"You're getting married, son. Congratulations."
I looked up from my laptop to find my father standing in the doorway of my office, that politician smile plastered on his face like he'd just told me I won the lottery instead of destroying my life.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I closed my laptop slowly, every muscle in my body tensing.
He tossed a tablet onto my desk, the screen showed a news article with a photo of me and some blonde girl I'd never met, photoshopped together under a headline announcing our engagement.
"This is insane." I shoved the tablet back at him. "I don't even know who this girl is."
"Summer Trudeau. Twenty-three, studied art history at Columbia, daughter of Sam Trudeau." My father sat down across from me, crossing his legs like we were discussing the weather. "You're marrying her next month."
"Like hell I am."
"Watch your tone, Richard." His voice dropped that friendly pretense. "This wedding is happening whether you like it or not."
I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. "You can't force me to marry some random girl."
"I'm not forcing you to do anything. I'm simply reminding you that your cooperation would be in your best interest." He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something. "The Trudeau family is providing substantial funding for my campaign and in exchange, you marry the daughter. It's a simple business arrangement."
"A business arrangement." I laughed but there was no humor in it. "You're selling me off for campaign money."
"Don't be dramatic, Richard at twenty-nine years old with no prospects and no direction. This marriage gives you purpose, gives you legitimacy, even the public loves a political romance." He stood, straightening his suit. "Besides, it's not like you have anything better lined up. What are you going to do, marry Jennifer?"
Jennifer is my girlfriend of three years. The woman I'd been planning to propose to next month.
"Jennifer and I are serious," I said. "I love her."
"Do you?" Something in his tone made my stomach drop. "That's interesting. Because she doesn't seem to feel the same way about you."
"What are you talking about?"
He pulled up something on his phone and turned it toward me. There were photos of Jennifer and some man at a restaurant, holding hands, going into a hotel and they were all Timestamped from last week when she'd told me she was visiting her sister.
"Who is he?" My voice came out flat.
"Does it matter?" My father pocketed his phone. "The point is, your girlfriend has been cheating on you for months. So let's not pretend this marriage is ruining some great love story."
The room felt too small suddenly. Jennifer had been cheating on me, all those weekends visiting family were all lies.
"I want to see more of those photos," I said.
"Why torture yourself?"
"Show me."
He sighed like I was being difficult but pulled his phone back out. I scrolled through what had to be dozens of photos of jennifer with this mystery man at different restaurants, different hotels, different—
I stopped breathing.
In one of the photos, the man's face was clearly visible as he kissed Jennifer outside some hotel.
It was my father.
"You." The word came out like a growl. "You're sleeping with my girlfriend."
He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "Jennifer is an ambitious woman. She knows who can actually help her career."
I lunged for him but he stepped back smoothly, like he'd been expecting it.
"Control yourself," he said coldly. "You're not a teenager anymore."
"You're sleeping with my girlfriend and you're telling me to control myself?" I wanted to put my fist through his face. "What kind of sick father —"
"The kind who kept you out of prison." His voice cut through my rage like ice water. "Or have you forgotten about that little incident in high school?"
My blood went cold. "That was ten years ago."
"And the statute of limitations hasn't run out, Dealing cocaine to minors is a serious crime, Richard and the only reason you're not in prison right now is because I made it disappear." He adjusted his cufflinks calmly.
"So here's what's going to happen, You're going to marry Summer Trudea, you will smile for the cameras and you're going to help me win this election in exchange, your past stays buried and you stay out of prison. Refuse, and I'll have you arrested before the end of the week."
"You're blackmailing me."
"I'm protecting this family's interests,There's a difference." He headed for the door. "The engagement dinner is tomorrow night at seven. Don't be late Richard."
He left, closing the door behind him while I stood there in the middle of my office, my entire world crumbling around me. My father was sleeping with my girlfriend who had been cheating on me for months and now I was being forced to marry some mafia princess I'd never met or go to prison for crimes I committed when I was seventeen.
I grabbed my keys.
The bar I found was exactly the kind of place my father would hate, which made it perfect. Dark, mostly empty, the kind of vibe where nobody gave a damn who you were or what your last name meant.
I ordered scotch and downed it in one swallow, I ordered another by the fifth, I'd almost convinced myself this was all a nightmare I'd wake up from.
By the seventh, I noticed the blonde girl at the other end of the bar.
She was gorgeous in that effortless way, even though her mascara was smudged like she'd been crying.
Our eyes met across the bar and something passed between us like Recognition or just the shared understanding of two people having the worst day of their lives.
She raised her glass in a mock toast.
I raised mine back, then she got up and stumbled over to me.
"You look like someone just ruined your life," she said, sliding onto the stool next to mine. Her voice was slightly slurred but her green eyes were sharp.
"Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you."
"My father sold me off in an arranged marriage to some asshole I've never met." She downed the rest of her drink. "Then I caught my boyfriend screwing my sister. So yeah, life's just peachy."
Something about the way she said arranged marriage made alarm bells go off in my head, but I was too drunk to care.
"My father's blackmailing me into marrying some mafia princess," I said. "And he's sleeping with my girlfriend. So we're both having a spectacular day."
She laughed, bitter and sharp. "We should start a support group for people whose families ruined their lives."
We clinked glasses. I don't remember who kissed who first or how we ended up in a cab. All I remember is green eyes and blonde hair and the feeling that for just one night, I could forget about everything waiting for me in the morning.
One night where I wasn't Richard McAllister, political prisoner and her…
... Whatever the hell her name was.