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"Agrees with what?"
"That it’s the first time I’m seeing you taken aback."
"Hmph." He firms his lips and schools his features back into that emotionless mask.
"You don’t fool me." I point my forefinger at him.
"Do I want to know what you mean by that?"
"Just that you’re not as impassive as you make yourself out to be."
He seems taken aback, again, then inclines his head. "I decided a while ago there was no place for feelings in my life."
"We’ve established you feel something for your friends and also, for Tiny here."
Tiny woofs, then turns his soulful gaze on Edward. My fiancé scowls at the dog, then sighs. "Yeah, okay, that mutt has a hold of my heart. But that’s it. There is no space for anyone else in my life."
Nice. Now I’m in queue behind a dog. No matter, it’s a Great Dane who’s so intelligent he might well be almost human, I’m not as important as he is to Edward. He must realize how his words sound, for he stiffens. "I didn’t mean—"
"You did."
"You are my fiancée," he offers.
"Fake fiancée."
"Real to the outside world."
"But it’s a charade."
"It is," he agrees.
"Okay." A heaviness tightens my chest. I wrap my arms about my waist, feeling so very lonely.
I thought when I got married, even if it was an arranged marriage as my father wanted, perhaps, I’d find companionship in it. Perhaps, I’d have my children make up for the loss of a true partner. And sure, I could technically still have kids, but the entire process is going to feel so clinical. I hadn’t thought as far as sex with my future arranged husband… But maybe, a part of me had hoped he’d fall in love with me. That we could find love on the heels of the arrangement. Guess I was wrong. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I look away. Tiny senses my sadness, and rising up on his feet, he brushes his head gently against my hand. I pat his head, then give in and lean forward to kiss his shaggy head.
Edward clears his throat and I look up. He has strange expression on his face but I’m too exhausted to decode it.
"What time do we leave tomorrow?"
18
Edward
"May I take your coat, Sir? Madam?" Otis, my grandfather’s butler looks between me and my fiancée. I slide my coat off and hand it to him, then ease Mira’s coat from her shoulders. I place it over his arm.
"This way please." He gestures toward the hallway that leads to the dining room.
"I can see myself in, Otis. Thank you."
He seems taken aback, then nods. "Of course, Sir."
I barely slept last night. And when I finally fell asleep, it was to images from my past. I broke my vows, walked away from my calling. I’d searched for that elusive peace, which I’d fooled myself into believing I had when I was part of the church. It’s only after I left, I realized I’d been running all my life.
I’m still running now—except I’ve come up against a woman who threatens to stop me in my tracks. I don’t like it. It’s a feeling I don’t relish. I don’t want to be faced with the proof of my own vulnerability. And all it took was a pair of baby blues and a lusciously curvy figure on a woman who’s all sunshine and rainbows, despite her own unhappy past. A woman who places the happiness of her father before her own. What kind of person would push her dreams aside and bow to the call of duty? She reminds me of the man I thought I was. The man who put his vocation before anything else; the man who believed in the greater good; the man who wanted to redeem others.
He walks into the cloak room adjoining the hallway, leaving Mira and me alone. She glances up at the ceiling, which is three stories above us. The skylights are dark, but in the mornings, light pours into the entryway. In the center, two staircases curve toward each other to meet on the second-floor landing. Above that, the rooms on the third floor look down on the entryway. A massive chandelier descends from the roof, and the lights shine off the stained glass that adorns the windows on the first floor. The floor is made of marble, and there are satin drapes on the walls, interspersed with paintings of some of the great masters—all originals. The overall effect is that of wealth—the kind that has been in a family for generations. My parents weren’t poor—not materially—but my grandfather’s wealth makes them look like small business owners.
"I forgot it’s almost Christmas." Mira walks toward the Christmas tree set between the two staircases. The focal point of the entranceway, it’s almost as high as the roof and is lit up with Christmas lights and ornaments. The scent of pine is heavy in the air, but as I approach her, I detect her light, apple-blossom perfume below it. I come to a stop behind her, then lower my head and discreetly sniff. She doesn’t notice it, too intent on taking in the decorations.
