SILVER BLOOD The unexpected touch

Chapter Two: I Want to Marry His Uncle

ARIA

"I want to marry his uncle."

Nadia choked on her latte. A full, spectacular, table-rattling choke. I handed her a napkin and waited.

"I'm sorry." She pressed the napkin to her mouth and stared at me. "Run that back."

"Rhys Calloway," I said. "Marcus's uncle. I want to marry him."

She put the napkin down very slowly. "Rhys Calloway. The Rhys Calloway. MKR Holdings. The man who turned down seats on three national boards because the other members were —" She paused. "How did he put it? 'Insufficiently interesting'?"

"That's the one."

"Aria." She leaned forward. "He hasn't had a girlfriend in living memory. The whole pack whispers about it. They think he's touch-averse. Like, genuinely, clinically —"

"That's exactly why it could work."

She blinked.

"Think about it," I said, and I heard my own voice go flat and functional the way it does when I'm working a problem. "He has the pack elders pressing him to take a mate. His grandfather has been making noise about it for two years, you told me that yourself, last winter. He needs a credible reason for them to back off." I wrapped both hands around my coffee cup. "And I need a name. A shield. If I walk into my father's next board meeting as Rhys Calloway's wife, those old loyalists won't vote me out of my own company. Not with the Alpha's favourite nephew behind me."

"And what does he get?"

"The elders off his back. Ten percent of Weston Holdings once I take operational control."

Nadia studied me. "You thought all of this through on the drive here. That was twenty minutes."

"I work quickly when I'm angry."

She was quiet for a moment. Her thumb traced the rim of her cup. Then: "I have to ask you something, and I need you to actually answer it." Her voice went careful. "Do you still have feelings for Marcus?"

I looked out the window.

"This morning," I said, "I would have said yes. I thought I loved him." I paused. "But I watched that footage and something just switched off. Like a circuit breaker. I don't feel sad. I feel disgusted. And I feel stupid, which is honestly worse."

"You are not stupid. He is a —"

"Nadia."

"— profoundly disappointing individual," she finished, with visible effort. She exhaled through her nose. "Alright. Even if I get you in front of Rhys, and that is not simple, Aria, the man is almost impossible to get a meeting with — you can't just walk up to him and pitch it like a business proposal."

"Why not? It is a business proposal."

"Because he's — he's not like other men. He doesn't respond the way other people do. He's removed. Like there's glass between him and everyone else. His own pack gives him a wide berth."

I thought, unexpectedly, about an arm catching me before I hit the floor. About heat. About hands that didn't immediately let go.

I pushed the thought aside.

"Glass doesn't scare me," I said.

Nadia's expression softened into something that made my chest hurt. She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers.

"I know it doesn't," she said quietly. She squeezed once. "His grandfather's birthday is in four days. Rhys is supposed to come back to Ashford for it. I can get us in the door."

"Good."

"One condition."

"Name it."

"If this falls apart, you come and stay with me. You don't go back to that house." Her voice was steady, serious, the voice she only used when she really meant something. "Promise me."

I looked at her for a moment.

"I promise," I said.

I didn't see the man step around the green partition.

I was mid-sentence. Something about framing the proposal as mutually beneficial, when Nadia's eyes moved past my shoulder and went very wide.

I stopped talking.

I turned around.

And there he was.

The man from the airport lounge. The one with the dark eyes and the unreadable face and the hands that had held me longer than necessary. He was standing at the edge of our table like he'd been there for a while, wearing the same charcoal shirt, sleeves still rolled to the forearm, expression giving absolutely nothing away.

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

"Rhys!" Nadia was on her feet. "When did you get back? Why didn't you —"

"I was next door." His eyes were on me. "I know what you were discussing."

The wall, I thought. The wall doesn't block sound.

I felt the heat start at the base of my throat and begin climbing. I pushed it back down through sheer force of will, squared my shoulders, and held his gaze.

"How much did you hear?" I asked.

"Enough."

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. Not asking. Just sat, looked at me the way you look at something you've been thinking about for a long time, and said: "You want to get married."

"I want a business arrangement," I said. "Marriage is the legal framework."

"Terms."

He said it like a one-word command. I felt the absurd urge to stand up straighter.

"No marital obligations," I said. "Name only. You use it to manage the pressure from your family. I use it to protect my position at Weston Holdings. When I've secured operational control, I transfer ten percent of shares to you, and we proceed with a quiet dissolution."

He was quiet. Watching me.

Then he leaned forward, and reached out and pressed one finger, very gently, to the dimple at the corner of my mouth.

I went completely still.

"What," I said, very carefully, "are you doing?"

"Checking something."

He drew his hand back. His expression hadn't changed by a single degree.

"The Civil Affairs office opens at nine," he said. "Tomorrow morning. I'll send a car at half eight."

I stared at him. "You're agreeing. Just like that."

"Did you want to negotiate further?"

"I —" I stopped. Reset. "You don't know me."

Something moved behind his eyes. Brief, and deep, and completely unreadable.

"Bring your documents," he said, and stood. He glanced at Nadia. "Go home before it gets late." Then he turned and walked out of The Silver Fern without a backward look.

The door swung shut.

Neither of us moved.

"Not a dream," Nadia said faintly, pinching her own cheek.

"Not a dream," I agreed.

I was still looking at the door.