The Groom Who Never Smiled

Chapter 3

"He doesn't know."

I said it back to Valen like repeating it might make it make sense. It didn't.

"He'll know within the hour," Valen said, checking his watch like my whole life was a line item he was running behind on. "Dress for the evening. He'll want to meet you before the announcement goes out."

"You're springing a wife on him. Tonight."

"I'm informing my son of a decision that's already been made." He said it like correcting someone's grammar. "How he receives that is his to manage, not yours."

I didn't have anything nice to say back, so I didn't say anything.

---

The Ravaryn house wasn't a house. It was the kind of place that made you lower your voice without deciding to — glass and stone, a staircase curving up into shadow like it had somewhere better to be than showing off for guests. A woman in black led me through it without speaking, heels clicking against marble in a rhythm I found myself matching just to have something to focus on besides my own pulse.

He was already in the room when I walked in.

Standing near the window, back mostly to the door, one hand in his pocket, like a woman coming to marry him was less interesting than whatever was outside. Dark hair. A jaw that looked like it never fully unclenched. When he turned, there wasn't a flicker on his face. Not curiosity. Not annoyance. Nothing.

I don't know what I expected. Some crack in it, probably.

"Seraphine Ardenne." No hand offered. Just my name, like confirming a delivery.

"Caius Ravaryn." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

He looked at me long enough that I felt it in my spine before I understood why. The way you feel someone's attention land in a crowded room, except we were the only two people in it.

"You know why we're doing this," he said. Not a question.

"To save my father."

"And you understand what this is. What it isn't."

"Enlighten me."

Something moved at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. The idea of one, considered and dismissed. "This is a contract. I'll provide for you. Protect the Ravaryn name publicly, if it comes to that. In return, you wear the ring, stand in the right rooms, say the right things when people are watching."

"And when they're not?"

"Then you don't owe me anything, and I don't owe you anything." Flat. No cruelty in it, which somehow made it worse. "Don't expect affection, Seraphine. Don't expect trust. I'm not capable of either, and I'd rather you know that now."

My throat had gone tight in a way I refused to let show. "Convenient. Tell a woman you're incapable of feeling anything right before you marry her."

"I'm not interested in romance."

"Clearly."

"I'm interested in this arrangement functioning without complications." Something shifted behind his eyes — not softness, more like he was recalculating something. "My father doesn't do anything without a reason he hasn't told you yet."

I went still. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." He turned back to the window, like the conversation had used up whatever patience he'd allotted it. "I'd advise you not to trust anything he's told you. Myself included, for now."

"Not much of a way to start a marriage."

"It's not a marriage. It's a transaction that happens to require a ceremony." He didn't look at me. "I'll fulfill my obligations. I expect the same. Beyond that, I have no interest in pretending this is something it isn't."

I hated how much that landed. Hated that some stupid part of me had walked in braced for cold and gotten something colder, and it still stung.

"You could try being decent about it. Since we're stuck with each other."

"Decent." He said it like testing whether the word applied to him and confirming it didn't. "I don't do decent. I do what keeps people alive."

"Odd thing to say about a business arrangement."

He didn't answer. He just looked at me a moment longer, something unreadable working behind that composed face, and then said it — quiet, almost like he hadn't meant to.

"The safest thing you can do is stay close to me."

I laughed before I could stop it. Short. Disbelieving. "Is that a threat?"

"Take it however you'd like."

"Coming from you? From this family?"

Something flickered across his face again, gone before I could name it. He didn't correct me. Didn't explain. Just turned fully away, done with the conversation the way he seemed done with most things — abruptly, without ceremony, like continuing it cost more than he was willing to spend.

"The wedding's in three days," he said, to the window, not to me. "I trust my father already told you that much."

"He did."

"Then we're finished here."

I left without saying goodbye. I don't think he noticed either way.

---

I didn't sleep much the night before the wedding. Sat by my window with the lights off, my whole future folded up in a garment bag hanging on the closet door like something waiting to happen to me instead of something I'd chosen.

That's when I saw him.

Across the street, half-swallowed by the shadow between two streetlights, a figure standing completely still. Not walking. Not waiting on a cab. Just standing there, facing my building, facing my window, like he'd been there a while and didn't much care if I noticed.

I sat up straighter, my heart suddenly loud in my own ears.

I blinked, told myself it was nothing — a neighbor, a late-night cigarette, a trick of the light.

Then he stepped back into the dark, and he was gone.