Filthy Rich (Blackstone Dynasty 1)

“Brooke doesn’t care about social affairs, and frankly, neither do I. If I don’t go to another event, where the tribe struts around dressed to kill, attempting to blow Chanel-scented smoke up my ass, then I’m good with that. I can still give to the charity without attending.”

“You need a wife who understands how to move in the world you were born into, son.”

“Someone like Janice, you mean?”

“Yes, exactly. The Thorndikes are just as devastated about this as Janice is. Alicia told me how shocked they were to find out you were in another relationship so soon after breaking off with Janice. It doesn’t sit well with them at all.”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up there, because Janice is definitely not a candidate for my future bride. It didn’t sit well with me when I was betrayed by their daughter. I’ll spare you the ugly details and just leave it there. And they are ugly.” She grimaced. “Furthermore, there is only one person who will ever claim the title of Mrs. Caleb Blackstone, and her name is Brooke Casterley.”

“Caleb, for heaven’s sake. We all know Janice, and have for years. I am sure she is not capable of anything any other woman scorned would do given your hasty breakup with her.”

Mother dearest, you have no fucking idea. Obviously Janice’s parents were clueless about the mental nastiness and manipulation she was capable of. I should’ve taken pictures of my bathroom before Ann cleaned it. James had received a few texts from her, since I’d blocked her number. Even James had been surprised at the things she’d told him about me. “She still believes you’ll marry her,” he’d shared with me the other week. “She says you’re only biding time with your ‘English slut’ until you come to your senses and beg her forgiveness for breaking up. She’s fucking delusional, my friend.” I couldn’t agree more. Thank fuck I got away from her when I did.

“Janice is nothing to me and never will be.”

“This is very disappointing, Caleb, and if your father were alive, he’d tell you the same.”

No, he wouldn’t.

“It’s happening, Mom,” I fired back angrily. “The best thing for you to do is let the notion of Janice and me as a couple go. She was never even a consideration for me.”

“So, you truly are going to marry this girl with no family, no money, and no social status of any kind?” she asked, exasperated.

“When she is ready, yes, I am. And I will expect all of my family to welcome her into our tribe with enthusiastic acceptance and kindness. If you can’t do that for Brooke, then you won’t have me in your life, either.” I let her know I was dead fucking serious. “If you don’t believe me, just wait and see what happens.”

I never thought I’d see the day

where my mother gave up on any of the standards she held. But after I said that last bit, the fight just went out of her. Surprising. It was strange to witness, because I’d never seen her lose the veil of aloof confidence she always carried around. Ever. Surely this wasn’t the last I’d hear of it.

THE Autumn Ball occurred every year on the Saturday after Thanksgiving at the Massachusetts Club in Back Bay. This year would be the 108th black-tie, formal-dress charity ball, and also marked the first public event for Brooke and me. It was, in all respects, our coming-out party. After tonight, there would be no more speculation, or predictions about our relationship, because it would be undeniably confirmed.

The past three weeks of paparazzi battling had been taxing at times, even for me with my wealth of experience in dealing with their pain-in-my-ass antics. Brooke hated them with a passion, but she’d hung in there and stayed in Boston with me where I did my best to keep her off their relentless radar.

In a way, she was their Cinderella-story darling. The initial CNZ headline plus the picture taken of us at the wedding hadn’t brought any bad press to our door. Brooke’s beauty, and the lack of a past—due to her youth and never being in the public eye before now—was a definite draw for the gossip rags. Poor-but-beautiful working girl catches the eye of bachelor billionaire, and they fall in love with each other. Add in the fact she was British and I was American, it became the Cinderella story everyone wanted to read.

Brooke said she didn’t care what they found out about her, because there was nothing to hide. All of the people involved were dead, so they couldn’t be hurt by anything written about them. Her mother and father, of course, and even her monster of a husband didn’t play out so badly in the press when they were dead. The public was sympathetic to those who had suffered. I only cared about Brooke not being hurt by the stories they reported, but so far it was just the usual history of her life up until now. The press loved the theme of her grandmother being the “maid” and marrying into riches. Herman and Ellen’s story pushed all the feel-good buttons people had inside them, and I understood why it sold so well for the media.

There had been only one negative back draft from the relentless media attention focused on our relationship. Her picture with me had sparked the memories of the many who had witnessed Aldrich’s altercation with Brooke—the ruined designer suits, the inappropriate advances he made toward her, and how she’d fought back by breaking his nose. It was an easy episode to remember for the people who saw it happen, or if they were one of the lucky few hit by the flying shrimp cocktails. The story was passed around to the extent that the details made it back to Mrs. Aldrich, who then sued her disgusting, cheating-ass husband for divorce. Hearing that bit had made me really fucking happy, I had to admit. Aldrich deserved it for how he treated women in general, and I hoped his wife got a helluva big settlement as a reward for putting up with the asshole for so long.

Regardless of the fairly easy time we’d had overall with the paparazzi, my fears for Brooke’s safety were by no means erased. My team was on high alert now, as much as ever. Plenty of freaks in the world obsessed on celebrities and tried befriending them. In some cases they stalked and hurt them—their twisted minds justifying their needy, psycho behavior. There was also the worry she could be taken and ransomed, which scared me the most. I trusted very, very few in my immediate circle, and those in it were either my family, or had earned their way in through years of proving it to me. James still wasn’t convinced Patten’s family would stay away from Brooke. He hadn’t found anything that could prove they’d act on approaching her, but we were both aware that she knew a little too much about their criminal activity. It was a slight cloud hanging over us, but I had the luxury of unlimited resources to keep any unwanteds the fuck away from her. The Pattens knew how to hide their shit, though, so we both took comfort believing they thought themselves impenetrable.

I’d made some progress on securing a place for us at the south end of Blackstone Island. My old friend, Asher, had pointed me in the right direction with a twenty-acre plot that abutted Brooke’s small property to the south. I’d made offers on other surrounding parcels as well, so we could have a secured oasis, with a great view, and the privacy I required. It would take some time to build a house, but the wheels were already set in motion. I really didn’t care where I lived; as long as I had Brooke with me, it would be home. She made it home. She wanted to live on the island, so that’s where we would live. It was that simple of a decision for me.

Brooke was my most important priority now. My life had changed dramatically in just two short months, and I knew I could never go back to how I’d been living before. Every decision I made now was done with Brooke’s input or with her happiness in mind. The more I thought about what my dad had told me on his deathbed, the more I believed him. Despite my mother’s conviction Dad would’ve disapproved of my Brooke, I didn’t accept the idea. He would have adored her. He would’ve told us to go off and be happy together, and make him a grandfather.

Someday.

I pulled up a new text message.

How is my sweet, beautiful girl feeling?

I hoped she was doing better now than this morning, when she’d woken up with a bad headache. I figured she would have let me know by now if she wasn’t feeling up to going out to the Autumn Ball.

Much better. Headache is gone. Winter and I are having our makeup and hair done. The bedroom is a beauty salon right now. When are you coming home?

I was thrilled about the fact Brooke and my sister had hit it off. They had common interests, and seemed to find endless topics to talk about. They shopped for clothes and decorator items for the remodel. Winter had introduced Brooke to some of her colleagues at the South Boston Youth Center where she was interning for her master’s degree, and now had Brooke signed up to volunteer once a week. Brooke really loved helping the kids, and I could see the potential for her to make an even bigger impact on the center in the future. I’d not forgotten the story she’d told me about the woman who had helped her so much after she’d escaped her abusive marriage. Marni Cole. I wasn’t crazy about the neighborhood where she went to volunteer and made sure she was fully protected when she went there, but so far everything was settling into a good routine she seemed to enjoy.

C: I have to pick up one thing and then I’ll be home. Can’t wait to take my Cinderella to the ball. xx