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“I’m not a coward,” Scarlett states.
“I never called you one.”
Her chin rises to a defiant tilt. “There’s nothing to discuss, Crew. I said I’d marry you, and I just did. That’s the extent ofus.”
“The start of us.”
“Theextent,” she reiterates.
“I assume you want separate bedrooms?”
She holds my gaze. “I have a chef and a maid. One of them will show you to your room when you get to my place tonight.”
“Sex?”
“Be discreet.”
“Withyou, Scarlett.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “I don’t know yet. Maybe sometimes.”
Maybe sometimes?I shake my head. “You don’t want anything from me.”
It’s not a question. She answers anyway. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she echoes. “We don’t need to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending.”
Those three words linger between us.
The rest of our dance is silent. When it ends, we both move on to our other obligations. Scarlett begins dancing with her father, while I twirl Candace.
It’s been years since I wished my mother was alive so viscerally. But this day? This moment? It’s one I wish she were here for. From what little I remember and have heard about Elizabeth Kensington, she was sweet and calm. She softened my father’s rough edges, which have only sharpened over time. Today would have been romantic, in her eyes. Rather than Candace’s endless babbling about the dinner and the cake and the flowers, I imagine she’d ask me if I feel different, as a married man. Lecture me on how to treat Scarlett. Maybe she would have talked my father out of the agreement to begin with. I’ll never know.
After the song ends, I ask Josephine Ellsworth. I catch Scarlett’s surprised look as we walk onto the dance floor, like the thought of me dancing with her mother never occurred to her.
“You outdid yourself, Mrs. Ellsworth,” I compliment as we spin. “Everything was perfect.”
Unlike her daughter, Josephine is modest and demure. Pink tinges her cheeks before she glances away at the sea of elaborately decorated tables surrounding us. “Call me Josephine. And it was my pleasure, truly. I’m gladyouappreciated it.”
I half-smile at the emphasis, under no delusions about who Josephine is referring to. I also correct my earlier assumption. She has more fire than she lets on. “I’ve gathered Scarlett isn’t the sort to accept decisions she didn’t make.”
“Scarlett doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to, either.”
I feel my brow wrinkle with confusion.
Josephine smiles, and there’s an almost daring edge to it. “Don’t let my daughter convince you she had no choice in this matter.”
“Of course she hadachoice. Scarlett would have been stupid not to accept this, though. And she’s not.”
“She’s not,” Josephine agrees. “But she’s smart enough to know her options. She doesn’t need you for anything, Crew.”
I muffle the smile that wants to appear in response to her earnest expression. This is remarkably similar to the conversation I just had with Scarlett herself. “She may not need anything from me, but she’s getting plenty.”
“Yes, she is.”
