Chapter Three
585 Words
He knew by the reception .
He wasn’t certain how— a combination of things. The way she moved through the room with a competence that suggested she’d managed events before. The way she handled his business associates, warm and direct and not remotely performing the decorative role of a Mendez heiress. The way she introduced herself.
“Julian.” He found her by the champagne table, because of course she was by the champagne table. “A word.”
She turned. Those gray eyes, up close they were extraordinary—complex,cautious, and currently doing something he could only describe as bracing for impact.
“We should speak privately,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “We should.”
The room he found was small and off the main hall, someone’s unused office, and he closed the door and turned and she was already talking.
“My name is Cara Mendez, Isabel is my sister. She left the country this morning, I know this — I know there are no acceptable words for what just happened. But my father’s company—
“Stop.”
She stopped.
He looked at her, really looked: the dress was slightly wrong across the shoulders, the veil she’d spent the entire ceremony gripping when she didn’t think he’d noticed. The composure she wore like armor.
“You married me,” he said, “knowing I didn’t know who you were.”
“Yes.”
“That makes our marriage— a minimum— legally complicated.”
“Yes.”
“And you did it anyway.”
A pause. “I did.”
“Why?”
She met his eyes steadily. “Because a hundred and sixty people work for my father’s company and they don’t deserve to lose their jobs because my sister can’t go through with a business arrangement.”
He studied her. “That very noble.”
“It’s practical.”
“Is it.” He turned away. He put his hands in his pockets and he thought. The window showed him the manicured garden, white lights strung between the trees,guests drifting through the evening. His wedding reception. His wife.
Not his wife.
The contract,strictly speaking, required a marriage between a Blackwood and a Mendez. It did not specify which Mendez . His lawyers would have a view. His lawyers always had a view.
He turned back.
“You understand,” he said, “that I have every reason to dissolve this and have your family prosecuted for fraud.”
“I know.”
“And you’re not going to beg me not to”
She straightened “No.”
He almost smiled. Almost.
“I’m going to honor the contract,” he said. “For now. We’ll spend three months in London as agreed— that was the arrangement. At the end of three months, we’ll reassess.
Her expression shifted. Complicated relief. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime,” Julian said, picking his jacket from the chair , “you will play the role you’ve apparently volunteered for. You will appear at my events, conduct yourself appropriately, and we will maintain—
“A civil distance,” she supplied.
“Precisely.” He opened the door. Paused. “And Cara.”
She looked up.
“If you ever lie to me again,” he said, quietly without particular heat, “about anything, no matter how small — the contract ends that day.”
She nodded.
He walked back to his reception.
- Writer
