CONTRACT BRIDE

The Brunch

Alara pov

The Wolfe estate rose like a myth in the distance—grand, palatial, and terrifying.

As Ace’s car curved through the third wrought-iron gate, I swallowed hard, my palms damp against the seat of the Bentley. The driveway stretched forever, flanked by towering hedges trimmed to perfection. Marble statues lined the path like sentinels, each one lit with soft golden light as dusk descended.

“This place is…” I whispered, not even sure how to finish that sentence.

Ace, seated beside me in a navy suit so crisp it probably had its own security clearance, glanced over. “A little much?”

I gave a nervous laugh. “More like Versailles decided to move into Manhattan.”

“You get used to it.” His voice was cool, indifferent, but something in his jaw twitched—like even he wasn’t completely at ease returning home.

The car slowed as we approached the main entrance. No doorbell. No guards barking orders. Just silent efficiency. A team of butlers in tailcoats and white gloves stepped forward before the engine even stopped. One opened my door. Another extended a gloved hand toward me.

I hesitated. Then stepped out.

Marble steps. Black and gold double doors. A chandelier inside that looked like it cost more than my mother’s entire medical treatment.

Ace joined me. Without asking, his hand found mine. He didn’t look at me, just squeezed.

I didn’t expect the gesture to matter.

But it did.

We were ushered into the grand hall, where a massive oil painting of a snow-covered mountain range loomed above a circular staircase. Every corner was touched by opulence—glossed wood, silk wall coverings, floors so clean I could see my reflection.

And then…they appeared.

Ace’s parents.

His father was seated in a sleek black wheelchair at the end of the room, regal and composed in a custom navy suit. His silver hair was swept back neatly. The only sign of time was the cane resting beside him, untouched.

His mother, standing beside him, was elegance embodied. Dark hair swept into a low bun. Pearls at her throat. A cream dress that draped over her like water.

Her eyes—grey like Ace’s but warmer—sparkled as she stepped forward.

“You must be Alara,” she said with a smile that didn’t feel fake. “Welcome, darling.”

She took both my hands, her touch surprisingly warm. Not the cold, calculated inspection I expected.

“I’m Vivianne. And this handsome man is my husband, Richard.”

Richard Wolfe nodded, his expression measured, not unfriendly. “So. You’re the girl who got my son to think of marriage.”

“I—I wouldn’t go that far,” I said quietly, unsure if this was sarcasm or seriousness.

He chuckled, and the sound echoed against the high ceilings. “Don’t be nervous. I was the same when I met Vivianne. Thought I was out of her league.”

Vivianne rolled her eyes fondly, then gestured toward a side room. “Shall we sit? We’ve prepared brunch, but I imagine conversation comes first.”

The parlor was intimate compared to the palace-sized foyer. Velvet chairs. Gold-rimmed teacups. A roaring fireplace despite the summer heat.

Ace sat beside me on a small couch, our knees brushing.

Vivianne poured tea herself. No maids. No performance. Just… human.

“You’re very beautiful, Alara,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am—”

“Vivianne,” she corrected with a soft smile.

I nodded. “Vivianne.”

“And you work in a café, correct?” she asked.

Ace’s hand twitched slightly beside me, as if bracing.

“Yes. At a small coffee shop downtown.”

“I admire that,” Richard said. “Work is work. The fact you’re here at all means you must be doing something right.”

I blinked, startled by the lack of judgment. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“Oh, trust me,” Vivianne said, her eyes glinting. “If you weren’t worth the attention, Ace wouldn’t have brought you home. He rarely brings anyone home.”

I glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable. Silent. Watchful.

“And you want children?” Richard asked suddenly, voice direct.

“I…” I sat straighter. “One day. I love kids.”

He nodded slowly. “I hope that day comes soon. I want to meet my grandchild before I go.”

Ace’s posture stiffened. His mother rested a hand on her husband’s knee, but didn’t speak.

Silence fell for a moment—soft, heavy. Then Vivianne clapped her hands once. “Enough seriousness. Let’s eat.”

The brunch was served in a sun-drenched dining room overlooking the estate gardens. The food was art—poached salmon, tiny soufflés, fresh fruits carved into roses. I barely tasted anything. My nerves made it hard to focus, but I smiled, nodded, answered questions about my sister, my mother, even my favorite color.

Richard listened. Vivianne complimented my dress. Ace was mostly quiet, but his hand stayed on mine beneath the table, grounding me.

When we stood to leave, Vivianne embraced me.

“You’ll do fine,” she whispered. “Just don’t let the pressure eat you alive.”

Richard held out a hand. “Thank you for coming. And for saying yes to him.”

I smiled, though my heart was pounding. “Thank you for being kind.”

⸻

Back in the car, the world finally quiet again, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours.

“That went better than expected,” I said, glancing at Ace.

He didn’t respond.

His gaze was fixed ahead, jaw sharp, mind clearly elsewhere.

But after a moment, he turned his hand over, palm up between us.

And I took it.