Chapter 7 - The Brunch Invitation

Ace hated brunches, especially the ones his family hosted. There was always too much watching, too many questions. His grandparents would study every move he made. His mother would smile like everything was perfect, even when it wasn’t.

He sat in his car in the Blacke Tech parking garage. The engine was running, the door half open. On the passenger seat was the invitation, white and gold, with his grandmother’s neat handwriting. It wasn’t a question. It was an order.

Family brunch. This Sunday. Bring your wife.

His jaw twitched. Not because of the brunch. Or the “wife” part. But because he hadn’t told them himself. And someone else had.

Patricia!

She knows how to cause trouble, acting innocent but stirring things up behind the scenes. He can imagine his family's reaction. His mother would pretend to be shocked. His grandfather would smirk. And his grandmother would be happy. And that made things worse. He rubbed his face tiredly. They knew now, so there was no going back.

Upstairs, the penthouse was quiet. Maria, the housekeeper, was folding napkins in the kitchen. She looked up when Ace came in and said, “You’re back early, sir.”

Ace asked, “Where’s Emma?”

“In her room, sir. She just got back from court.”

Ace nodded shortly.

He stopped outside Emma’s door. It was open just a little bit. From inside, he could hear her humming quietly, not knowing he was there. She was taking off her shoes and slowly unpinning her hair.

Suddenly, she caught sight of him in the mirror and stopped moving. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said softly.

He held up the envelope in his hand. “I got this,” he said.

Emma frowned and took a step closer. “What’s that?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“An invitation,” he answered.

She didn’t reach for the envelope. Instead, she asked, “From whom?”

“My grandmother,” he said quietly.

They both stayed silent for a moment. The air felt heavy.

Finally, Emma spoke, breaking the silence. “So they knew?”

“Yes,” he replied without looking away.

Emma’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Patricia?” she asked.

“Who else?” he said, his voice low.

Another pause passed between them.

Emma looked up and asked, “What do they want?”

“A brunch. This Sunday. They expect us to come,” he said.

Emma nodded slowly, her mind already turning. Then she turned toward her closet. “I’ll find something to wear,” she said quietly.

Ace didn’t know what to say. He expected her to make a fuss, but she was calm about it. But her calm scared him more than if she’d panicked.

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The morning of the brunch came quickly.

Emma stepped out of her room wearing soft beige silk, with her hair up and earrings small and simple. Ace had never seen her look more like someone his grandmother would probably like, and that was the problem. She didn’t look like she was pretending.

She looked like a real wife.

They drove in silence. He didn’t bother to turn the radio on. And Emma needed the quietness at this moment. She was internally panicking.

Ace glanced at her. “You don’t have to talk much when we get there.”

Emma gave a dry smile. “I’m a lawyer. Talking is my job.”

He looked away. So is pretending, he thought.

The Blacke family treated her very nicely; everyone welcomed her warmly.

His grandmother, Eleanor, gasped and hugged her. “Oh my, you’re even more elegant than Patricia said.”

Ace’s mother, Lilian, smiled very widely. “I was surprised to hear the news, but what a lovely surprise.”

His grandfather nodded sharply and said, “She has grace. That’s rare.”

Emma smiled through it all. She was very polite and warm. Ace couldn’t stop watching her. They sat at the big garden table. The walls were covered with ivy, sunlight coming through the leaves. Emma talked to Eleanor about opera. She discussed charity work with Ace's mother. And with Grandfather, she talked about business. Ace sat quietly beside her. Just watching her. 

Patricia arrived late, dramatic, and wearing red again. Her eyes scanned the table and stopped on Emma. But Emma didn’t blink. She took a sip of her wine and looked back at Eleanor.

Patricia walked up to Ace quietly. “You never told me your wife was so... graceful.”

He didn’t answer.

She leaned closer. “You should have told me sooner. I could have saved you trouble.”

Ace looked away slightly. “This isn’t trouble; I’m glad you let the cat out of the bag.” Then, he stood up and went back to the table like nothing happened.

Emma caught his glance just for a moment, and that was enough.

Later, as they got ready to leave, Eleanor took Emma’s hands in hers. Her eyes were warm and serious. “You must come again,” she said. “We’re having a private party next month. I want everyone to meet you.”

Emma smiled softly. “I’d be honored,” she said quietly.

Ace said nothing.

In the car, they both kept quiet; the quietness felt heavy between them. After a while, Emma spoke. “That went better than I thought.”

He glanced at her and said, “They liked you.”

Emma shook her head. “They were just polite.”

“No,” he said firmly. “They liked you.”

Her voice dropped a little. “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”

He stared at the road. “No.”

“Liar,” she said softly. But the word stayed between them.

He didn’t say anything more.

When they reached the penthouse garage, Emma opened her door and stepped out first. Ace stayed inside the car for a moment longer. There was something strange inside him, a tight feeling in his chest. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was regret, because he didn’t know how to be proud of someone without feeling like he was losing control.

Emma closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it. The way Eleanor had looked at her reminded her of her own grandmother: kind, hopeful, and full of love. For a brief moment, Emma forgot she was pretending. And that scared her because one day, this was all going to fall apart. And when it did, they’d both be left standing in the ruins, holding only the ashes of a deal they thought they could control.