“You tell him you wouldn’t date him if he was the last man on Earth?” she asks.
Grant isn’t a terrible-looking man, but he does remind me of every other boy I went to boarding school with. He has this way of talking down to me. Like everything he does for me is a favor when I have no doubt he’s making a killing off me.
“He didn’t ask for a date.”
“He just asked to fuck you?” she screams.
“No!” I rush to say before she loses it. “He suggested we get married.” That gets her. Sol stares at me. Her mouth opens and then closes. That’s not good. I’m actually afraid that she's at a loss for words. Usually, she’s so expressive.
“You’re nineteen. You’re not getting married,” a deep voice bellows, causing me to jump. My head lifts, and I lock eyes with Leo. Where the hell did he come from? And why does he think he can tell me what to do? He barely talks to me, and now he thinks he can hand out orders to me.
“That’s where you're wrong. I found out shortly after my parents passed—”
“When did your parents die?” Leo takes a step out from the hallway. His eyes flick to Sol. “You didn’t tell me her parents died.”
“They died right before I met her. It’s not something that comes up in random conversation. Plus it’s a sensitive subject. Tins doesn’t talk about it much.”
It’s true, I don’t, but one of the reasons Sol and I got so close so fast is because she knew what it was like to not have parents.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Tinsley.”
“It’s okay.” I try to shrug it off.
“It’s not, but that said, what does them passing have to do with you getting married?” He takes another step closer. I try not to fidget. His closeness always affects me.
“My father didn’t think women could do more than be wives and make babies.”
“Don’t say that, Tins. He loved you,” Sol says, trying to comfort me.
“He did. In his own way,” I agree. “But he never thought I’d be able to handle the Grayson legacy, and he might have been right. Considering I’ve been avoiding this whole stipulation in the will about me having to get married within three months of his passing or it all gets handed over to Grant.”
“No fucking way,” Sol shouts again. “See, it’s not just about the money. Little shit wants you. He gives me the creeps.” Sol has said this from the very start. She always thought Grant was up to no good. It didn’t help that when he showed up to the house, he let himself in. I didn’t even know he had a key. My father must have given him one, which isn’t surprising.
He never really bothered me before, but I didn’t see him much until recently. I’m also not great at judging people. Leo is a perfect example of that. I thought we fell in love on sight. I was so wrong and naïve. It’s not surprising that on more than one occasion I’ve found myself getting used by people. I’m lucky to have Sol; she can spot jerk-offs at twenty paces out.
“How long ago did they pass?” Leo asks.
“Over two months ago.” I cringe.
“Over two months ago,” he repeats. I can see the anger written all over his face. He’s pissed. I have no clue why.
“Okay, let's think about this. We can figure this out, Tins. What if we hire someone to marry you? Or we could get on a dating app or there is that one guy in our Sociology course. He’s into you, and I think he’s a good one.”
“Enough,” Leo barks. Sol and I both freeze.
I don’t know why I do it, but I burst into tears.
CHAPTER 3
LEO
I press my thumbs to my temples and silently curse myself. My sister is doing the same as she pats Tinsley on the back.
You’re an asshole, her eyes spark.
I know. I have no defense because the excuses in my head don’t even make sense to me. She can’t marry someone else was the first thought that popped into my hind brain. Else. As in another person other than me. As if I’m in any damned position to marry anyone, let alone a girl who reeks of money.
I don’t smell like rotted, stale drugs, but I know I don’t belong in the same circle as Tinsley Grayson. Even her name sounds rich, while I’m ordinary Leo Johnson.
Do something, Sol yells at me silently.
What though? I reach over to add my hand to Tinsley’s back, but Sol knocks it away. She jerks her head toward the kettle on the stove. I guess I’m supposed to make Tinsley something to drink. The chair legs scrape against the floor as I get up, and the sound makes Tinsley raise her head. Her tear-stained face wrenches at my gut.