CHAPTER 5: THE GRANDFATHER

The nursing home was nicer than most people's houses. Nicer than where she lived before.

Elara sat in the back of Lucien's car, a sleek black Mercedes that drove smoother than anything she'd ever experienced, watching expensive neighborhoods roll past through the tinted windows.

"Your grandfather lives here?" she asked.

"He refuses to live with me," Lucien said, eyes on his phone. He'd been answering emails throughout the entire drive. "Says he'd rather be around people his own age than watch me 'ruin his legacy with spreadsheets and soullessness.'"

"Sounds judgmental."

"He is. By the way as a fair warning, he's going to hate you."

Elara turned mortified. "Excuse me?"

"Not you specifically but like the concept of you." Lucien finally looked up. "He wanted me to marry Victoria Chen. Or Anastasia Rothschild. Or literally anyone from the list of pre-approved society families he's been maintaining since I turned twenty-five. But you? You're an outsider and that's going to be a problem."

"And yet here we are."

"Here we are." He studied her. "Can you handle him? He's manipulative and he'll say things designed to make you feel inadequate."

"I've spent three years watching my company die while creditors called me a disappointment to my father's legacy. I think I can handle one mean old man."

Lucien's expression shifted while he studied her, surprise maybe or respect. "Alright then. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Richard Blackwood was ninety-three, sharp as a knife, and absolutely furious.

He sat in his private suite which was a corner room with leather furniture, dark wood paneling and bookshelves that gave off the aura of a lifetime of power, glaring at Elara like she'd personally offended him.

"This is her?" he said to Lucien. "This is your solution?"

"Grandfather, this is Elara Quinn." Lucien's voice was dangerously calm. "My fiancée. And you'll treat her with respect."

"Respect." Richard's laugh was bitter and condescending. "You bring me a nobody from nowhere, expect me to smile and nod while you make a mockery of our family…"

"Our family that you're holding hostage with your outdated will?" Lucien's control was fraying on the edge. "Let's not pretend this situation is my doing. You backed me into a corner."

"I gave you options! Perfectly suitable options!"

"You gave me leashes dressed as wives."

The two men stared at each other, same jaw, same steel eyes, same stubborn pride. Family resemblance in all the worst ways possible.

Elara had been quiet, letting them fight. Now she spoke.

"Mr. Blackwood, I know I'm not what you wanted for your grandson."

Richard's attention snapped to her. "You're damn right you're not."

"But I'm what he chose." She held his gaze. "And whether you approve or not, I'm going to be part of this family in three weeks. So we can either spend the next year at war, or we can try to be civil."

"Civil." Richard spat the word. "You're a gold digger. Let's not dress it up."

The accusation should have stung. Instead, Elara laughed.

"You're right," she said simply. "I am."

Lucien tensed beside her, but she continued.

"I'm marrying your grandson because I need money. My company is failing, my mother is dying, and I'm desperate." She leaned forward. "But here's the thing, Mr. Blackwood, Lucien needs this marriage just as badly as I do. So we're using each other. Equally. And honestly, I'm going to play my part so well that no one, including you will ever question whether it's real."

Richard studied her, expression unreadable.

Then, shockingly, he smiled. "You've got spine. I'll give you that."

"I've got survival instinct," Elara corrected. "There's a difference."

"Not much of one." He looked at Lucien. "She's better than Vivienne. I hated that bitch."

"Language, Grandfather."

"I'm ninety-three. I'll say whatever I damn well please." Richard waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. Marry your nobody. But don't expect me at the wedding. I'm not endorsing this circus."

"I wouldn't dream of forcing you," Lucien said coldly.

"Good." Richard looked back at Elara. "What's your father's name?"

The question caught her off guard. "Excuse me?"

"Your father. You said he left you a company. What was his name?"

"Michael Quinn."

Recognition flickered across Richard's face. "Quinn Interiors? That Michael Quinn?"

Elara nodded warily.

"I knew him." Richard's expression softened like actually softened. "Met him at a design conference in '94. He was presenting some revolutionary concept for long lasting materials. I thought he was brilliant. Too idealistic, but brilliant."

"That was him," Elara said quietly. "Brilliant and idealistic."

"He died, didn't he? A few years back?"

"Three years ago because of a heart attack."

Richard was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm sorry for your loss. He was a good man. A little too good for this business, probably."

The genuine sympathy in his voice cracked something in Elara's chest. She'd spent so long defending her father's legacy to people who'd never met him, who only saw the debt and failure he'd left behind. Hearing someone remember him as brilliant, meant more than she could put into words.

"Thank you," she managed.

Richard looked between them. "Maybe you two aren't completely hopeless."

"Such a high praise," Lucien said dryly.

"Don't get cocky. I still think you're making a mistake." Richard pulled out a box from his desk drawer. "But since you're determined to go through with this facade, you might as well do it properly."

He opened the box.

Inside was a ring that was simply vintage and stunning. It was a square-cut diamond surrounded by smaller stones, set in platinum with intricate designs done on the band. It was the most beautiful thing Elara had ever seen.

"This was my wife's," Richard said. "She wore it for sixty-two years but when she died, I had to put it away. Figured I'd give it to Lucien's bride someday."

"Grandfather…" Lucien's voice was strained.

"Shut up. I'm having a moment." Richard held the box out to Elara. "Take it. If you're going to pretend to be family, you might as well look the part."

Elara's hands trembled as she took the box. "Mr. Blackwood, I can't—"

"You can. And you will." He softened, just slightly. "My Emma would have liked you. She had spine too. She married me when everyone said I was too ambitious, too cold and too married to my work. She proved them all wrong for sixty-two years."

He looked at Lucien. "Maybe this girl will prove me wrong too."

Lucien took the box from Elara, pulling out the ring. Without ceremony, without romance, he took her left hand and slid it onto her finger.

It fit her finger perfectly. If she was looking for a sign like the ring not fitting, it backfired. Instead, it sat on her hand like it had always belonged there.

"Thank you," Elara said to Richard. "I'll take care of it."

"See that you do." He waved them toward the door. "Now get out. You've exhausted me with all this emotion."

They left him there and got into the car.

In the car, Elara stared at the beautiful ring on her finger. It caught the light, sending small rainbows across her lap.

"I didn't expect that," she said quietly.

"Neither did I." Lucien was looking at the ring too. "He loved my grandmother more than anything in the world. I thought he'd die before he let anyone else wear that ring."

"He misses her."

"Every day for the past eleven years." Lucien's voice was rough. "That's what scares me about love. The way it destroys you when it's gone."

Elara turned to look at him. Really look at him. Saw the boy who'd lost his parents at twelve, raised by a grandfather who'd been broken by loss, taught that love was a liability.

"Is that why you don't want it?" she asked. "Love? Because you've seen what it costs?"

"I don't want it because I don't believe in it." He met her eyes. "What my grandparents had was an anomaly. Most people chase that feeling and end up with broken homes and custody battles and alimony payments. They confuse chemistry for compatibility. Attraction for attachment."

"And you think a contract is better?"

"I think clarity is better. We know what this is. We know when it ends. We know exactly what we're getting from each other. There are no illusions or false hope. So no one gets destroyed."

"No one gets anything real either."

"Real is overrated." He looked away. "We should get you a wedding dress. Victoria scheduled you for tomorrow.” He said signaling the end of the discussion.

Elara twisted the ring on her finger. "For what it's worth, I think your grandmother would have understood what we're doing."

"Why?"

"Because she married a man everyone said was too cold, too ambitious and too married to his work, like your grandfather said." Elara smiled sadly. "Maybe she saw something in him that no one else did. Something worth sixty-two years."

"Or maybe she was just patient enough to sit out his bullshit."

Despite everything, Elara laughed. "Yeah. Maybe that."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, the ring heavy on her finger, three weeks from a wedding that would mean everything and nothing at all.

---

That evening, Elara called her best friend, Sophia.

"How's married life?" her friend asked.

"We're not married yet."

"But it's close enough. You're living with him, wearing his grandmother's ring which, by the way send me a picture immediately."

Elara snapped a photo of the ring and sent it. Sophia's response was immediate: "HOLY SHIT. That's not a ring. That's a down payment on a house."

"It was his grandmother's."

"Even more reason to panic. He's giving you family heirlooms? For a fake marriage?"

"His grandfather gave it to me. Lucien didn't have a choice."

"Still. That's... significant."

Elara looked at the ring, at the way it caught the light. "His grandfather told me about his grandmother. They were married for sixty-two years. Really, genuinely married. And now I'm wearing her ring for a contract that expires in twelve months."

"Hey." Sophia's voice gentled. "You're going to be okay. You know that, right?"

"Do I?"

"Yes. Because you're the strongest person I know. And because when this year is over, you're going to walk away with your mom healthy, your company saved and enough money to never be in this position again."

"And what if I don't want to walk away?"

The words were out before Elara could stop them.

Sophia was quiet for a long moment. "Elara—"

"Forget I said that okay? I'm tired and it's been a long day. Met the grandfather, got the family ring, contemplated the horror of my life choices. You know, Tuesday things."

"You're falling for him."

"I'm not."

"You're going to."

"Sophia—"

"Just promise me something," her friend said. "Promise me that when you do fall, because you will, you're human and he's gorgeous and you're living together and playing house, promise me you'll remember what this is. What he told you it is."

"I promise."

But as Elara hung up and looked at the ring on her finger, at the penthouse she now lived in, at the closed door of Lucien's office where he was probably working late again, she wondered if promises were enough to protect her from the slow, inevitable consequences of the proximity and pretense.

She fell asleep that night with the ring still on her finger, dreaming of a woman named Emma who'd loved a cold man for sixty-two years and somehow made it look easy.