Chapter Two— Mr. Not So Perfect

My father had never been an affectionate man, but tonight his silence filled the dining room like fog—thick, inescapable, impossible to see through.

“Where’s Serena?” I asked, adjusting the hem of my dress as I lowered myself onto one of the chairs. The house still smelled faintly of my mother’s perfume, even three years after her funeral. Or maybe that was my imagination, clinging to ghosts.

“She’s upstairs. Homework,” my father said, his voice clipped. “Eliana, we need to talk.”

Of course we did. That was why I’d been summoned home from New York on a Wednesday night with no explanation beyond a text: Dinner. Come home. No excuses.

I knew that tone. It wasn’t. How are you? Or I miss you. It was I’ve made a decision, and you’re going to follow it. I’d been trained to read his voice the way some children learned piano.

“You’re not sick, are you?” I tried to keep the edge of panic from creeping in. “Or Serena—”

“No one’s sick,” he said quickly, impatient. “This is about the future.”

His future. Our family’s future. Never mine.

He poured a glass of wine but didn’t offer me one. Just sat across from me in his usual chair, beneath the portrait of my mother, smiling down at us like she wasn’t the reason everything had started to unravel.

“You're almost thirty,” my father stated. “You're not getting any younger, and you have to start thinking about marriage and kids. Your future.” 

“I am thinking about it. But it's also not something I need to work on right now. I'm dating. Exploring my prospects. There are plenty of single men in New York, I just have to find the right one.”

I left out the prospect that the pool of single, straight, non-douchey, non-flaky, non disturbingly eccentric men was much smaller.

 My last date tried to rope me into a seance to contact his dead mother so she could” meet me and give her approval.” Needless to say, I never saw him again.

“I've given you plenty of time to find a proper match these past two years.” My father sounded unimpressed by my spiel. ”You haven't had a single serious boyfriend since your last….relationship. It's clear you don't feel the same urgency I do, which is why I took matters into my own hands.”

My blood iced. 

” Meaning?”

I thought the important news he'd alluded to had to do with my sister or the company. But what if…..

No. It can't be.

”Meaning I've secured a suitable match for you. It took quite a bit of work on my end, but the engagement has been finalized.”

The words hit with the quiet force of a wrecking ball. Not shouted. No drama. Just a clinical statement, like he'd confirmed the weather or the price of gold.

Arranged marriages were common practice in our world of big business and power plays, where marriages weren't love matches; they were alliances.

I was expected to enter a lifetime contract after ”quite a bit of work” on my father's end. 

“I've let you drag your feet too long, and this match will be enormously beneficial for us,” my father continued. ”I'm sure you'll agree once you meet him at dinner.”

I blinked.

”Dinner? As in, tonight's dinner?” My voice sounded distant and strange, as if I was hearing it in a bad dream. ”Why didn't you tell me earlier? You don’t just get to trade me for better positioning.”

He looked at me then, really looked. And for the briefest second, I didn't see the steel-eyed patriarch, but the man who’d once kissed my scraped knees and carried me through midnight storms.

“Everything I’ve built,” he said slowly, “everything I’ve fought for, bled for—it has to go somewhere. To someone. Serena’s still in high school. You’re the eldest. It’s your turn to carry it forward.”

“You mean sacrifice myself for it.”

“No.” He set the glass down with a soft clink. “I mean protect it.”

Being ambushed with news of an arranged marriage match was bad enough. Meeting my future fiancé with zero preparation was a hundred times worse. 

”I didn't tell you earlier because he didn't confirm until today due to…scheduling complications.” My father smoothed a hand over his shirt. ”You'll have to meet him eventually. It didn't matter whether it's tonight, a week, or a month from now.”

My retort simmered on low, destined never to reach a full boil. 

”We want to move things along as quickly as possible. It takes time to plan a proper wedding, and your fiancé is, er, particular about the details.”

Funny how he was already calling him my fiancé when I hadn't met the man yet. 

”Mode De Vie named him one of the world's most eligible bachelors under forty last year. Rich, handsome, powerful. You should be happy I paired you with someone like him,” My father stated, feeling proud of himself. 

Happy? 

” That's…great.” My smile wobbled from the effort of keeping itself intact.

I took a deep breath and willed my mind not to spiral down any negative path. 

Get it together, Eli.

As upset as I was at my father for springing this on me, I could freak out later, after I got through the evening. It wasn't like I could say no to the match. If I did, my father would disown me. 

Plus, my future husband- my stomach lurched again- would be here any minute, and I couldn't make a scene. I wiped my palm against my thigh and clung to the mask I always wore at home. Cool. Calm. Respectable.

”So.” I forced a light tone. ”Does Mr. Perfect have a name, or is he only known by his net worth?”

”Net worth by strangers. Name by select friends and family.” 

My spine stiffened at the deep, unexpected voice behind me. It was so close I could feel the rumble of words against my back. They slid over me like sun-warmed honey, rich and sensual and made every nerve ending tingle with pleasure. 

Heat slipped beneath my skin. 

”Ah, there you are.” My father rose, a strangely triumphant gleam in his eyes. ”Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

”How could I pass up the opportunity to meet your lovely daughter?” 

A hint of mockery tainted the word lovely and instantly washed away any budding attraction I had to his voice, of all things. 

So much for Mr. Perfect. 

”Eliana, say hello to our guest.” My father gestured to the man still standing behind me. I finally summoned the courage to stand and turn. 

And all the air whooshed out of my lungs. 

Thick black hair. Olive skin. A slightly crooked nose enhanced his ruggedly masculine charm.

His presence was so powerful and compelling that it swallowed every molecule of oxygen in the room like a black hole consuming a newborn star.

Unlike his voice, his face was eminently recognisable. My heart sank beneath the weight of my shock. 

Impossible. There was no way he was my arranged fiancé. This had to be a joke. 

”Eliana.” My father snapped. 

Right. Dinner. Fiance. Meeting.

I shook myself out of my stupor and summoned a strained but polite smile. ”Eliana Rivera. It's a pleasure to meet you.” 

I held out my hand. 

A beat passed before he took it. Warm strength engulfed my palm and sent a jolt of electricity up my arm. 

”So I gathered from the multiple times your father said your name.” The laziness of his drawl played off the observation as a joke; the hardness of his eyes told me it was anything but. ”Alexander Grayson. The pleasure is all mine.”

There was the mockery again, subtle but cutting. 

Alexander Grayson, the CEO of Grayson Group, Fortune 500 legend, and the man who created a buzz at the Wildlife Trust gala three nights ago. He wasn't just an eligible bachelor; he was the bachelor. The elusive billionaire every woman wanted and no one could get. 

He was thirty-six years old, famously married to his work, and up until now, showed no intention of giving up his bachelor lifestyle. Why, then, would Alexander Grayson of all people agree to an arranged marriage?

“I would introduce myself by my net worth,” he said. “But it would be impolite to categorize you as a stranger, given the purpose of tonight’s dinner.”

His smile didn't contain an ounce of warmth. 

“That’s very considerate of you.” My cool reply masked my embarrassment. “Don’t worry, Mr. Grayson. If I wanted to know your net worth, I could G****e it. I’m sure the information is as readily available as the tales of your legendary charm.”

A glint sparked in his eyes, but he didn’t take my bait.

Instead, our gazes held for a charged moment before he slid his palm out of mine and swept a clinical, detached gaze over my body.

I stiffened again beneath Alexander’s scrutiny, suddenly hyperaware of my tweed skirt suit, pearl studs, and low-heeled pumps.

This was my standard uniform for visiting my father, and judging by the way Alexander’s lips thinned, he was less than impressed.

A mix of unease and irritation twisted my stomach when those dark, unforgiving eyes found mine again.

We’d exchanged only a handful of words, yet I already knew two things with gut certainty.

One, Alexander was going to be my fiancé.

Two, we might kill each other before we ever made it to the altar.