lawyer.
I sit on the IKEA couch and tap my knees. Not having anything to do feels really weird. Normally, I’m on call even on weekends and have errands to run on Ryder’s behalf. Once we got engaged, I spent most of my time being dragged around by his personal shopper and fashion consultant. To have an entire day when I don’t have to be anywhere or deal with anybody? It feels like I stepped through a portal into some alternate universe.
A dark remote on the coffee table catches my attention. I start to flip through the channels, then stop when a show mentions me and Ryder.
The well-dressed hosts with perfect makeup and perfect hair and perfectly bleached teeth talk about us like we’re some kind of gossip topic. I guess we are, except I’ve never been in this kind of situation before.
They speculate about why Ryder is marrying me—probably the baby, and they talk about why I should be careful because things like that surely can’t last even if the man in question is known for donating huge sums of money to help underprivileged women and children.
“I mean, there’s a big difference between donating once in a while and dealing with it yourself every day for the next eighteen years,” says a blue-eyed blonde who looks positively gleeful.
“At least it solves the mystery of why he’s marrying her,” a brunette says. “It was on a lot of people’s minds.”
Bitch.
Fat cow.
Beached whale.
And so many other hateful things said about me online flood my mind. My hands start shaking, and I turn the TV off. I don’t need the stress.
The doorbell rings. Grateful for something to do, I get up. It’s probably a delivery man, but I check through the peephole anyway.
Standing outside is Elliot Reed. I open the door.
He’s in a white t-shirt and denim shorts, his feet stuck in black flip-flops. A pair of sunglasses dangles from one hand.
Despite the fact that he’s Ryder’s half-brother, they look nothing alike. I heard that he takes after his mother, who was Wife Number Two. His hair is dark, but compared to Ryder’s it’s a shade or two lighter. He also didn’t get the classic Pryce profile with those perfect, aristocratic lines. But he’s still a striking man, with even features and a charming smile.