The Groomsman Billionaire (Paperback)

My wedding hookup with my sister-in-law's brother should have been a rebound.

I should have listened to his exes.

A slow burn of adrenaline that will keep you buzzing until you can’t handle it anymore…

Worth the wait…

An animal under the sheets…

That’s what they claimed about Steven Sinclair on national T.V.

He’s super successful, scheduled, and has rules about dating.

I’m only in Chicago for the wedding and to watch my niece for the week...but now he’s staying with

me too.

The aching is too much...the heat too hot...the craving on the cusp of exploding…

But his father’s sins have consequences in Steven’s life.

And that means mine as well.

Steven

My sister, Quinn, and I attended a private school, and religion class was mandatory. Every day, the teacher would tell us to pull out our Bibles, and students were chosen to write new excerpts on the blackboard. Over one hundred verses exist about the sins of the father, not to mention the countless others on “bastards,” children born from “forbidden unions,” and “illegitimate offspring.” And they all contradict each other. Some say children do pay for their parents’ sins. Others say they don’t.

From personal experience, I’d say the sins of the father screw with your head and life, and there is no way to escape them. It’s like putting a plastic bag over your head and trying to breathe. It’s impossible, and eventually, you suffocate.

It molds and shapes you and makes you hold yourself to higher standards and question every move you make. And others don’t understand why you make the choices you do or why you try to protect them. All they see you as is a heartless prick.

So, yeah, I believe you pay for the sins of your father.

I remember the first time my classmates put two and two together. They were all from wealthy families. I was the poor kid on a scholarship who lived in the neighborhood they never visited. Their parents may have been divorced or unhappily married, but they knew who their fathers were, so in their eyes, and mine, too, they were better than me.

I only had faded memories from my birth to age four. Then he just disappeared one day. I wasn’t enough for him to want to stay in the picture.

Quinn had no clue what he looked like. She was only six months old when he left. I didn’t know his name, only Daddy.

Whether the teachers did it knowingly or not, every single time one of those verses came up in class, I would be called upon to go to the front of the room and scribble it out. During recess, the kids would recite what I wrote, further driving the heartache I felt about not having a father and isolating me more.

My mother worked several jobs until I was in high school. One day, she came home and announced she became a personal assistant for Maximillion Evinrude.

I remember how her face lit up, talking about her new career and all the ways we were going to be better off.

We were getting an upgrade.

Bye-bye to multiple jobs and having to wear shoes with your toe sticking out until enough money was saved—which happened a lot since my feet wouldn’t stop growing.

Hello to designer gifts for my mother and home-cooked meals instead of the typical SpaghettiOs or mac ‘n cheese I typically fed Quinn.

But what also changed was my mother’s personality. In the past, she may have worked long hours and not been home to tuck us in every night, but when she wasn’t working, her world was us, and she didn’t seem sad.

At least, that’s what I remember. Looking back, maybe she hid it all those years. But once Maximillion Evinrude hired her, her mood would change like Jekyll and Hyde.

In the first year she worked for him, I caught my mother crying too many times to count. I’d see her beaming and in la-la land one day then demolishing a box of tissues the next. And within a week, she’d have a new purse, or piece of jewelry, or a pair of thousand-dollar shoes.

I didn’t understand it. Weren’t things easier now with her new career? Plus, Quinn and I did everything we could not to cause her any trouble.

When I was ten, my mother sat me down and said, “You’re the man of the house, Steven. I need you to act like it and take care of your sister at school and when I’m at work.” So I made sure Quinn and I did our homework and were ready for tests. We kept the house clean, got groceries when needed, and went to bed on time. And when my mother said, “You need to keep the boys away from your sister. She’s beautiful and a dreamer. She doesn’t need to be taken advantage of and ruin her life,” I took it seriously. No guy was going to harm her under my watch.

In my sophomore year of high school, going into the second year of my mother’s new career, I saw a picture in the paper of Maximillion Evinrude. He was running for governor, and at that moment, everything became clear.

I should have known what he looked like. He had an acting career in California. He might have been a one-hit wonder, but it seemed as though everyone on earth had heard of him, except for Quinn and me. Whether my mother kept us away from him for her own self-preservation or ours, I’ll never know, but I hadn’t even heard of him until she announced her new career.

I used to call him Daddy. I may have only been four when he deserted us, but I dreamed of him and all the things we used to do before he abandoned us. Once I found out who he really was, I spent hours researching him and staring in disbelief at his family’s photos.

They were all over the internet. And the family he claimed as his looked happy. His trophy wife, three kids, and even dog, were picture-perfect.

So much rage built within me, I punched a wall and had to get a cast on my hand. When my mother asked me how I could do something like that, I confronted her. And that’s when it all came out.

She was his mistress and never knew it until he decided to up and leave for California to develop his acting career. For almost a decade, he let my mother struggle as a single parent. She fought to keep food on the table and clothes on our backs and still made sure we had a good education. She was determined we wouldn’t end up stuck in poverty and always said, “Continue to get good grades so you can get a high-paying job and not end up working three jobs like me.”

My father never sent her a dime for our support, and she never took him to court to get anything.

What didn’t make sense is he had money. He chose not to help her or us. And the moment he came back into town, she fell back into her role as his mistress. Except this time, there isn’t anything hidden under the rug. She’s fully aware of her position in his life and that she’ll always be the mistress. And for the last twenty years, it’s stayed that way.

My mother knows it’s wrong. She drills it into Quinn and my heads. But she won’t leave him. She says she can’t break away because she loves him.

And I don’t understand how any woman can love a man who’s done what he has and continue to give herself to him, day in and day out, knowing he’s going home to someone he chooses other than her.

I confronted him once and told him to leave my mother alone. That only resulted in my mother staying with him for a week.

And when I graduated from college as valedictorian, the job market was shaky. No matter how much I excelled, I didn’t know the right people in the right places.

My mother worked her magic on him, and one day, he paid me a surprise visit.

His friend owned a national insurance company, and there was an opening in the finance department. It was entry-level, and I would have to interview, but he could arrange it.

At first, I told him no. I didn’t want anything from him. But that night, Quinn got her acceptance letter to college and wasn’t sure how she was going to pay for it. I opened all my mail, and several student loan payments were due.

So I caved. Over the years, I worked my way up the ladder and am their youngest VP ever, but no matter how much I tell myself I earned my position, I’ll never forgive myself for letting Maximillion help me.

Nor does he let me forget it.

And every relationship I attempt never lasts. I question every move I make. I don’t want to disrespect any woman or treat her in any capacity my father would. So I hesitate when I shouldn’t and say all the wrong things.

But I also don’t trust love. It’s what my mother claims makes her his doormat, and if love is so powerful, it’ll make you lose your self-respect, then I don’t want any part of it.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. But then I lay down to go to sleep and close my eyes. And the one thing you can’t do is lie to yourself.

To get through the loneliness, I tell myself I just haven’t found the right girl. But the voice in my head says, If your own father doesn’t love you, how can anyone else?

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