In the Race for the Heiress's Hand, I Refused to Compete

I was underneath the boathouse sink when the first candidate arrived. A black sedan crunched over the gravel outside, followed by a second, then a third. I could hear the tires through the floorboards and the driver doors shutting in quick succession. I had a wrench between my teeth and a rusted pipe dripping onto my shoulder. The Vale estate had a thousand-dollar-a-night guest wing and not one plumber who could make it out before dinner. "Stay where you are," Nora called from the doorway. I slid out on my back, bumped my head, and spat the wrench into my palm. "I was planning to." She leaned against the frame in a cream suit, her dark hair pulled back. Her face looked calm in the particular way that meant she had already argued with three people and was waiting for the fourth. "Everyone's here," she said. "I heard the cars." "I need you at dinner." "You need a plumber at dinner." "I need you." The water kept dripping behind me. I wiped my hands on a rag. "You need someone to stop pretending this is a normal birthday." Her mouth tightened. "It is a normal birthday. My family just has an abnormal way of celebrating." The Vale family had owned half the shoreline in Bellwether Bay for three generations. Their summer dinners were still described in the local paper as intimate, even when the guest list was larger than the town's school board. This one had a special addition: the four men who, along with me, had been named by Nora's grandmother as "suitable companions" when we were teenagers. Nobody had called it a contest then. It had been a joke among the adults, a harmless little tradition for five families who spent every summer together. Then the joke had become an expectation. At twenty-nine, Nora was supposed to choose one of us. By the end of the summer, the family intended to make that choice public. "I don't belong on that list," I said. "You've been on it since you were seventeen." "I was seventeen. I also thought putting soda in the fountain would be funny." "It was funny." "It cost me three weeks of fountain cleaning." Nora's smile flashed and disappeared. "Please, Miles." That stopped me. She hadn't said please in the tone she used with employees or board members. She'd said it like we were still the two kids who used to sneak out to the beach after the adults went to bed. I stood, pulled my shirt away from the wet patch on my shoulder, and glanced toward the house. "If I come, I'm not competing." "I didn't ask you to." "Your grandmother did." "My grandmother isn't in charge of who I marry." "Tell her that." "I have. She thinks I need more time to decide." "And the birthday dinner is part of the time?" "It's part of keeping her from making the decision for me." I looked at her, then at the house. Through the open windows, I could see figures crossing the dining room, dark jackets against the golden light. Grant Bell had arrived first; I recognized the way he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, as though someone might be taking his photograph. Julian Price was probably telling a story. Theo Ashford would be making sure the wine was right. Sebastian Cole would have brought flowers too expensive to leave in a vase. "I'll come," I said. "But if someone asks me about my prospects, I'm leaving." Nora studied me. "Fair." The dining room was already set when I walked in. Five place cards sat together at the long end of the table, the names arranged like a ranking. Grant, Julian, Theo, Sebastian, Miles. Nora's chair was in the center. I picked up my card. My name had been written in dark blue ink on expensive cream paper. Underneath, someone had added, in smaller handwriting, "A serious possibility." I looked at Nora. She went pale. "I didn't write that." "Then your grandmother's being subtle." "Don't make a scene." "I wasn't planning to." I folded the card once and put it in my pocket. The other four men watched me. Grant's expression remained smooth. Julian lifted his brows. Theo looked at Nora, not me. Sebastian sat back, as though he had already decided the evening would be interesting. Nora met my eyes across the table. Her face didn't ask me to stay. It asked me not to make her face this alone. I pulled out my chair. Then I sat down, not beside her, not across from her, but at the far end of the table, where the broken hinge in my pocket pressed against my thigh.