“What makes him so sure?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He says he had it surveyed. He talked to his geologists. He prayed or some shit like that. I don’t know what he did, but whatever it was, he’s convinced it’s there.”
I stop my story and sip my water. He’s watching me carefully and I can’t tell if he thinks I’m a liar or not yet, and I haven’t even gotten to the weirdest part.
“So this ranch,” he prompts. “I’m guessing they’re not willing?”
“Of course not. They don’t want him to come in and rip up their land. Except… they sort of do. See, they don’t make much money. The ranch turns a profit apparently, but not much, never enough to grow. So they’re sort of stuck. It’s this man named Dave and his son, Michael, running the place.”
“That seems like the sort of situation your father could use.”
“Right.” I nod a little bit, warming up to the story. “Except Dave’s a stubborn guy. Dave doesn’t want to just give up his land to some oil baron for money. The land itself is important. He wants promises… he wants a guarantee.”
Brent frowns slightly. “What kind of guarantee? And for what?”
“He wants something more binding than any legal document ever could be. And he wants to make sure some of that oil money stays in his family’s hands.”
“So he wants a piece of your father’s company.”
I hesitate a second, looking away. This is the part he’ll never, ever believe, because why would he? It’s totally insane, totally out there. And it wasn’t even my dad’s idea. Oh, my dad loved it when Dave suggested it all those months ago, but it wasn’t his originally. He just wanted to pay Dave off or sell a portion of the company to him in exchange for the land and the drilling rights.
Except that’s not what Dave wanted.
“That’s what my dad offered,” I say finally. I feel like my throat’s dry but drinking water won’t help. “But Dave turned it down. Dave wants something… even more binding.”
Brent shakes his head. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”
“This is where you won’t believe me. But please, I’m not lying.”
“I don’t think you are, Amber.”
“Dave wants me to marry his son.”
Brent cocks his head only very slightly. “He wants you to marry his son… as in some kind of arranged marriage?”
“Exactly. It’s like… like what old noble families would do, marry each other for political reasons or whatever. He thinks that if I’m married to his son and we have kids, that’ll bind our families together forever. Businesses can be bought and sold and all that shit, but if we’re married, we’re in it for life.”
He stares at me for a long moment. I can feel myself blushing and starting to get defensive. I can already feel the words bubbling up from my chest.
“Okay,” he says. “I can see how this would be a problem for you.”
I blink and slowly those words deflate and drop away. “You believe me?”
“I believe you,” he says. “It’s an outlandish story, don’t get me wrong, but there are parts I can easily confirm. For example, I know your dad does own an oil company. I did a little research when we met.”
I shift uncomfortably. I don’t know how I feel about that.
“But more than that,” he continues, “it’s not a story you wanted to tell. I can see that plain as day. And that makes me believe you even more.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Okay then.” He leans forward. “How does this connect with your leg.”
I close my eyes for a second and let myself remember that night. It was a horrible night… dark and ugly outside, humid as hell.
“We got into a fight,” I say. “My father and I were never very… close. I mean, we got along. He paid for my college. He wanted me to come work with him… at the company.” I struggle through this part. Remembering how things used to be is painful. “He was my dad, you know? But he got this idea in his head. If I just married that boy… things would be good. We could make even more money. As if we need any more. And—”
I get cut off as the waitress returns with our food. She puts my plate in front of me. I stare down at the eggs, yellow and fluffy. The toast dangles on the side. I poke at it with a fork and force myself to smile as the waitress asks if there’s anything else we need.
“No, thanks,” Brent says.
She walks off. He ignores his food.
“What happened?” he asks.
“He got obsessed,” I say. “Kept pushing me. Asking me. He wants me to marry that boy, that total stranger. And one night, after a month of fighting about it, things got ugly. He was drinking… angry… I told him I was never doing to do it. No matter what he said. And I meant it. I still do.”