Olivia Tyler gives me the cold shoulder for nearly four weeks. It’s his immature way of making his displeasure known over my refusal to apologize to Brielle. He doesn’t seem to realize that adults behave differently. But at least it gave me a month of peace and quiet. The point is to get married, not be all lovey-dovey. I’m busy with my own life and business, and don’t have time to coddle his bruised ego. Plus, I’m sure Brielle is doing a great job of that. For all I know they’ve already been sle eping together, although maybe they take breaks on the weekends. He’s busy living it up in Vegas on Saturdays, according to photos on his Instagram. Nothing overt, but just enough to clue me in that he’s been gambling. Good for him. Hope he never comes out of the den. But after the wedding. Can’t have him disappearing before then. Ideally, I’d never run into Brielle or anyone else from my so-called family. But I still drag myself to San Marino two weeks before the ceremony for the pre-wedding brunch Deena insisted on. “It’s so important for mothers of brides to be in volved.” Exc ept she isn’t my mother—just Hugh’s mistress, who usurped what rightfully belonged to Mom and me. And she said it while teetering like she was drunk. Still, she struts around as though she’s some kind of conquering hero. As far as she’s concerned, banging a moneyed man is winning at life, even if the money’s coming from his late wife. After putting on my battle outfit—a tailored wine-colored jumpsuit—I drive my gray Audi to the mansion where I grew up. When I turned eighteen, I moved out and have avoided returning as much as possible ever since. The place just holds too much unresolved heartbreak and grief and fury. The original wrought-iron gates still have the Whitmore family monogram—that Deena wouldn’t dare touch, too afraid of neighbors gossiping. A top-tier lawyer like John Highsmith, who’s the trustee for the Whitmore family’s money, would have other clients in the area. White oaks older than the mansion form a giant canopy over the driveway. They’ve been guarding the house and its occupants for generations. If they could talk, they’d rage at the injustice against Mom. Her only fault was marrying a man like Hugh. She should’ve never fallen for a penniless man whose only assets were a pretty face and a mouth full of clever lies. I narrow my eyes briefly at the sight of Tyler climbing out of a shiny black Mercedes. Guess he decided to show up rather than hold on to his petty displeasure. Or maybe he wants to inventory my family assets with more care. He’s never been invited to the mansion until now. Today he’s casual, in a pale green polo shirt and khakis. His neatly cropped hair is styled, but not slicked back, the look he favors for work. He purses his mouth and gives me a long stare, like he expects me to come over and make the first overture. I pretend to not notice and study the enormous central fountain, which sits silently. When the water shot high and the time of the day was just right, the angle of the sunlight hitting the water droplets made little rainbows across the garden. Mom and I used to blow bubbles and run around it when I was little. Carefree laughter rang in the air endlessly back then. Pochi would join us after we got her. She was just a puppy then, brimming with endless energy. The fountain broke the same day Brielle “accidentally” ran over Pochi while driving with a learner’s permit. The corner is still cracked from the impact because Hugh and Deena never bothered to fix it. The water smells of stagnation and
neglect. The stringy black and green algae sway like the hair on a drowned woman. I stand right on the spot where Pochi’s blood pooled. It’s gone now. Deena was quick to have it scrubbed clean, as though it could erase what she and her daughter owe me. A futile attempt. I plan to collect every bit of the debt—plus interest. I forcibly relax my jaw and hands, push down the old pain and grief. That dog was the last real family I had left, the only one I could give all my heart to. Even now, I blame myself for loving her too much, drawing Brielle’s attention. She’s never seen anything of mine she didn’t want. If she can’t take it, she destroys it. And unlike fickle boyfriends, Pochi was loyal. A mental image of Liam appears. He rebuffed Brielle, just like Pochi always did. If I asked him for help... He’d agree. My gut says so. But that would put a big target on his back. Brielle would try to tempt him—and if that failed, hurt him the way she hurt Pochi. A sour tang fills my mouth, cold sweat dampening my palms. I take a few de ep and steadying breaths. I’m not a helpless young girl anymore. I’ve amassed a small fortune behind my enemies’ backs, laid all but one piece on the board so I can make my moves. My revenge won’t be pretty. It will be catastrophic. And I want as few people as possible to see how it’s executed. Sausages are only good when you don’t know how they’re made. Liam is the last person who should see the ugly process. Tyler finally comes over. “Hey,” he says stiffly. “Hey,” I say, still staring at the fountain. “How long has it been broken?” “About thirteen years.” “Too complicated to fix?” “No. Just couldn’t arrange for a convenient time.” I turn and face him. My sky-high stilettos have raised me eye-to-eye, no need to crane my neck. “It isn’t a difficult or expensive r epair. Maybe fifty-k?” I shrug, casually throwing out a sum big enough to snag his attention. His eyes flash with calculation. He looks around the garden and the fountain again. He probably didn’t do well in Vegas. The house always wins —it’s a cliché, but it’s also a mathematical truth. He has to marry strategically to cover his losses. Time for me to show him that going along with the bride swap is the correct move. “Let’s go in,” I say, interrupting his mental math. He nods, putting a hand at the small of my back. Guess he finally remembered I’m his fiancée. We st ep past the giant navy door, and I shift so the angle of our bodies makes it awkward for him to continue holding his hand there. No sign of the staff. Deena doesn’t cook, so she likely made them pr epare everything and then leave. Best not to have witnesses when she and Brielle are planning to pull something sneaky. The main house no longer smells like the fresh roses and beeswax of my childhood. Now it’s artificial air freshener as cheap as the interloper herself. Inhaling de eply to stop a scream welling in my chest, I close my eyes briefly at the sight of all the flashy gold-foiled furniture. What couldn’t be covered in gold—like the throw pillows—is covered in an awful faux leopard print. Maybe I should be grateful she didn’t drape the house with blinking lights as well. “Wow,” Tyler breathes in awe. It takes all my self-control not to roll my eyes. I chose him for crassness hidden underneath a pretty wrapping, but being next to his naked avarice is still painful. Eyes on the prize, Olivia. “This is incredible. Is everything real gold?” “Yes,” I say. “And with the price of gold being what it is, the furniture has appreciated quite a bit over the years.” My sarcasm flies right over his head. “Damn!” he says with the joy of a man discovering a pirate’s treasure. “Amazing.” A corner of my mouth starts to curl in contempt, but I quickly mask it with a proud smile. “But this isn’t really that much. The real
value is in the antiques. Those, we ke ep hidden. Too valuable to be seen.” “You have antiques?” “Yeah. Mostly Victorian, I think? And some Ming vases. Have you ever seen one? They’re stunning.” Tyler perks up. “Wasn’t there one that got auctioned for, like, twenty million?” “Twenty-one. At Christie’s.” He licks his lips. Doubt he realizes it, though. Just how much does he owe the casinos? Some of them aren’t known for civilized collection. “Oh my goodness, why didn’t you announce yourself, Olivia?” comes Deena’s overly bright voice. She trots toward us in a magenta satin dress too tight to be worn in public and black heels more befitting a stripper than the mother of the would-be bride. She looks exactly like Brielle, if you aged my half-sister about two decades. The copper hair has been dyed to look more golden, and she’s styled it into a French twist. At least her makeup is respectable, although the glittery green eyeshadow is more suitable for a teenager than a woman in her fifties. But underneath all that must be something that caught and k ept Hugh’s interest—mutual trashiness, possibly...? “We’ve been waiting for you.” “Sorry, but you apparently dismissed the staff for the day. Nobody could tell us where you were.” She lets out a gratingly cheery laugh. “Oh no, this is just family. I didn’t want too many servants around, although Mrs. Moore is in the kitchen, just in case.” I say nothing. Our longtime houseke eper wasn’t home when Mom fell down the stairs. But she’s always been loyal, slipping me extra snacks whenever she could. I’ve quit interacting with her much because Deena and Brielle don’t like it when the household staff treats me with kindness, and I don’t want Mrs. Moore to be put in a difficult situation. She has a son with a congenital heart condition, and she needs the health insurance from her job because her husband is a freelancer without benefits. Deena looks at Tyler with an expectant gaze. “You understand, don’t you?” “Of course, ma’am.” He gives her an ingratiating smile as she puts a hand over her impressive bosom. She gained a couple of cup sizes in the last fifteen years. The magic of Beverly Hills surgeons. “Let’s eat. Brielle’s waiting, too.” She leads us to the main dining room, as though she’s the rightful mistress of the house. I paste on a smile, all the while imagining how her expression will change when she realizes she won’t be living here anymore. Soon. Within a year, I’m going to make her, Hugh, and Brielle tear their hair out in regret over messing with me and my family. They’ll end up living a life worse than death. After all, losing something is worse than never having had it at all. Deena k ept the original cherry table and the wide-plank wood floor in the formal dining room. Unfortunately, that’s where her restraint ended. Bitter hatred thumps in my chest at the degradation she’s brought upon my childhood home. A polyester gold damask tablecloth covers the beautiful wood. The gorgeous, whimsical wavy glass on the Palladian windows that face the garden has been r eplaced by clear modern panes. Even the candle-style armed chandelier didn’t survive her destructive drive. The new crystal one is so big and ostentatious, she might as well have hung a disco ball. The garden no longer blooms with the gorgeous mauve and white roses Mom took such meticulous care of. Instead, pots and pots of purple phalaenopsis orchids sit outside. Deena probably heard somewhere that rich people have that particular orchid in their homes and decided to have them, too, exc ept they don’t do well in the L. A. climate. I actually feel sorry for the gardener—and the flowers. But maybe it’s better this way. It won’t bring back the sweet childhood memories of my time with Mom and my close friends. I used to invite them
over for tea parties and more. One of the girls, London, never missed one. But everything ended when Mom was gone. Deena wouldn’t let me have any friends over, saying it’d create too much work for the staff. Now that I’m older, I can see that she probably just wanted me isolated and helpless. Hugh is already at the head of the table. The man still has a pretty face —lined now, slightly leathered from playing too much golf under the sun. Laugh lines fan from the corners of his pale gray eyes, but then why wouldn’t he be happy? He’s living off the trust of his late wife, who he cheated on for over a decade. And he dyes his hair. On weekends he prefers lounging around in shorts, but since Tyler’s visiting, he’s put on long jeans and a button-down shirt in the same shade of green as Deena’s eyeshadow. At least it isn’t glittery, thank God. “Olivia!” Hugh says with a beaming smile. He spreads his arms, trying to hug me. I take a st ep back, as though moving closer to Tyler. “Hello, Hugh.” He lets out a laugh. “Come on, I’ve told you you should continue calling me Daddy.” Who is he fooling? He quit being Daddy the moment his mistress and their bastard child barged into my home. “I’m almost thirty.” And you’re responsible for my mom’s death. The overly warm smile doesn’t falter as he shakes Tyler’s hand. “As if that means anything,” he says, rolling his eyes at Tyler to convey my intransigent silliness. “You’ll always be my little girl.” You mean your meal ticket. If he could continue to get money from the trust without me around, he would’ve gotten rid of me. Or at least Deena and Brielle would have. Sadly for them, my grandparents were clever when they set up the Whitmore dynasty trust. Hugh only gets to live in the mansion and collect a generous income, but he doesn’t own any of it. Once I get married and have a child, the trust passes everything to me, and he loses the fortune and lifestyle he’s grown accustomed to. But he can’t afford to harm me or interfere with my inheritance either. If he or anyone on his side dares, the trust automatically cuts him off. Should I die without an heir, the entire trust goes to a charitable foundation. Hugh’s only option is to ke ep me alive, unmarried and childless forever. Tyler grins, gazing at Hugh like he’s the best kind of dad. But then, I didn’t pick him for his cognitive brilliance. I glance around, wondering where Brielle is. There’s no way she would miss this. Not only does she thrive on hurting me, she’s the attack dog that allows Hugh and Deena to appear innocent and harmless. “Tyler!” Brielle calls out cheerily, entering the dining hall fashionably late. Everything about her screams look at me: giant diamond earrings dangling from her ears, a tight red tube top, the bare toned midriff and a purple micromini skirt that shows off her slim, tanned legs. Her shoes look just like Deena’s, only in a fire engine red. She hugs him, arching to ensure she presses her breasts against his torso. Tyler flushes and hugs her back just as tightly. Bet he’s really feeling her chest. “Hi, Brielle.” “I’m hungry,” I say, tired of the performative familial bond. All the players are present, so it’s time to move on to the next phase. “Of course. What am I thinking? Let’s eat.” Deena gestures at me to take a seat in the third chair from Hugh’s left. Tyler pulls out a chair to Hugh’s immediate left for Brielle, who takes it with a satisfied grin. Only then does Tyler situate himself between the two of us, like some kind of harem king with sisters on either side. Pathetic. Deena’s smile is so wide, it nearly splits her over-Botoxed face. Whatever. I study the spread. Sparkling water in champagne flutes, each with a tiny cube of ice. This is going to be an... interesting brunch. And very Deena. Everyone starts eating as truffle deviled eggs and panfried Korean mandus are served. “Try those Korean dumplings. They’re all the rage now!” Deena says, as though noticing my gaze.
I give her a bland smile. “Thanks. I can see you’ve put a lot of effort and thought into the menu. It’s very you, Deena.” She falters, unsure if I’m complimenting or disrespecting her, then pastes on a smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t do any less for you and Tyler.” Her eyes are on mine, but the emphasis is on Tyler. “I can’t wait for the wedding!” Brielle says, serving several mandus for herself and Tyler. “Neither can I. What the Whitmore fortune needs is a good, considerate steward of its future.” I ke ep my tone airy and innocent. Deena doesn’t miss a beat, although her eyes glint with some unholy anticipation. “Exactly!” “You think you’re ready?” Hugh says finally. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I ke ep my voice calm. “Because you’re just a low-level manager at some boring little wedding company? It’s so pathetic, they couldn’t even plan a decent ceremony for you.” Brielle’s sweet tone belies the barbs. Tyler doesn’t react. Hugh sips his sparkling water, and Deena watches me with avid interest. Wedding...? I almost smile. Brielle thinks she’s so clever, but she lacks imagination and can only see what’s obvious. To her, Ever After can only be a wedding company. It must’ve never occurred to her it can apply to death as well. Shocking, since she caused my mom’s death and then later ran over my dog. Since I was ten, I haven’t been able to see my mom again. I wasn’t even able to say a final goodbye because Hugh and Deena cremated her so hurriedly. “I’m sure at some point, I’ll need their service. It just isn’t the time yet,” I say mildly. “One of these days, even you’ll want to reach out to them about their offerings.” “Ha! Never.” Tyler suddenly flinches, as though something bit him, his knuckles going white around his fork. Deena and Brielle exchange glances. I stifle a laugh. It’s one of Brielle’s classic moves—running her toes along my guy’s leg while he’s sitting next to me. I feign ignorance and sip the sparkling water. “So. Where’s the honeymoon?” Hugh asks abruptly. “Cancun,” I say. He frowns. “That’s so plebeian. At least go for Laucala Island.” “It’s Dietrich Mateschitz’s son’s private island. Totally exclusive, and only like fifty-k a night,” Brielle adds, in case I didn’t know. Or maybe it’s for Tyler’s benefit because he immediately forgets her toes and straightens his back. She opens her mouth again, but before she can continue, Mrs. Moore appears to clear the table, r eplacing the previous dishes with eggs Benedict and wagyu beef sliders on brioche. My eyebrows twitch at the mismatched menu, but I hide my reaction and turn to Brielle once she’s gone. “You were saying?” “I think you should go there. Tyler deserves it.” I press my lips together to stop myself from bursting out laughing. Tyler deserves it? I put on a pitiful expression I’ve mastered over the years. “I’d love to, but how am I going to afford that? I only get a pittance from the trust.” “Oh, that’s too bad. Dad said he’s sending me for my honeymoon when I get married,” Brielle adds, looking at me with feigned guilelessness. I can practically hear the gears in Tyler’s head whirring as he soaks in the information. Hugh, Deena and Brielle are doing everything they can to show Tyler that choosing me won’t give him the kind of life he expects from snagging an heiress. After all, it’s in their best interest to ensure I never marry. Although Deena grumbles endlessly about the “measly million”—ten percent of which must go to me—they get to live in the mansion for free. Plus, nobody can claim they live poorly on nine hundred thousand dollars a year. That’s why Brielle has been relentless about stealing my boyfriends— and now has her sights set on Tyler. I still remember how shocked she was when I introduced him as my fiancé; I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hide my amusement. She doesn’t know that she isn’t the only one getting married in a couple of weeks. I will be too—as soon as I decide on a groom. It isn’t easy to find a man
who fits all my criteria: emotionally detached, honest and without any bad habits, such as gambling or an inability to control himself. Brielle excels at baiting people, especially men, and I can’t have a fiancé who’ll fall into her traps. “Excuse me. I need to use the powder room,” I say. These people need some time alone with Tyler to seal the deal. I st ep out and linger in the hall for a few minutes to make it look like I’m actually using the bathroom. Deena has k ept most of the original paintings on the walls because they’re both priceless and collectible. She wouldn’t dare touch them or try to sell them, lest the trustee find out. Those three parasites live in fear of their money being cut off. I start to return quietly to the dining room, then slow down as voices drift from inside. “So all this is really yours?” Tyler’s voice. “Obviously,” Brielle says. “That’s why we live here while Olivia is on her own. We give her an allowance so she doesn’t have to struggle,” Hugh says, piling it on. “She really doesn’t need to live in such a horrible dump. This place is big enough for everyone. Fifteen thousand square feet, plus a guest house if she prefers more privacy.” Deena sniffles like it breaks her heart. I cock an eyebrow. When did Century City become a dump? I bought that penthouse fair and square, paid cash for it and put it under an LLC so these worms can’t link its ownership to me easily. “That’s really, uh, unfortunate.” Tyler clears his throat. “I guess I’ll just have to shower her with more care.” Oh Tyler. I chose you for your greed. Don’t develop a conscience now. I walk in with a bright smile, as though I haven’t heard anything. “Hey, what exciting conversation are you guys having?” “How come you never took me to your place?” Tyler asks, unable to hide the greedy evaluation lurking in his eyes. I glance at the three before answering him. “Well... Nobody’s ever visited. It’s really cramped, especially with all my stuff piled up inside.” “Ah.” Tyler’s voice is soft. But the math is finished. I look away to hide the triumph welling in my heart. Let the bride swap begin.