Rite of Submission

Aria POV:

The weight of Elizabeth Walton's stare burrowed into my back like a drill bit as I crossed the ballroom. This gaze reminded me of five years of charity galas learned to detect the haunting silence of a mother-in-law who thought that one had failed at their most vital duty.

I clutched at my champagne glass and smiled one of those freaky smiles. The great ballroom of the Belmont Hotel glittered with New Jersey's elite diamonds sparkling light, suspended bubbles in crystal, and wealth practically oozing from walls. And there I stood, Aria Campbell Walton's dismal addition to the prestigious Walton dynasty.

"There you are." Michael's warm hand found the small of my back, his touch spreading heat through the thin fabric of my emerald gown. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"The host is fabulous, as always," I said into his sturdy frame when I was able to spare a few seconds for refuge. "Just mingling."

His jaw tightened almost to the point of inexpectation. An outsider wouldn’t have noticed. After five years of marriage, I became somewhat fluent in reading what could be called 'the idioglossy of Michael Walton' micro-expressions.

"Don't let her get to you tonight," he hissed, his lips brushing my ear. "This night is for the children's hospital, not family politics."

I half laughed, "The family political situation was the only thing that brought in half of these people for donations. Well, that and tax write-offs."

Before Michael could respond, Elizabeth glided to us, her silver gown a luminous cloud of light reflecting off polished armor. Nelson followed two steps behind- the usual dance in the Walton marriage dynamic.

"Michael, darling." Elizabeth air-kissed her son's cheeks, turning with far less warmth toward me. "Aria. That dress is... loud."

I resisted the urge to reach out and touch the emerald silk. "Thank you, Elizabeth. The Children's Hope Foundation does wonderful work. We're honored to support it."

"Indeed." Her gaze drifted to my flat stomach, lingering there with pointed significance before returning to my face. "The Gibsons just announced their daughter-in-law is expecting. Again. Their third grandchild in four years. Remarkable, isn't it?"

My chest constricted. I took a sip of champagne to hide the tremor in my hands.

Michael moved closer to me, his arm protectively around my waist. "Mother. Not tonight."

Elizabeth's eyebrows arched in skeptical perfection. "I was merely making conversation, dear. Surely that's allowed?"

Nelson cleared his throat. "The Masterson merger looks promising, Michael. We should discuss it in detail before the board meeting on Tuesday."

"Sorry," he said, loosening his bowtie. "She had no right."

I gazed out at the manicured lawns. "Five years, Michael. She's not wrong."

He gently turned me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. "Aria, look at me."

I did. In the soft light, his eyes were the same blue as the late ocean sky, the blue that made me fall for him after knowing very well who his family was and what they expected.

"We'll get through this," he said. "The treatments..."

"Aren't working." My voice cracked. "Four rounds of IVF, and nothing. I'm so tired of appointments and injections and disappointments."

He pulled me against him, and I breathed in the smell of expensive cologne mixed with sandalwood in the air.

"Then we'll try something else. Or we won't. I didn't marry you for heirs, Aria. I married you because I love you."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But just last month, I had seen the way he had stared at his business partner's children, and that look mirrored my very own ache.

"Your mother will never forgive me if I can't give you children," I managed to whisper into his jacket.

Michael stroked my back in circles. "My mother doesn't get a vote in our marriage."

I let out a laugh. "Have you met your mother? She thinks everything deserves her vote—especially when it comes to the Walton bloodline."

"The pressure will fade soon, I swear." He tipped up my chin, the dim light striking fear in his eyes. "We'll face this together, just you and me against the world, remember?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Michael placed his lips against my forehead in a gentle kiss.

Past him, I could see Elizabeth through the ballroom windows. She was watching us, downing God alone knows what in that wine glass and giving nothing away. Behind her back, Jessica--my sister--would laugh betraying all semblance of restraint at whatever snippet of Nelson's humor made it that far.

The bizarrely intimate gesture jolted through me, working goosebumps along my spine.

"We should head home," I blurted out. "I've had just about enough of this charity."

Michael searched my face. "Everything okay?"

No. Nothing was okay. Not having our shoulders weighed heavy with expectations, not that carsick feeling I had all night courtesy of my supposed failings, not that strange prickle on my skin at the sight of Jessica with my in-laws.

But I smiled up at Michael, the man I had sworn to love through everything, and told him, "Oh, everything's fine. I'm just tired."

As we walked through the throng with Michael leading the way toward the exit, Elizabeth came up just once more to intercept us.

"Leaving so soon?" she asks, voice coated with honey and wielding a steel underpinning.

"Aria isn't feeling well," said Michael smoothly.

Elizabeth's gaze flicked to me- assessing. For a moment, absurdly, I wondered if she would ask whether it was morning sickness.

"Such a pity," she said, patting my arm while her fingers felt cold. "Jessica has been asking for you. She has been so very useful for the foundation lately—such an excited young lady."

The unspoken comparison lay between us, stark and awkward.

"I'll call her tomorrow," I told her.

"Please do," and the perfect smile of society came to Elizabeth's lips. "The family should stick together, right?"

Michael was holding my hand over the center console, his thumb stroking my knuckles in comfort. I leaned my head against the window, gazing at the fast-blurring city lights as we drove toward our mansion.

"This pressure will soon be over," Michael said in a soft voice again in the darkness of the car. "I promise."

I closed my eyes, wishing I could trust him. But as we pulled into the estate, Elizabeth's words resounded the loudest in my mind.

_Family should stick together._

I had no way of knowing just how soon that family would splinter—and that tomorrow, on my twenty-seventh birthday, I would learn just how empty Michael's promises truly were.