He continues, “If anything, knowing my parents would help me find a life partner freed me from looking for that. I could enjoy company without commitment. The fact I was never tempted to commit also seemed to support their philosophy. Then, two years ago, Rian asked how much I’d saved to get out of my contract.”

  My sister’s face flashes. “Rian is under the same contract, isn’t he.”

  Connolly shakes his head. “Rian refused to sign, so my parents refused to pay for his education, and he had to drop out after his first year.”

  I say nothing, but my expression must speak for me, because Connolly nods. “Yes, that was a horrible thing for my parents to do, and I regret that I didn’t realize it at the time. To me, it was just Rian being his usual contrary self. It wasn’t as if he cared about school. Wasn’t as if he’d gotten into Harvard.”

  He makes a face. “Yes, I was an ass. Nothing new there. But then he mentioned it, presuming I planned to save up the money. That made me think. I spent a year mulling it over before deciding yes, I should repay it. I still intended to let my parents suggest possible partners, but I wanted the freedom to buy my way out if I didn’t like their choices.”

  “Good plan.”

  “I thought so. Then . . .” He trails off and sips at his coffee, before folding his hands around it and saying, “I recently . . . I began to doubt . . .” He clears his throat. “I decided I did not want to go through with the matchmaking. I wished to repay the money. I turn thirty a year from this September, and I was on schedule to pay the debt.”

  “Then you found out it’s actually due this September.”

  “Yes.”

  “How close are you?”

  He shifts in his seat. “Not nearly as close as I thought. When I began accumulating the funds, I asked our accountant how much my tuition had cost. I knew I was expected to pay interest, so I factored that in based on the historical prime rate, plus five percent. Last week, my mother told me it was time for me to meet their choices, and I asked for the bill. That’s when I found out about the date difference. It’s also when I discovered that the contract specifies the interest rate is tied to a specific index, which has done very well in the last decade. My bill has doubled.”

  “They want you to repay double your tuition?”

  “It’s more than tuition. I am repaying the cost of my education, which apparently includes the apartment they rented for me—premium Boston real estate—plus all expenses. They’d given me an unlimited credit card and encouraged me to use it. I worked very hard at my studies, and so I deserved to indulge myself. That’s what they told me, and so, being young, I did.”

  “They encouraged you to rack up your bill, and that was the reward for your hard work?”

  He shifts. “They played me for a fool, and I am dealing with that humiliation. I’d rather not discuss it further, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. So the point is that you’re not going to be able to repay them by September. What about taking out loans?”

  “I am still investigating that, but all my past loans have been through them, which means I have little in the way of a credit rating.”

  He straightens. “Here is where this discussion becomes truly awkward. First, let me assure you that I have no intention of going through with any arranged marriage. I will find a solution. Therefore, I should have left you out of it.”

  “No, if you’re dealing with something, it helps me to know that. We are friends, right? I’m not just here to ply you with forbidden sweets, as much fun as that is. Chasing cursed paintings is fun, too. But I’m also here for the less fun parts. Like supporting you in a difficult situation, whether it’s brainstorming solutions or just cheering you on and cheering you up.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and I think I’ve gone too far, presumed too much of a new friendship. But when he speaks, his voice cracks a little as he says, “Thank you. I . . . have not been that kind of friend to anyone, I’m afraid. Not even my brother. Not being it means I can’t expect it from others, but . . .” Deep breath. “You can expect it from me, and so I appreciate it from you. I’m trying to change, for Rian, too, and this helps.”

  “I’m happy to be your supportive-relationship training wheels.”

  His lips quirk. “Thank you. However, I still wouldn’t have presumed to burden you with this issue if it didn’t involve you. Tangentially, as I said. The problem . . .”

  He pulls at his collar and then stops fussing. “I’ll be blunt, as embarrassing as it is. There is a reason why my parents decided it was time to suddenly start foisting—” He pauses. Pulls a face. “—introducing potential partners to me.”

  His gaze lifts to mine. “It’s you.”

  Chapter Six

  Six

  Connolly clears his throat. “No, that’s not quite the wording. That sounds as if you’ve done something to cause this, which you have not, unless you can take the blame for existing.”

  “Ah, let me guess. You’ve been hanging out with an unattached young woman, and that has them worried.”

  “Yes.”

  No surprise here. I’d once accidentally—okay, not so accidentally—overheard a video chat between Connolly and his mother. What did she call me? Right. A manic pixie girl. Which insulted her son as much as it did me, with Marion Connolly making it obvious that she thought Connolly also fit the usual romantic foil for such girls. A respectable and responsible guy wrapped up in his work, thrown for a loop by a reckless and flighty young woman. Okay, that’s fifty percent Connolly. Also fifty percent me. But it reduces us to stereotypes we don’t fit. Connolly is hardly the boring guy who doesn’t lift his head from his studies, and I am—I hope—a little more grounded and responsible.

  Still, this is what his mother sees. Poor Connolly, the hard-working, uber-successful guy, fallen prey to the flibbertigibbet who wants to take him on a wild ride . . . and win herself a passport to their high-society world.

  “Have you told them we’re just friends?” I ask.

  He gives me such a look that I sputter a laugh.

  “Fair enough,” I say. “Maybe you should have gone on that weekend trip with me, left them an itinerary of our plans and let them send one of their people to follow us, see nothing was going on.”

  “They’d know it was a setup.”

  “Right. Or they’d think I’m just holding out for a fifty-carat engagement ring.”

  His lips twitch. “You wouldn’t be able to lift a fifty-carat ring.”

  I bat my eyelashes at him. “Give me one, and let me try.”

  He laughs under his breath, and then sobers and shakes his head. “I am sorry, Kennedy. This is very embarrassing.”

  “Stop saying that. Practicing arranged marriage is not embarrassing. Signing that contract is not embarrassing. You were a kid, and someone took advantage. Your parents worrying about me isn’t embarrassing, either. I’m flattered that they see me as a legitimate threat to their family dynasty. So much better than having them write me off.”

  “Well, thank you for being kind about it, and I’ll stop moaning about the humiliation.”

  “Good. So, now that you’re done that . . .”

  I pull a chocolate macaroon from my takeout bag and divide it with my plastic knife. He puts out his napkin, ready for the treat. Instead, I take a bite and say, “You were an ass, Connolly.”

  I take another nibble, savoring it as he watches. “You stood me up with no notice and no explanation. Left me to spent the weekend wondering what the hell I’d done wrong.”

  “I—”

  “You said it wasn’t about me. I get that. You were wrapped up in this marriage problem, and the last thing you wanted was a weekend of antiquing.”

  “I did want that.”

  “Fair enough. You could have used the distraction. The real reason you canceled was so your parents wouldn’t find out and make things worse.”

  He exhales. “Yes.”

  “That’s a shittier excuse than just being busy. I understand you wanting to dispel their concerns. But the fact that it involves me means, well, it involves me. You should have said something. Instead, you blew me off and dodged my messages, then snuck over—”

  “I didn’t sneak.”

  “When you were recognized in my showroom, you retreated and lied about forgetting your phone. Then you show up tonight in a different car and lie about yours being in for service. You’re trying to convince your parents that you aren’t having a secret fling with me . . . by sneaking around to see me. One, if you aren’t supposed to be with me, tell me that. Two, if you aren’t supposed to be with me . . .” I look him in the eye. “Maybe don’t be with me.”

  His lips tighten. “I am not allowing my parents interfere in my relationships.”

  “Then tell them that. About me and about this arranged-marriage business. Unless you think that by playing their game, you can buy some wiggle room—an extension or a reduction.”

  “I will not get any concessions. Either I marry or I owe them the money. I will repay the money. As for telling them to leave me alone about you, I can’t. Not without putting you in danger.”

  “Danger?”

  “Not physical danger. My parents don’t do that. But there are other ways to hurt people. Financial ways. You are vulnerable to that.”

  “How? I rent my shop. My car is paid for. I live in my family home, which is also paid for. If there’s one good thing about not having a lot, it’s that someone can wipe out my savings, and it’s hardly a catastrophe. I’ll just keep going.”

  “Unless your professional reputation is damaged beyond repair. Unless your family home is suddenly discovered to have a mysterious lien against it. Unless your trust fund suffers catastrophic investment losses. My parents can ruin you, Kennedy. If the situation reaches that stage, they will.”

  “And you know this?”

  “I’ve seen them do it before.”

  “No, I mean you know that they could and would do this to me, and yet . . .” I wave at him. “Here we are, sneaking around together, with me having no idea that we’re sneaking or why. With me not having the option to say whether I accept the risk?”

  I push up from the table and stride away, phone in hand as I tap the screen.

  Connolly comes after me. “I’m sorry, Kennedy. I didn’t think it through.”

  “No, you didn’t. Like you didn’t think it through before ghosting me this week.”

  “I didn’t ghost—” He stops. “All right. Yes, I did, but I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “You meant it to get your parents off your back and then you decided you weren’t letting them run your life, so you snuck off to see me and put me in danger without asking whether that was okay. Without allowing me to make that choice for myself.”

  I peer back at the shop we just left, and then I stab the name into the phone app. Connolly edges close enough to see the screen.

  “Yes, I’m calling for a ride share,” I say.

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  I hit the button to match me with a ride. The wheel spins as it looks for a driver.

  “What about the painting?” he says.

  I fix him with a glare, and he has the grace to color under it.

  “You never gave a damn about the painting, Connolly. This was about giving you a night off. You’re tired of sitting in the parlor while your parents parade in marital prospects.”

  “That’s not actually how—” He clears his throat. “Yes, I understand what you mean, but no, I didn’t need a break. I wanted to see you.”

  “To tell me what’s going on? Warn me that I’m on your parents’ hit list for having the audacity to hang out with you?”

  “I did not think it through,” he says, gaze on mine, each word enunciated. “I said that I am not accustomed to thinking of others, and I meant it. I—”

  He runs his hand over his mouth. “Excuses. I’m making excuses and shifting the blame. I can do better.”

  He straightens. “I made a mistake. Multiple mistakes that disrespected you and our friendship, and possibly put you in danger.”

  He pauses, and gives a sidelong look, waiting for me to recognize the bravery in acknowledging his mistakes.

  I look down at the phone. Still spinning.

  “I had no intention of allowing you to be endangered,” he says. “That’s why I stopped returning your texts. That’s why I showed up in person, instead. That’s why I rented a car. However, that was patronizing of me.”

  Another of those looks that begs for a little credit. I tap the phone as if that can make it find me a ride faster.

  He continues, “If you feel in danger now—which is your right to feel—then please allow me to accompany you on the ride share, for your safety.”

  “How the hell does that help? I’d still be with you.”

  Silence. More silence. The wheel on the app slows, only to pick up speed again.

  “You would prefer not be with me,” he says. “Under the circumstances.”

  “No, Aiden. I would prefer to have that choice and to know the circumstances.” My phone blips and look down to see a “Match Not Found” alert. I let out an oath.

  “Allow me to drive you home, Kennedy,” he says. “If you would prefer not to, then allow me to summon a hired car for you. That will be both safer and more efficient.”

  I hit Search again, but when the message pops up immediately, I shut the app.

  “I’m furious, Connolly.”

  “As you have every right to be.”

  “And I would feel very stupid—and gullible—getting into a car with you after what you’ve done.”

  “I understand, but I’m also the one who put you into this situation.” He holds out the keys. “Take the car. Please. I can rent another.”

  “You’re not giving me your car, Aiden.”

  “It’s a rental. I’ll have it retrieved from Unstable tomorrow.”

  “I’m not stranding you here.”

  “You are unable to book a ride share because no driver wants to take you all the way to Unstable. I can easily get a lift to a rental company.” He takes out his phone and punches in the address. A moment later, “There. My driver will arrive in five minutes.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets. “It probably seems as if I’m overreacting—”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “But it feels like it.” I exhale. “It also feels, though, like if I let you drive me home, I’m sending the wrong message. Saying what you did is no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. I understand that now, and allowing me to take you home in no way implies a lessening or undervaluing of your anger.”

  I hunch my shoulders and peer down the darkening street. “What if I accept the ride and say I want to check out that address for the painting, since we’re almost there?”

  “In that case, I would conclude that you are accepting the ride because you are understandably concerned about the painting. Concerned enough to permit that to override your anger.”

  I scuff one heel against the sidewalk. Then I mutter, “Cancel the ride. I really don’t want to be in a car with you right now, but it’ll keep me awake at night if I don’t check it out.”

  “Understood.”

  Chapter Seven

  Seven

  “I’m going to need something from you,” I say as we hit the road again.

  “A promise that I will not permit my parents to interfere in your business?” he says. “You have it.” He glances over. “I will handle this, and you will not suffer in any way for our friendship. I swear that.”

  His expression is so earnest that I can’t bring myself to point out the impossibility of such a guarantee. Connolly’s biggest problem with his parents is a lack of control. He’s spent his life moving this particular goal post. As a child, he’d have set it at his first year of college. Just get out of the house, and he’d be free of their influence. Okay, so he won’t be truly free until he’s eighteen and legally an adult. Move the goal post there. Okay, he’s an adult now, but he’s still a dependent in college. Move it to graduation. Hmm, now his parents want to invest in his business, and he doesn’t have a credit rating so, fine. Start the business. Skimp and save to pay them back. There, free at last. Oh, wait. There’s Rian, who still works for the family business, and so Connolly has to run interference. Fine, but now Rian is finally making moves to become independent and . . .

  And then there’s the marriage contract.

  Connolly is like a fairytale prince locked in a tower. He gets out of the tower, only to find a shark-infested moat. Clears that to discover he’s in an endless forest. Oh, and then there’s the desert beyond . . . With each obstacle, I’m sure he blames himself for miscalculating. Yet everyone else can see the truth—that the wicked king and queen are erecting new obstacles as fast as he clears the old ones, and unless he does something drastic, he’s never escaping their hold. They won’t let him.

  At some point, Connolly is going to need to make hard choices. I can’t make them for him. I can’t even suggest them. He needs to see the weapons laid out before him and select one, rather than keep dodging the fight. He’s looking for compromise, and his parents see only a refusal to take up arms, which suits them just fine.

  “I don’t need a promise, Aiden. If I am part of this, then I need to take control of my corner. I want to speak to your parents.”

  In his silence, I make the mistake of sensing victory. He sees my point and—

  “Absolutely not.”

  My hackles rise. “Is that an order?”

  “If I could give that order, I would. As I cannot, it is only the most extreme advice. You do not want to do that, Kennedy, and if you insist, I will do everything in my power to keep you from making that mistake.”