Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(8)

A quiet member of the group speaks next. “Apparently his uncle hired a hitman to kill Lorenzo’s father, which is why they never found the person responsible for the hit-and-run accident.”

Yet another lie.

“I always thought it was strange how the Vittoris mostly kept to themselves. Lorenzo’s mother was nice and involved in the church, but there was always something…off about his father,” the same man in a ball cap says.

If by off he means diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, then fuck him very much. My father was a good man, although his struggle with OCD could be downright debilitating—a daily mental battle I’m all too familiar with thanks to my own diagnosis.

I want to barge in there and say No, I don’t hate children and No, I’m not involved in the mafia, although I can’t say the same for my uncle and cousins who are in the casino business—a fact the Ludlow family likes to remind everyone all too often.

My teeth grind together, and I reach inside my pants pocket and pull out my lucky dice. I roll the glass cubes between my fingers, the familiarity of the indentations soothing me until I’m no longer seething.

The volunteer scrambles to get the session back in order, but the focus group quickly goes from gathering useful intel to people making the most inaccurate assumptions about me.

After spending the last year campaigning on ideas like preserving the town’s historic character and improving local services for the youth and elderly townspeople alike, it’s frustrating to be typecast as something I’m not.

If I don’t find a way to improve my image and give people the confidence to vote for me, I’ll never be able to catch up to Trevor Ludlow. And if I don’t do it soon, my nightmare scenario will quickly become an unbearable reality.





CHAPTER THREE


Lily


When I get home after my walk from hell—seriously, I question if my pride was worth the extra cardio—I take a cold shower before heading to our garage.

My mom encouraged me to convert it into a small work area last year, although I don’t know how much longer I can keep using it. I’ve outgrown the space, and our neighbor’s band practicing their set list in the garage across the street gives me a headache.

Somehow I tune out the negative thoughts and electric-guitar sounds, focusing instead on the beautiful, all-white bridal bouquet with tulips, snapdragons, and calla lilies I designed for a Lake Aurora bride.

Once my back starts to hurt from being hunched over for too long, I keep myself busy by folding the mountain of dark clothes on my bed.

In the middle of organizing my closet, I send a cardboard box toppling off the top shelf. Colorful clothes fly past me and land in a scattered mess at my feet, a mix of fabrics ranging from frilly and impractical to vibrant and eye-catching.

Ruffles and bows galore, satin skirts in every shade of the rainbow, neon athletic clothes that can be spotted a mile away in the dark, and shoes with hand-painted flowers and butterflies.

My heart painfully clenches as I shove everything back into the box and return it to the shelf before checking my vibrating phone.

I open the Kids’ Table group chat I have with my sister, Dahlia, her boyfriend, Julian, and his cousin, Rafa, who shared a photo of him, Nico, and Ellie, Nico’s nanny, snorkeling in Hawaii. Nico’s dark hair is sticking up in all directions, similar to his father’s, while Ellie looks like a blonde mermaid.

It’s the smiles on everyone’s faces that make my chest ache in the best kind of way. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen Rafa or Nico look so happy, especially not together, so I comment on how cute they look before sending an SOS message.

ME

Can anyone help me jump-start my car?

RAFA

Again?

JULIAN

Isn’t this the second time in a month?

ME

Yes, but it’s my car this time. Not the company van.

RAFA

In that case, no.

ME

You’re not even in Lake Wisteria right now!

RAFA

I’m speaking on behalf of Julian and myself.

ME

Julian is a strong, independent man who can think for himself.

RAFA

Well, he *thinks* your car is shit, but he’s too nice to say it.

ME

That’s rude.

JULIAN

Maybe, but he’s not exactly wrong…

JULIAN

Your car IS a road hazard.

ME

For who?!

RAFA

Anyone who might be driving behind you.

ME

Unlike some of us who have been in an accident recently, I’m a good driver.

JULIAN

That might be true, but your bumper does fall off if the tape gets too hot.

ME

You know what? Forget I asked for help.

Julian sends me a private message, apologizing for taking his joke too far before offering to pick me up in twenty minutes. I only agree because I can’t survive another walk across town in this weather, although my pride stings a bit at him calling my car shit.

Julian drives around in his dad’s old truck, so I expected him to understand my inability to let mine go, but I guess my Corolla doesn’t have the same appeal as the vintage truck he restored.

Dahlia, who never responded to the group chat, waltzes into my room. “I’ve got some new ideas for the expansion!”