Chapter 7: The Grand Entrance

"Take your hands off that luggage!"

Genevieve’s sharp voice cut through the grand foyer like a siren.

She marched across the white marble floor, her emerald heels clicking with aggressive force. She wore a tailored green pencil dress, oversized dark sunglasses, and thick gold chains resting against her collarbone.

"Miss Genevieve," Thomas the butler said, holding two heavy leather suitcases with white-gloved hands. "Madam Eleanor gave direct orders for your luggage to be placed in the carriage house suite."

"The carriage house?" Genevieve snatched the vanity case straight out of his grip with a sharp snap of her wrist. "Are you out of your mind? I am Alexander's future wife. My belongings go into the master villa on the south bluff. Where is he? He went completely silent for four days after that explosion. My father and I have been calling the harbor office nonstop. Why was he not waiting at the landing pad when my father’s pilot touched down?"

"I am right here, Genevieve."

Alec walked down the grand curved staircase with slow, heavy steps. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his dark trousers, his broad shoulders squared, his face carved from cold stone.

"Alec, darling!" She rushed across the marble, reaching up to wrap both arms tightly around his neck. The thick scent of gardenia perfume hit the air between them. "Where have you been all week? Four days in a coastal clinic without answering a single telephone call! Look at that bandage on your forehead! My father called the municipal commissioner the second the news broke. Those useless laborers should be thrown in jail for letting you get hurt in that dirty ditch!"

Alec caught both of her wrists in his large hands. He did not squeeze, but his grip was iron, peeling her arms away from his neck and setting her back a full pace.

"Step back, Genevieve."

She blinked behind her dark lenses, her painted lips curving into a displeased pout as she adjusted her gold bracelet.

"Why are you acting so cold? The state reporters have been hounding my father’s press office all week about the blast and our upcoming wedding. We need to sign the joint reception announcements before the evening broadcast."

"There is no reception announcement."

"What are you talking about?"

"The engagement is finished. It is over."

Genevieve let out a high, mocking laugh that echoed up into the high plaster ceiling of the foyer.

"Stop playing games, Alec. You spent four days recovering on the coast and you are exhausted. Go take a hot shower and let the maids unpack my dresses."

"I am not playing games, Genevieve. Look into the salon."

Genevieve turned her head slowly, sliding her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose with one manicured finger.

Sitting quietly on the low velvet sofa in the open salon was Sienna. She wore Chloe's oversized navy linen button-down shirt over plain dark trousers. A thin clear plastic oxygen tube rested under her nose, connected to a small portable cylinder on the floor near her worn sneakers. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her head lowered, her face pale and bruised from the blast.

"Who is that?" Genevieve asked, her tone dripping with instant disgust. "Why is there an injured laborer sitting on your family’s antique furniture?"

"That is Sienna," Alec said, coming down the final marble step and planting his boots firmly on the floor. "She is my legal wife."

Genevieve went completely rigid. The vanity case slipped from her fingers, dropping onto the marble with a dull thud.

"Your what?"

"We filed the registry papers in the capital four days ago, right after the disaster."

"You are lying to me."

"The document is locked in the estate safe. Call the district magistrate if you want the state registry number verified."

Genevieve took two trembling steps toward the open archway, staring at Sienna with wide, horrified eyes. She looked at the bruised skin along Sienna’s neck, the clear oxygen line, and the total absence of jewelry or designer labels.

"You married a common cleaner four days ago?" Genevieve shrieked, her voice rising into an ear-splitting pitch. "You spent four days locked in a coastal suite with this tramp while our wedding invitations were being mailed? You threw away our families' union, you threw away the deep-water shipping alliance, for a nameless beggar who looks like she crawled out of a sewer?"

She marched straight into the salon, raising a long, manicured hand to point furiously at Sienna. 

Sienna flinched, pulling her shoulders back against the cushions and lowering her eyes to the carpet, pressing one hand against her aching ribs as a dry cough shook her chest. She said nothing.

"Genevieve."

Eleanor's voice rang out from the top of the grand staircase, cold, sharp, and absolute.

The matriarch descended with measured grace, her silver-topped cane striking the marble with a firm, deliberate cadence. Julian and Chloe followed quietly behind her.

"Madam Eleanor!" Genevieve turned toward the stairs, her chest heaving. "Your son has lost his mind! He brought a vagrant into this house and claims he married her!"

"You will lower your voice in my home, Genevieve," Eleanor said, stepping onto the salon rug and positioning herself between Genevieve and the sofa. "Sienna is Alexander's legal wife, and she is under the protection of this household. You will not scream at her, and you will not cause a scene in my living room."

"Protection?" Genevieve laughed hysterically, tears of pure rage pooling in her eyes. "She trapped him! She extorted him after the explosion!"

"The Sterlings do not get extorted," Eleanor replied, her gaze icy and immovable. "A life was saved, a debt was honored, and the marriage was filed. Your father was informed that the private settlement terms for the broken union will be delivered to his office on Monday."

"A settlement?" Genevieve backed toward the foyer archway, her face twisting into a furious, triumphant sneer as she pressed both hands flat against her stomach. "You think you can pay me off with a check, Eleanor? You think you can sweep me aside for an orphan from the ditch?"

Alec stepped forward, his jaw tight. "Leave the island, Genevieve."

"I am not leaving anything, Alexander!" Genevieve shouted, her voice echoing off the high stone walls. "Call your lawyers! Call the harbor police! Tell them all that I am seven weeks pregnant with your baby, and the Sterling family is not going to abandon its own flesh and blood!”