Chapter 1 - REMEMBER THIS MOMENT
My name is Jessi Sterling.
For thirty-two years, my family treated me like the daughter who never quite measured up.
My younger sister, Chloe, was the beautiful one.
The charming one.
The daughter my parents proudly introduced first.
I was the difficult one.
Too serious.
Too independent.
Too focused on work.
And, according to my father, Arthur Sterling, apparently destined to die alone surrounded by spreadsheets.
Chloe’s wedding was held at Hawthorne Ridge Country Club outside Boston.
Nearly four hundred guests filled the ballroom.
White orchids cascaded from crystal stands.
A ten-piece band played beside a dance floor polished so brightly it reflected the chandeliers.
My father had spent months telling everyone it would be “the Sterling wedding people would remember.”
He was right.
Just not for the reason he expected.
I arrived alone shortly before dinner.
My mother, Margaret, looked immediately behind me.
“Where’s your date?”
“I didn’t bring one.”
Her mouth tightened.
“At your sister’s wedding?”
“I’m here for Chloe. That should be enough.”
Apparently, it wasn’t.
During dinner, Dad took the microphone.
He praised Chloe.
Her new husband, Grant Whitaker.
Their perfect future.
Their beautiful home.
Their plans to eventually join Sterling Heritage Group, the hotel-and-development company my grandfather had founded and my father now ran.
Then his eyes landed on me.
“And there’s Jessi.”
Several heads turned.
Dad smiled.
“Still flying solo.”
A few people laughed.
Then he added:
“Thirty-two years old and she couldn’t even find a date for her own sister’s wedding.”
The laughter grew.
Chloe covered her mouth, pretending to be embarrassed for me while obviously trying not to laugh.
Mom murmured:
“Arthur, enough.”
But she was smiling too.
I said nothing.
That bothered Dad more than tears would have.
Later, I stepped onto the terrace for air.
Dad followed with several relatives.
“Don’t sulk,” he said.
“I’m not sulking.”
“You always make everything dramatic.”
“I’m standing outside.”
“You’re embarrassing your sister.”
I actually laughed.
“By breathing on the terrace?”
One of Chloe’s cousins lifted his phone.
“Come on, Jessi. Smile. Family video.”
I turned away.
Dad reached for my arm.
“Stop acting like a victim.”
I stepped back.
My heel hit the wet edge of the stone fountain.
Dad’s fingers were still around my arm when I lost my balance.
The next second, I went backward into freezing water.
My shoulder struck stone.
Water filled my shoes.
My pale-green dress wrapped heavily around my legs.
For one second, nobody reacted.
Then someone laughed.
Another guest clapped.
Dad still had the microphone from the ballroom.
He lifted it.
“Now that’s one way to get attention.”
Applause broke out across the terrace.
Not everyone.
But enough.
I sat in that fountain looking up at people I had protected for years.
People I had covered for.
People whose birthdays I remembered.
People whose emergencies somehow became my emergencies.
People who had no idea nearly everything they believed about me was wrong.
I stood slowly.
Water ran from my hair.
Dad smiled down at me.
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Remember this moment.”
His smile weakened.
“What?”
“Remember exactly how funny this feels right now.”
Then I walked away.
I did not cry until I reached the restroom.
Even then, only for thirty seconds.
I had learned long ago that crying in front of my family became evidence.
Evidence that Jessi was sensitive.
Jessi overreacted.
Jessi couldn’t take a joke.
So I locked myself in a stall.
Counted to ten.
Then went to my car.
I always kept an emergency black dress there for work events.
I changed.
Dried my hair as well as I could.
Applied lipstick with hands that had finally stopped shaking.
Then opened my phone.
There was one contact my family had never seen.
For three years, Dad had mocked me for having no man.
Mom had tried setting me up with sons of her friends.
Chloe once told relatives I was “married to her career.”
I let all of them believe it.
Because three years earlier, I had quietly married a man my father knew extremely well.
Just not as my husband.
His name was Julian Mercer.
Founder and managing partner of Mercer Ridge Capital.
Forty-one years old.
Private.
Brilliant.
And currently the one man my father desperately needed to sign an eighty-five-million-dollar refinancing package that could keep Sterling Heritage Group from violating several major debt covenants.
Dad had spent seven months chasing Julian.
Seven months praising his judgment.
Seven months telling everyone that “Mercer Ridge is the future of our waterfront strategy.”
He had no idea Julian Mercer slept beside his supposedly lonely daughter.
The secrecy had been my choice.
Julian and I met during a transportation-infrastructure conference in New York.
We married eighteen months later in a courthouse with four witnesses.
I kept my surname.
We kept separate careers.
We owned our home together but maintained independent finances.
And because my family had spent most of my adult life treating my personal choices as public entertainment, I gave them nothing.
Julian respected that.
Sometimes too much.
He had asked three times whether I was sure I did not want him at Chloe’s wedding.
I said yes.
“This is her day.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Call me if you change your mind.”
Now I did.
I typed:
Come now.
His reply appeared immediately.
Ten minutes.
I stared at those words.
Julian had been at a hotel fifteen minutes away for a Mercer Ridge meeting connected to the Sterling refinancing.
Not coincidence.
Dad had asked him to remain in Boston through the weekend because he wanted the final term sheet signed before Monday.
Julian had planned to meet me afterward.
My family simply didn’t know.
When I returned to the ballroom, Dad was still telling the fountain story.
Chloe was laughing.
Grant had one arm around her waist.
Then the ballroom doors opened.
Julian walked inside wearing a dark charcoal suit.
Beside him came Elena Park, Mercer Ridge’s general counsel.
And Robert Hale, an attorney who had administered my grandmother’s family trust for almost twenty years.
That was the part I had not expected.
My father saw Julian first.
His entire expression changed.
He immediately handed the microphone to someone else.
“Julian?”
Chloe stopped laughing.
Mom whispered:
“Why is he here?”
Julian’s eyes found me.
Then his expression changed.
He saw my damp hair.
The black replacement dress.
The scrape on my shoulder.
He walked directly toward me.
Dad hurried after him.
“Julian, I didn’t realize we were meeting tonight.”
Julian did not look at him.
He stopped in front of me.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes moved toward the terrace doors.
“Jessi.”
“I fell into the fountain.”
“Fell?”
Dad laughed nervously.
“Family joke.”
Julian finally looked at him.
There was nothing dramatic in his expression.
That made Dad more nervous.
Then Julian took my hand.
My wedding ring was on a thin chain beneath my dress.
It had always been there around family.
Julian reached beneath his shirt and pulled out his own ring, which he wore on a chain whenever he attended meetings involving Sterling Heritage because I had asked him to keep our marriage private until his firm finished evaluating my father’s company.
He slid it onto his finger.
Then I took mine from my necklace and did the same.
Nobody spoke.
Dad stared.
Mom stared.
Chloe’s mouth opened.
Julian looked around the table.
“I should probably introduce myself properly.”
His hand tightened gently around mine.
“I’m Julian Mercer.”
Then:
“Jessi’s husband.”
The room went completely silent.
Dad’s face drained of color.
“No.”
Chloe whispered:
“You’re married?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three years.”
Dad looked between us.
“You’re telling me my daughter is married to Julian Mercer?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently I could find a date after all.”
Nobody laughed.
Then Dad noticed Robert Hale.
His fear deepened.
“What is Robert doing here?”
Robert carried a leather portfolio.
Julian answered:
“Jessi asked me to come.”
Then he glanced at Robert.
“I brought the people I was already meeting with because the Sterling refinancing issue can no longer wait until Monday.”
My father went still.
“What issue?”
Robert opened the portfolio.
“The issue involving Jessi’s shares.”
I looked at Dad.
His eyes flickered.
Tiny.
But I saw it.
He knew.
Julian looked at me.
“Did Arthur tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
That was when Dad reached for the folder.
Robert pulled it back.
“Mr. Sterling.”
Dad stopped.
Julian’s voice remained calm.
“The eighty-five-million-dollar financing cannot close under the certifications currently provided.”
Chloe looked confused.
Grant asked:
“What does that mean?”
Julian looked directly at my father.
“It means Arthur represented to our lenders that he had authorization to pledge shares he does not control.”
My stomach dropped.
Dad stared at Julian.
Then at me.
I whispered:
“What shares?”
Robert answered.
May you like
“Yours.”
And suddenly being pushed into a fountain was no longer the worst thing my father had done to me that day.
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