“If you need help with looking for a PR company that could help you and your friend, do let me know. I’d be happy to help.”
Her smile was genuine as it lit up her sad face. For a few seconds, I let myself appreciate her beauty before I commanded myself to put it aside.
“One of my best friends, Mark, actually has a brother who owns a company and he gladly took us on board until we are ready to go out on our own, but thank you for the offer.”
Male best friends, such things were non-existent no matter how progressive a male proclaimed himself. It was either this Mark fella wanted Stella for himself or he fancied the other friend. Looking at her face now, I was hoping it was the latter.
Whoa! Hold it there, fool.
My sudden trail of thoughts was surprising to me. Was it because Richard told me to marry his sister? Yes, it had to be my protective side, nothing more. Of course.
We never spoke about Richard’s illness nor did we speak about the impending nuptials, instead Stella found lighter subjects to discuss. She was rather chatty. I doubt I had ever been that engrossed in conversation with an eighteen-year-old before. Eighteen! Christ, Callum!
Once we entered the salon, we waited until the staff served us coffee before I finally took the lead and talked about what was to come. “Have you spoken with your brother?”
Stella graciously stirred her sugar in her cappuccino then calmly placed the teaspoon down and took a careful sip. “Yes.”
She spoke like she had already decided. “And?” I pressed, needing to know her thoughts and opinions immediately.
“I trust his decision. If he thinks this is the wisest thing to do, then I will do it without question. The only thing I’m worried about is you. This will put a halt to your life, Callum. I mean, what happens if you want to marry in a few years?”
“I won’t,” I assured her.
Stella looked thoughtful a moment, measuring. “How can you be so sure?”
Because my father beat me to it, my brain blurted out; making me feel all the concealed hatred once again, afresh and volatile in my mind. Hell on earth had replaced my once fun, carefree, optimistic life.
“Let me tell you something about me, Stella. I don’t lie when it comes to important matters and I’m telling you now, I won’t be marrying anyone in the next few years or decade because I don’t want to. Marriage is a blasted farce, one I certainly don’t fancy. There was a time that I did, but all the inkling to marry has been undeniably lost on me, forever.”
Those sharp, grey eyes looked at me shrewdly and I didn’t back down from the heat of them. Finally, when she thought it was time to concede, she obliged. “This is very generous and truly kind of you to help us. I promise that I will stay out of your way. You won’t even remember I exist.”
I truly doubted that, really, because a man would be blind not to see her gentle beauty. One day, she would find her fire, and when she did, she would be fatal to any man.
Just like that, we made a silent pact; one where we would carry through Richard’s wishes.
Five days after I had arrived in St. Lucia, Stella and I took our vows in a tiny chapel on the estate grounds. I wasn’t even fazed when I was declared married, though Stella repeatedly apologized for being such a nuisance to my life.
She truly didn’t need to because I welcomed her nuisance. She might not have known it then, however I was more than happy to help. Even though I had only met Stella once before this whole thing happened, I had spent a great deal of time with her parents when they visited Richard in Cambridge. After my Christmas visit, her parents treated me like one of theirs and, for that, I would forever be truly grateful. It might sound odd, but I considered Ella and Richie von Berg like parents. Those two truly were the best couple I had ever met and, when they’d died, I mourned for months alongside Richard.
Yes, Stella might not be aware, but in my heart, her family had become my family long ago. This marriage had merely made that feeling more of a reality.
~C~
Life had made me see how helpless a mere mortal was against forces that were far greater than any of us; their strength and capacity were boundless, immeasurable. When those forces finally chose someone’s fate, one would always remember the battle because it was a battle where one’s survival was uncertain. It could leave rancid, ugliness in its wake as it slowly suctioned you down, cruelly breaking piece after piece of your armor until you were fully bare. From there it would lead you to unchartered territory, drawing you to the place where it had all begun. The circle of life would then be complete.
Everything we had was temporary. The joys of love and the gutting pain were a treasured experience that would be all too brief.
Your heartbeat, your thoughts, your love, your strength, your faith and your fight were all quintessential crumbs that merely led you to a path which paved the way to the battleground.
There would be countless times where life would test our limits, strength, power and perseverance. Most of us learned from these small skirmishes, but those were all simply calculated steps to prepare us for the grandest battle of all; that one fight where everything was all on the line. It wouldn’t ask kindly for permission to oppose you in an all or nothing duel; no, it would demand it of you. A duel where we had everything to lose and it had the power to gain an incredible advantage.
It would be an unforgettable battle. The fight of your life. A head-on assault which would riddle you with scars, marring you deeply. Although many had survived it, they would never be the same again.
Sadly, my friend didn’t survive the attack when it came for him.
Richard passed away on a Thursday morning—two weeks after the wedding—at the young age of twenty-five.
A few of his staff commented that Richard probably needed to see his sister secured before finally giving in to the relentless demand of the cancer; a condition that his frail body could barely register before it had eventually taken over, running him into the ground and ultimately claiming his life.
Not only was it heartbreaking to bury my best friend, but it was also wretched to see his sister softly sob as she tried to hold her tears at bay during the burial. Stella von Berg, the last of the direct heirs to the von Berg inheritance. A young, impressionable, eighteen-year-old heiress that held an insurmountable amount of money. Richard’s passing was kept private—for now—however once the news spread that he had died, the vultures would flock in droves.
Glancing at Stella’s pained state, it was obvious that she could easily be drawn in with sweet words, a fake sense of security and the comfort that any stable, functioning man could easily provide. She would be, undoubtedly, one of the top targets to con and extort money from.