A Debt Owed (The Debt Duet 1)

The man has placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder while they both watch my father and his new wife. I don’t care about the ceremony. I mean, I love my father, but this new lady … ugh.

I don’t consider her my mom, so she’d better not ask me to call her that. I’ll ask my father about it after the wedding. He usually does what I ask as long as it isn’t too outrageous.

It comes with the territory of having a father who’s barely around. He tries to make up for it with gifts and says yes to literally everything to pretend he’s a good father. I’m used to it. I’ve never known any other life, so I just smile and shrug it off. Things were the same when my mom was still alive, so I don’t expect anything to change now that my father’s marrying his next wife.

I’m surprised she managed to persuade him to get married. My father’s normally very protective of his life because of his multi-million-dollar business. He’s smart to shield himself from the gold diggers. I’d probably do the same if I was in charge.

But I won’t ever be. I already know my father prefers my brother to continue the business, Davis Holding, in his stead. He’s said multiple times that he thinks Elijah is the smarter one, and he’s always taking him on business trips while leaving me at home.

I don’t mind. I don’t like that he makes his preference so obvious, but I do like the freedom it gives me. I get to do whatever I wanna do when I’m old enough. Maybe I’ll go on a world trip … or maybe I’ll start my own business and build it from the ground up.

Or maybe I’ll end up marrying that handsome boy standing in the corner. He’s been staring at me nonstop since I sat down here.

I can’t keep my eyes off him even though the heat rises to my cheeks. With that long face, those ocean blue eyes, that cleft chin, and chestnut brown hair, he’s so handsome … and he’s only a teen.

I wonder what he’ll look like when he’s an adult. Not that I’ll ever see him again. We live in the States, and from the looks of it, he lives here in the Netherlands. He’s wearing simple denim jeans, and his father’s wearing an apron. Perhaps he’s the caterer, and his son just wanted to watch the ceremony, I suppose.

Who wouldn’t when it’s this extravagant with mountains of expensive roses and diamonds everywhere. Hell, I’m sure my father even got golden plates and cutlery, knowing the lady he’s currently giving half his fortune too. She loves everything over the top, including herself, and it makes me wanna barf.

When the two exchange the rings and a sloppy kiss, the whole room starts clapping, and so do I … even though I’m not at all happy with his choice. But if my father is happy, then so am I.

After the newlywed couple happily walks down the aisle, we all make our way outside to the beautiful courtyard where we’ll have cocktails. Well, the adults will anyway. I’m already happy with a lemon Coke on the rocks.

The first thing I do is run up to the drinks table. I can’t help but grin when I spot that same boy who was staring at me mere minutes ago standing behind the table, pouring drinks into the glasses.

“Hey,” he says when I give him an awkward stare.

A blush appears on my face, and I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Hi …”

“One, two, or three?” he asks.

My lips part, but I have no clue what he just asked me. “Um …”

He points at the prefilled glasses. “Coke, iced tea, and orange juice.”

I narrow my eyes. “So there isn’t an option to … mix?”

“Sure, which ones do you want mixed?” he asks, flipping the bottle as though it means nothing and he does this all the time like a true pro. He winks, making my heart flutter. But then I have to stop him from actually pouring two of them into one cup.

“No, I mean … a Coke with lemon? Maybe?” I bite my lip.

He cocks his head. “We don’t normally add those … but I’ll make one for you,” he says, and his lip curls up in such a sexy way that it almost makes my heart jump out of my chest.

Geez, Charlotte, get a grip.

“One lemon Coke, coming right up,” he says while flipping the bottle and then fishing a slice of lemon from his fridge. He sure is slick with this whole thing.

“You do this often, don’t you?” I ask. “Isn’t that like … child labor or something?”

He laughs. “I’m sixteen. Old enough to work part-time,” he says with a smirk. “Besides, I’m on vacation right now, so I might as well earn some money.”