The Contract Bride of the Billionaire Heir

ARIA

The letter arrived on graduation morning, thin and blue, and it was not addressed to me.

Mrs. Monica Dawson, c/o Miss A. Dawson.

I turned it over twice in the porter's lodge. There was no return address. Only a gray stamp of three small towers and the words Final Notice across the bottom.

"Aria Dawson?" The porter squinted at me. "That came by hand. A gentleman dropped it off an hour ago."

"What gentleman?"

"Tall. Dark blond hair. Very polite." He shrugged. "He asked if you were still in room fourteen."

"Did he leave a name?"

"No. Only a smile." He rubbed his neck. "It was the sort of smile you remember."

My stomach tightened. "What did you say?"

"That you were." He gave me a worried look. "Should I not have?"

"It is fine, truly." I tucked the envelope into my bag. "I am used to it."

"You always say that."

"Because it is always true."

Upstairs, my friend Tilly sat on my packed suitcase, eating a sandwich in her cap and gown. "Why are you hiding that letter?"

"I am not hiding it."

"You are pressing it against your hip."

"It is my mother's."

"Why does your mother get post here at all?"

"She borrows my address sometimes, that is all."

"Since when?"

"Since forever."

"Aria, that is not normal."

"It is normal for us." My phone buzzed on the desk. I read the message twice.

Kellan will collect you at noon. If any post arrives for me at your address, bring it to me unopened. Do not mention it to anyone.

Tilly read it over my shoulder. "No congratulations?"

"No."

"No 'I am proud of you, Aria'?"

"No."

"Bring it unopened." She snorted. "She sounds like a woman running from the police."

"She is only careful."

"Of what?"

"Everything."

I zipped my last bag. There was not much. Three dresses. A shoebox of sketches. A framed photograph of my mother at nineteen, smiling before she learned to flinch.

"Come out for one photo," Tilly begged. "You are the only graduate with no one to hug."

"After I finish."

"You are not finishing. You are disappearing."

"Maybe I am."

At noon, I dragged my bags down to the front lawn. Parents were crying. A girl in a gown threw her cap into the air, and her whole family cheered.

Then the noise changed. The laughter dropped into whispers.

"Who is that?"

"Kellan Rothwell."

"The Rothwell Group heir? Here?"

"He is leaning on that black car like it is a throne."

"Wait, he is here for the girl with the bags?"

"Lucky girl. She lives in his house."

My heart pulled tight. I did not need to look. Cedar and rain and something warm and expensive reached me across the grass.

Kellan.

"Lucky?" a girl named Penelope said behind me. "Please. Her mother married the heir's father for a roof. That is not lucky. That is a trade."

"Hello, Penelope."

"Everyone says she was a stray."

"Please just leave me alone."

"Or what?"

"Aria."

His low voice made the lawn go silent. Kellan crossed the grass in a dark suit, and the crowd parted for him. His steel-gray eyes were cold, and the watch on his wrist caught the sun.

He did not shout. He only stopped beside me and looked at Penelope.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, Mr. Rothwell."

"Good."

He took both of my bags in one hand. Behind us, someone coughed. Penelope's face had gone the color of paper.

"You did not have to do that," I said.

"I know."

"Vivian's friends will tell her."

"I do not care what they tell her."

"You should care. She is your girlfriend."

"She is a useful girlfriend." His jaw tightened. "That is not the same."

"Give me the shoebox."

"It is light."

"I did not ask if it was heavy." He held out his hand until I gave it to him. "Car."

I slid into the passenger seat. He placed my things in the back as if they were glass and got behind the wheel.

"Where is your driver?" I asked.

"I gave him the afternoon off."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to drive you myself." He started the engine. "You did not eat."

"How do you know?"

"You never eat on days when you are worried." He handed me a paper bag. "Warm cheese pasty."

"I am not worried."

"Aria."

"Thank you, Kellan. Really."

I took a bite. He drove in silence for a minute.

"What is in your bag?" he asked.

"My things."

"The blue thing."

My stomach dropped. "What blue thing?"

"The envelope you keep touching." His eyes did not leave the road. "You have touched it four times since we left."

"It is my mother's post."

"Why is it at your residence?"

"She borrows my address."

"For what?"

"I do not know." I looked out the window. "I did not ask her."

"You never ask."

"I learned not to."

His hands tightened on the wheel. "Who taught you that?"

"Everyone."

"If anyone ever frightens you, tell me."

"Why would anyone frighten me?"

"Because you are quiet." His jaw flexed. "Quiet people are easy to frighten."

Neither of us spoke after that. A minute later, he asked, "What will you do after tonight?"

"Find work."

"Where?"

"I do not know yet. Somewhere nobody sends me post."

His jaw flexed. "Nobody."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because here I am the stray."

"You are not a stray."

"Everyone says I am."

"Everyone is wrong." His voice was low. At a red light, he reached into his jacket. "I have something for you."

"Kellan, you do not have to."

"I know." He placed a small velvet pouch in my hand. "Open it."

Inside lay a thin silver bracelet. A tiny silver anchor hung from the chain.

"An anchor?"

"For a girl who has been moving her whole life." He took my wrist. "So she knows she can stop."

"Kellan."

"Hold still."

His thumb brushed the small scar near my wrist, and he stopped.

"What is this?"

"A scar."

"From what?"

"A table corner. My father pushed me hard when I was six."

His eyes went very dark. "You never told me."

"You never asked."

"I really should have." He fastened the clasp slowly. "My grandfather planned a graduation party for you tonight."

"A party? For me?"

"Do not look so shocked."

"Nobody has ever celebrated me."

"Then tonight, everyone will." He almost smiled. "I will stay near you all evening."

"Even when Vivian is there?"

"Especially then."

I laughed, and it surprised us both.

The gates of Rothwell House opened ahead of us. Cars lined the long gravel drive. Kellan's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. The name said Vivian.

"I have to meet my father," he said. "Wait for me inside."

"I can manage."

"Aria."

"Go."

He went. I stepped through the side door into the cool hall and found my mother in the drawing room, standing at the fireplace in a gray silk dress, her chestnut-brown hair pinned tight. Her hands were shaking.

"Mom."

"There you are, darling." She came to me quickly. "Did anything come?"

I took out the blue envelope. She snatched it. Her face went white.

"Where did you get this?"

"The porter's lodge. A man brought it by hand."

"What man?"

"Tall. Dark blond hair."

"Did he speak to you?"

"No. He only left the letter."

"Did you read it?"

"No."

"Swear."

"I swear, Mom."

She said nothing. She tore the envelope open and read the first line. Then she turned and pushed the whole thing into the fire.

"Mom! What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"It said Final Notice."

"It is nothing, Aria."

"What did you borrow, Mom?"

"Nothing that matters."

"Mom."

"It is only paperwork."

"They know where I live."

"Nobody knows where you live." Her voice cracked. "Go upstairs now."

"Mom."

"Please, Aria."

The paper curled in the flames. I stepped to the hearth. One corner had slid free, blackened but still legible.

I read three lines through the smoke.

Amount outstanding: £480,000.

Borrower: Mrs. M. Dawson.

Guarantor: Miss A. Dawson.