Chapter 5

Arthur~

She ends dinner before everyone else and excuses herself.

The moment the floor-to-ceiling dining room doors close behind Claire, the illusion of a happy family shatters.

I set my cutlery down with a soft click, wipe my mouth with a fresh napkin the maid provided, then toss it onto the table.

"Nothing tastes right anymore after she left."

He knows who I meant.

Unfortunately for him... not the person he thinks I'm talking about this time.

The words land exactly where I intend them to. Because, my dearest father stiffens almost imperceptibly beside me.

His grip on the knife tightens and his jaw ticks.

For several long seconds, he says nothing, choosing instead to slice another piece of steak with that infuriating composure of his.

"Are you going to do the same to this one too?" I grab my glass cup, twirling it softly with a curl of my lips. "...Your tiny, little wife?"

Finally, he speaks without looking up. "Control yourself, Young man."

A humorless laugh escapes me. "Control myself?" I lean back in my chair. "That's rich, coming from you."

Silence.

As always.

Getting under his skin gives me pleasure, but unfortunately, he rarely gives me the satisfaction of showing it.

"She's not even twenty-one." I tilt my head. "Twenty, if I had to guess."

Still nothing.

He's chewing as though the warm, affectionate husband from moments ago never existed.

I scoff.

"Find someone your age."

His knife finally stops moving and my lips curl.

"I refuse to accept a teenager as my stepmother."

At last, his eyes rise to meet mine. Cold and dark. Just like I know him to be.

"This marriage was part of our agreement." He starts quietly.

"I remember the agreement."

"Then honor it."

"I am honoring it." I gesture toward the doorway Claire disappeared through. "I attended your wedding. I came home. Sat through this ridiculous family dinner. I even called your little bride..." I chuckle, unamused. "...Mother."

The last word drips with enough sarcasm to poison the room.

"But accepting her?" I shake my head. "You'll have to do more than just sign off a few ports to me."

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

Then my father calmly sets his cutlery down. Folds his napkin and places it beside his plate. "No one asked you to." He pushes his chair back and rises. "But while Claire is under this roof, you'll do exactly what we agreed."

He continuous, voice clip. "You will pretend to be the dutiful son you're not. You will make her believe she married into a functional family. You will help her settle in."

Then, he pause, letting the silence settle between us.

"Or the deal is off."

His eyes hardens. "And you will be in breach of contract."

Without another word, he turns and walks away.

I watch him leave, the corners of my mouth slowly lifting.

Transactions.

That's the only language the old man has ever understood.

My smirk stretches a little further.

"As Father wills..." the words roll lazily off my tongue.

"I shall take very care of my stepmother."

A dark look flash in my eyes.

****

Claire~

I pace the room, biting my nail while hoping against hope that something will stop him from coming. Maybe business. Amnesia. Bad news. Anything at all.

My gaze shifts back to the night dress lying on the bed. When I'd returned from dinner, it had been waiting for me with a handwritten note that said:

"Congratulations on your marriage, Mrs. Westhall. Master Robert asked us to prepare this for your first night. Call if you need anything."

The note probably sits crumpled in the wastebasket or behind it now after hurling it at it. I couldn't bear to look at it.

The old man wants to consummate the marriage tonight.

The thought makes my stomach knot.

I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the dress from across the room as though it might suddenly disappear if I wish hard enough.

It doesn't.

It's beautiful. Simple. Elegant. Everything a new bride who married for love would be dying to wear for her husband.

I hate it.

What if my plan to stall tonight fails? What if he forces himself on me, because there's no way I'll be willing.

And if he does, will he be gentle like his son?

My fingers drift unconsciously to my lower abdomen as memories from that night springs up wildly in my head again.

Arthur's voice. His touch. The tenderness I'd never expected from a complete stranger...

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing he's the man I'm married to instead of his father. Even without love, his appearance will be enough to—

Stop it, Claire!

I snap at myself.

"That night never happened." I repeat many times, as though repeating it many times will change the truth.

It can't happen again.

I'm married now. To his father.

A knock on the door startles me so violently that I almost cry out. My heart drops into my stomach.

He's here.

I glance wildly around the room, searching for an excuse to delay opening the door.

Another knock.

"Claire?"

Robert's calm voice filters through the door.

"It's me."

I swallow hard.

"J-Just a moment."

I hurry to the bathroom, splash cold water onto my face before patting it dry with trembling hands.

When I finally return to the room and unlock the door, I only open it a few inches.

Robert stands outside, still wearing the charcoal suit from dinner. His tie is gone, and the top button of his shirt is undone, making him look less like the intimidating businessman everyone fears and more like an exhausted man at the end of a long day.

His eyes immediately find my face. "You've been crying?"

I blink.

Had I?

I hadn't even noticed.

"I..." I force a smile. "It's not tears. I just washed my fac—"

Vrrrm.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

Glancing at it, it's a notification from an unknown number.

My heart sinks.

Ignore it—it could be Arthur.

That would be the smart thing to do with Robert here.

Instead, against every ounce of common sense I possess, my thumb betrays me.

I tap the notification open. Then—

"MY GOD!" I yelp.