Chapter 5: The Fake Engagement

Never make a deal with a man who agrees before you have finished asking.

Christian did not explain what he meant. I waited for him to say more, but he only stood there with his jaw tight and his hands closed into fists. When I asked him what he knew about Cassian, he gave me a long, strange look, as if he were deciding whether I deserved the answer.

“Ask him yourself,” he said at last. “Ask him where he goes at night.”

Then he left. The door closed behind him with a quiet thud, and I stood alone in the middle of my room with my heart racing.

Rosalie slipped back in a moment later. “Miss Parker, Mr. Whitmore looked like a storm.”

“He was one,” I said. “Help me dress. Plainly. And order a car.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the Blackthorne estate.”

She dropped the hairbrush.

The estate sat at the edge of the city, behind tall iron gates and a long avenue of dark trees. It was nothing like the shining Parker Tower. The walls were gray stone, the windows were narrow, and the whole place looked as if it had been built to keep people out rather than let them in.

A tall man in a dark green jacket met us at the door. He had messy brown hair, a crooked smile and an earpiece that he wore like he had forgotten it was there.

“Miss Genevieve Parker,” he said, with a nod that was a little too cheerful. “Raphael Sinclair, head of security for Mr. Wolfe. Forgive the gloomy house. We are not used to guests.”

“I can see why,” I said.

He laughed, and the sound surprised me. In the novel, Raphael had one line. I was beginning to realize how much the book had left out.

“Mr. Wolfe is in the study,” he said. “He told me to bring you straight in the moment you arrived.”

“He expected me?”

“He said you would come before sunset.” Raphael’s smile turned thoughtful. “He is rarely wrong about people.”

The study was dim and lined with books. A fire burned low in the hearth. Cassian Wolfe stood by the window with a letter in his hand, and when I walked in he folded it slowly and put it away.

“Miss Parker,” he said. “You are early.”

“I said one day. It is already afternoon.”

“So you did.” He gestured to a chair. “Please.”

I did not sit. I could not. Every minute that passed was a minute closer to the Red Hook docks. “I have decided,” I said. “I will accept your proposal.”

Raphael, near the door, made a small choking noise.

Cassian did not move. “That is quick.”

“I have conditions.”

“I thought you might.”

I took a breath. I had practiced this speech in the car. “It will not be a real marriage. It will be an engagement, nothing more. A pretend one. You will protect me from Christian Whitmore and from whatever trouble comes after me. In return, I will stay quiet about what I know.”

The room went still. Even the fire seemed to hush.

“What you know,” Cassian repeated slowly.

“About tonight.” I looked straight at him. “I know you have an appointment at the docks. I know it is not safe. And I know that if you go, you will not come back.”

I expected shock. I expected him to laugh, or call security, or demand how I could possibly know. He did none of those things. He only watched me with those winter gray eyes, and something in his face changed, the way a locked door changes when someone finally turns the key.

“Then I will not go,” he said.

I blinked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You are not going to ask me how I know?”

“Not yet.” He stepped away from the window. “Raphael, send word to the docks. The meeting is canceled.”

“Sir,” Raphael said, startled. “You have been planning that meeting for six months.”

“And I will plan another.”

Raphael looked at me, then at his boss, then at me again. I saw the exact moment he decided I was either a miracle or a disaster.

“As you wish,” he said. He slipped out, though not before glancing back with open curiosity.

When the door shut, I let out the breath I had been holding. My knees felt weak. “You agreed too quickly.”

“Did I?”

“You did not even argue about the engagement.”

“Why would I argue?” Cassian said. “I asked for your hand. You are giving me your name in return. It is the only thing I wanted.”

“The only thing?” I stared at him. “You do not even know me.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I do not.”

The words hung between us. I was sure again that he was hiding something, and sure that it was not a cruel thing. It felt closer to grief.

“The engagement will be announced tomorrow,” he went on. “I will inform your father, the chairman. In public, you will be my fiancée. In private, we will be allies. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Then we have an agreement.” He held out his hand, and I took it. His palm was warm and dry, and his grip was steady. For a moment neither of us let go.

“One more thing,” I said. “Christian knows. I told him this morning. He did not take it well.”

“I imagine not.”

“He said I did not know who you really are.”

Cassian’s face did not change, but his fingers tightened slightly around mine. “He said that.”

“He told me to ask where you go at night.”

A long silence followed. When Cassian finally let go of my hand, he looked older than he had a moment ago.

“I will answer that someday,” he said. “But not today. Today I must ask something of you.”

“Of course.”

“I have one condition of my own.” He walked back to the window and stood with his back to me, looking out at the dark trees. His voice was low and very steady. “Whatever else happens between us, whatever secrets either of us keeps, you must never lie to me about who you are.”

My breath caught.

I thought of Anastasia Cole, the ordinary woman who died with a book in her hands. I thought of the woman whose body I wore, the one he had once known and clearly still mourned.

“I will try,” I said carefully.

“That is not a promise.”

“It is the only honest one I can make.”

Cassian turned around. For a moment I thought he might smile. Instead he looked at me as if I had just proved something he had been afraid to hope for.

“Then it will do,” he said.