My uncle Gabriel was there. Gabriel was my dad’s younger brother, a loud, obnoxious guy who loved spreading family gossip more than he loved breathing.
I was standing by the grill flipping burgers in the smoke when Gabriel sidled up right next to me holding a cheap beer. “So, Mason?” Gabriel smirked aggressively, clapping me on the shoulder. “I hear business downtown is absolutely booming for you.”
“Robert was just telling me you pulled in a massive corporate bonus this year. Said it was more than enough to easily fund a luxury Middle Eastern vacation for the whole family.”
I froze, the spatula completely still in my hand. “Dad told you about my financial bonus?”
“Oh yeah.” Gabriel laughed loudly, taking a swig of his beer. “He was bragging about it to everyone down at the country club last week, saying his youngest son makes more money than the doctors in the neighborhood. Isabella was right there listening to the whole thing, too.”
“She chimed in and said, Carter is so incredibly lucky to have a brother with such deep pockets and a massive future inheritance.” My blood ran absolutely cold.
Isabella knew. She fully knew I had serious money. She knew my parents would blindly bend over backward and sacrifice their own possessions for Carter. And she knew exactly how much that twenty-six-thousand-dollar vacation was worth.
Gabriel, desperately trying to play the friendly, gossiping uncle, had just unwittingly painted a massive glowing target right on my back. The casual backyard barbecue eventually transitioned indoors into a formal sit-down dinner, which quickly devolved into a hijacking session for the Dubai trip.
We were just eight weeks out from the flight. I had my laptop open on the edge of the dining table, quietly confirming passport numbers and expiration dates with my mom.
Isabella sat directly across from me, aggressively scrolling through her phone. “So, Mason,” she said loudly, raising her voice to ensure the entire table stopped talking and listened to her. “I was closely reviewing the itinerary you printed out.”
“I noticed you only booked one luxury suite with two bedrooms for Carter and me to share with your parents. Now that we are officially engaged, we really need our own private romance space. Can you go ahead and upgrade us to the royal suite? I saw pictures online and it looks gorgeous.”
I slowly stopped typing, my fingers hovering rigidly over the keyboard. I looked up and met her calculating gaze.
“Isabella, the hotel reservations are strictly for four people. Mom, Dad, Carter, and me. There is no us suite. The bookings are one hundred percent finalized and locked in.”
The entire dining room went dead, suffocatingly silent. You could hear a pin drop. Isabella’s face instantly contorted into a masterful mask of wounded, innocent shock.
She looked over at Carter, her eyes rapidly welling up with perfectly timed fake tears. “Carter,” she whimpered, her lower lip literally trembling. “I thought you promised me this was a welcoming family trip. Aren’t I officially part of the family now?”
Carter immediately slammed his fist hard on the wooden table, rattling the silverware. “Yeah, Mason, what the hell is your problem? She is my fiancée now. She is coming to Dubai with us.”
“The trip is fully booked and completely paid for. Carter,” I said, keeping my voice dangerously level despite the rage boiling inside me. “Adding a fifth person this late in the game, especially for Emirates First Class and a seven-star luxury hotel, would cost at least another five or six thousand dollars out of pocket. I do not have that kind of cash just lying around.”
My dad cleared his throat from the head of the table. It was the distinct authoritative sound of a judge about to deliver a harsh sentence. “Now hold on a minute, Mason. Carter actually has a very good point. Isabella is joining our family.”
“It would be incredibly rude and insulting to leave her behind here in Chicago while we go celebrate our anniversary overseas. You make excellent money. You just got that big promotion. Surely you can just put the extra costs on a high-limit credit card and make some quick adjustments.”
I stared at my dad, utterly stunned by his audacity. “Dad, I spent eighteen agonizing months saving every penny for this. I delayed fixing the leaking roof on my own house. I gave up my entire social life for a year and a half. I cannot just magically invent another six grand because Carter impulsively decided to get engaged.”
Isabella immediately reached over and placed her hand gently on my dad’s arm. “Oh, Robert, please don’t fight with Mason over me. I don’t want to be a financial burden. I just… I’ve never been out of the country. I thought this would be the perfect magical way to bond with my new parents. But if Mason really hates me that much, I will just stay home all alone.”
It was an absolute masterclass in emotional manipulation. My dad’s jaw tightened in anger. “We will discuss this in private later,” he said to me, his tone laced with a dark, undeniable warning.
I left the house that night feeling physically sick to my stomach. Exactly four weeks before our scheduled flight to Dubai, my dad summoned me to the house.
He didn’t ask if I was free. He gave me an absolute order to be there at six o’clock sharp. When I walked through the front door and stepped into the living room, the heavy atmosphere made it feel exactly like an ambush.
My dad was sitting stiffly in his large leather armchair. My mom was perched nervously on the very edge of the sofa, wringing her hands.
Carter and Isabella sat uncomfortably close together on the loveseat, holding hands and looking incredibly smug. “Sit down, Mason,” my dad commanded, pointing to a hard wooden chair positioned directly in the center of the room.
I slowly took the seat, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs. “What is this about, Dad?”
My dad leaned forward, resting his heavy elbows on his knees, staring me down. “We have been doing a lot of serious thinking about the Dubai trip over the past few days, and we have come to a final decision.”
I instantly noticed the deliberate use of the word we. They were collectively making executive decisions about a luxury trip that I had completely funded with my own blood and sweat.
“Given the strict logistical limitations you aggressively mentioned,” my dad continued, his voice completely devoid of any paternal warmth, “about the reservations being strictly capped at four people and your refusal to cover the excessive cost to add a fifth ticket, we think the most sensible logical solution is for Isabella to simply take your place on the trip.”