Play Along(17)

Miller: Do I want to have as much sex with Kai as possible before you go on the road? Yes, you’re right. See you this weekend.



I set my phone on the kitchen counter next to the cheap plastic ring I’ve stared at since I got back to Chicago.

I feel bad lying to Miller, but I know what her exciting news is. I know she got engaged to Isaiah’s brother, Kai, this weekend. I also know I couldn’t show up to Max’s birthday party and act like I’m not legally bound to his uncle. I couldn’t take away Miller’s spotlight on her big day. I couldn’t look at her and lie about the fact that technically, she’s my soon-to-be sister-in-law. And I can’t stand to see her now, with this uneasy pit in my stomach, until I meet with my lawyer and get the reassurance I need that this sham of a marriage will be over as quickly as it began.

I met Miller last season when she started nannying for our Ace pitcher, Kai Rhodes. Miller’s dad, Monty, is also the field manager of the Windy City Warriors, and for the first time in my career, I got to have another woman around the clubhouse. It was refreshing and I’d consider her my first real friend I’ve made since moving to Chicago three years ago.

Before last year, any free time I had was spent flying back home to New York to see Connor, always having some kind of charity event or social gathering he needed me on his arm for. But Miller wiggled her way past my sometimes-cold exterior, and I couldn’t be more thankful to her for that.

The penthouse apartment I live in is one of the many investment properties owned by my family. It’s extravagant and over the top and a bit lonely when I allow myself to think about it. But it’s also a free place to live and who am I to complain when my current salary isn’t enough to afford me much in the city.

It’s another goal of mine, to be able to afford my own place, hell, my own life without the Kay family name attached to it. With a promotion and a new title, I’ll be able to.

Heading into the second bedroom, I rifle through the closet I never use. Business attire, designer gowns, and high heels worth more than some people’s rent. There’s a gap on my shoe rack where my patent-leather white Louboutins typically sit, but the memory of Isaiah carrying them around Vegas has me hesitant to put them back in this closet. At this point, I want to forget what few memories I have of that night.

I slip on a black pair instead, cramming my feet into the narrow channel before throwing on a camel-colored blazer and black cigarette pants.

I raided this closet for Mallory’s bachelorette party, but other than that, I can’t remember the last time I dressed in my “old” clothes. They’re reserved for mandatory social gatherings, whether that be an excessive dinner at my childhood home, or charity balls my mother likes to host to convince her wealthy friends she cares about someone other than herself, when we all know she only hosts them as a tax write-off.

But my lawyer works for my family, and showing up in my daily uniform of athletic gear would get back to my mother. She’s already going to lose her mind when she hears about what I did this weekend, but I’d rather have a solution before she even learns about the problem.

I’m not sure why their opinion of me matters to me so much. But it always has. I got the best education I could. Became a doctor instead of stopping early and taking a different path in sports medicine. Agreed to marry a man I didn’t want to, simply because my parents told me to.

I barely know my mother. I grew up going to boarding schools and while I was home in the summer, I was raised by nannies. My presence was required for public events, but other than that, we lived completely separate lives.

The same goes for my relationship with my father, and when he died, I didn’t even cry at his funeral. It would’ve felt like crying at a stranger’s funeral.

That’s probably why Connor always called me cold.

My mother married Dean’s father after that. He was my father’s business partner, so it made sense, from a monetary standpoint, that they marry.

My engagement to Connor was for the sake of business as well. Dean wasn’t going to take over the family business, so it was my responsibility to marry someone who would.

It’s all business moves.

However, my marriage to Isaiah Rhodes is most definitely not a business move.

And there’s a part of me, even though I know it was a mistake, that loves that small act of rebellion.

While yes, Connor and I were set up by our parents, it was still eight years of my life, and it hurt my pride when he ended things.

He was vocal that the split was my fault. I wasn’t around. I lived in Chicago when he and my parents were based in New York. I traveled for my job. I’d barely touch him when we were in the same city. The list of my issues is much longer than that, but that’s the gist of what he mentioned during our breakup.

But now that I’ve had some time to process, the realization has finally sunk in that I’m no longer bound by some kind of familial duty. I get to marry whomever I want. I get to date. I get to be a normal woman in her thirties.

I just have to get this pesky little annulment out of the way first.

My phone vibrates on the counter, this time with an unknown Chicago phone number. The family lawyer is flying in from New York, so I assume this is him using a local office.

“Paul?” I ask as soon as I answer.

“Umm . . .” The woman on the other end hesitates. “No, this is Denise. Mr. Remington’s assistant.”