The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,11
a billion and all you need to do to come into your own fortune is to outlive him.
As for me? I can’t wait to get out there and take my bite out of the world. To make my way. To challenge myself and see what I can do and learn and be with my painting skills.
How will I manage that? No bloody idea. Yet. But figuring it all out is part of the challenge.
The idea of spending my life on Percy’s drafty country estate, popping out children and carrying picnic baskets to his weekend polo matches, sounds like a diabolical form of purgatory.
Still, I completely understand Percy’s bewilderment. The poor man is the same today as he always was. It’s not his fault that it took me this long to realize that his steadiness and reliability are no substitute for excitement and desire. But can’t you have both in a marriage? Shouldn’t you want both?
Not that I know anything about marriage, clearly. My most intimate example is the way my parents scorched the earth between them on their way to their divorce decree. I’m no expert. But I’m quite sure that the idea of spending the rest of your life with your fiancé shouldn’t fill you with dread. I’m quite sure that’s a bad sign.
So, yes, I’m sorry I hurt Percy. But am I sorry to have narrowly avoided the worst mistake of my life?
Fuck no. I’m relieved. Relieved.
“How terrible do you feel?” my father asks hopefully. “Perhaps you lovebirds can still work it out.”
“I’m not in love with Percy. Not the way I should be.”
“Oh, that.” He flaps his hand dismissively. “Romantic love is wildly overrated. Other things are so much more important.”
“Exactly. Like common interests. Understanding. A true connection—”
“Financial security.”
There it is again. One of my father’s vague references to financial concerns, which is quite odd, considering that his mother the Queen is personally worth upward of a billion pounds. He’s made these sorts of comments several times in the last few months. I’ve also heard faint rumblings about my father’s debts—the tabloids have referred to a gambling issue—but I’ve always assumed they were lies generated to sell newspapers and magazines. Now I have to wonder.
“What are you on about, Daddy?”
His expression sours and his movements turn choppy as he helps himself to another drink and downs half of it before answering. My anxiety level grows.
“My beloved brother is tightening the purse strings on my branch of the family,” he says bitterly. He and his older brother, the heir, share all the love that Churchill no doubt felt for Hitler during the Blitz. “Mummy’s not doing anything to stop him. We’re all going to feel the pinch very soon. I’d rather hoped to have a wealthy son-in-law as a buffer while we get things sorted.”
I gape at him, my mind spiraling through all the things wrong with those few sentences. I hardly know where to start.
“He’s cutting us off?” I ask, my stomach dropping as I think about my allowance, which allows me to live and travel comfortably while I plan my next steps.
“Not yet. But the writing on the wall couldn’t be clearer.”
I breathe a little easier. “I’m sorry it’s coming to this, but I’m planning to work for my keep, and I’m sure you’ll figure something out. And I’m not some sixteenth-century princess to be married off to form some advantageous alliance. Kindly remember that.”
“Of course, poppet. I’m sure you’ll be tripping over career opportunities very soon with your degrees in, what was it? Art history and studio art.”
“I’m a painter,” I say, stung. “I can paint.”
“It’s all fine to set up a studio in one of Percy’s barns and dabble on the weekends,” he says darkly. “How you think you’ll pay the rent here by painting is beyond me.”
“Thanks for those stirring words of confidence and support,” I say, feeling my self-esteem shrivel like a man’s willy after a dip in an icy swimming pool. Because he’s right, of course. I majored in art because I love it. Not because I ever expected I’d have to support myself with it. “Can’t tell you how moved I am.”
“Sorry, poppet.” He softens immediately and leans in to peck my cheek, his breath pungent with alcohol. I wonder how much he’s been drinking these days. “There will be some heavy hitters in the art world there tonight. A discreet word or two to the right people and I can sell several pieces from my private collection. Build up