Beauty and the Brit by Poppy St. James
1
STERLING
It’s a Monday morning, I’ve barely started my day and already I want to drop kick someone in the face.
Mondays … am I right?
Okay maybe it’s not that severe. But my fancy espresso machine is on the fritz, my shower water was lukewarm at best, and my phone is dinging and buzzing like a winning Vegas slot machine.
I finish with my electric toothbrush and spit into the sink. Then, and with a frustrated huff, grab my phone and see I have forty-two missed calls and dozens of voice mails and texts. Most of them are from my uncle Charles, who I haven’t spoken with since the last ten-year family union. And several are from my best friend, Noah.
What on earth?
Is the world ending and no one thought to tell me? A quick glance out the window confirms the sun is shining and the city that never sleeps is buzzing with morning commuters.
I dial my uncle Charles and wait while it rings, eyeing my coffee maker with disdain.
“Sterling, thank God I’ve reached you,” he exhales into the phone, his British accent curling over the words. “I have some rather shocking news.”
My first thought is that something happened to my mum. I pad barefoot out to the living room to take a seat on the couch. I don’t want to receive bad news in the loo. I sit there, phone pressed to my ear, my jaw tense as I try to comprehend what Charles is saying.
Something about my mother’s grandfather, who I never met and honestly didn’t know was still living, and a will and millions of dollars at stake.
“Get to the bloody point, Charles. What are you saying?”
“Are you near a TV?” he asks.
“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” I grab the remote and turn the TV on.
An image of my face is on CNN. The picture is one of me smiling in a Yankees T-shirt, taken this summer. It’s from my personal social media account.
What in the world?The newscaster is saying something about an inheritance. I press the volume button several times while my heart hammers erratically in my chest. I’m not sure I can convey just how jarring it is to see your own photo on CNN. It’s like an out of body experience.
“In a plot suited for the big screen, this is anything but fiction. Sterling Quinn, a top divorce attorney in New York, is reportedly set to gain a multi-million-dollar inheritance upon marrying.”
Blood rushes to my ears and I feel dizzy, like I might be sick. I click the button on the remote, silencing the TV.
“I’ll call you back, Charles.” After I go throw up.
A thousand disjointed thoughts all fight for space inside my brain.
First, Mum is okay. That’s the only piece of good news. The rest of it? My uncle’s phone call. He’s obviously gone mad. But the news coverage? The inheritance I’m supposed to receive? Well, none of that makes the least bit of sense.
Everything I thought I knew about myself, my life, my future, it all flashes before me in disjointed bursts. Single. Bachelor. Successful attorney… Check, check and check. I’ve lived a life most men only dream of. Has it been perfect? No. After a rocky childhood in the UK, I came to college in the states. My being British in New York has been somewhat of novelty. Women have certainly enjoyed my accent and unique quirks. And I’ve enjoyed sampling the buffet.
The overwhelming feeling that life as I know it is about to change forever lurks over me like a dark cloud.
I need to call my uncle back. Need to hear him say this was all some massive misunderstanding. But first, I need to get to church. I need to pray to God this is all a dream. Doesn’t matter that I haven’t been in ages….
There’s no way I’m ever getting married, not for all the money in the world.
Except . . .
I realize with horror how very well screwed I am.