Fake Empire(25)

I shouldn’t care.

It shouldn’t make me want to push.

“Maybe we should have practiced this too,” I suggest, as she moves stiff and unwilling in my arms. For a second, I catch a glimpse of a smile. “I think we should set some ground rules.”

“For?” she asks, glancing away. Out at the admiring onlookers surrounding us. A few cameras flash.

“Us.”

Scarlett is no longer pretending to pay attention to the crowd. Her eyes fly to mine. “You want to discuss this now?”

“You’re still leaving tonight, right? I figured it would be best to hammer out some details before then. Plus, you’ve avoided me since we got engaged.”

“I avoided you before then too.”

“Well, it ends now, wife.”

I feel her back tense through the thin fabric of her wedding dress. “And you thought our first dance would be the most appropriate venue?”

“I figured there was a higher chance you wouldn’t walk away during the conversation, yes.”

“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 of us.”

“The start of us.”

“The extent,” 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.”

“With you, 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 glad you appreciated 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 had a choice. 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.”

I wait, but that’s all she says until the song ends a minute later. “Thank you for the dance, Crew. Scarlett chose well. And she did—choose. No matter how she acts. Indifference is a means of survival in this world. I imagine you know that as well as anyone.”

With those parting words, she disappears into the crowd. I head for the bar, craving a moment of solitude and a stiff drink. Today has felt endless. Every minute meticulously planned from the moment I woke up.

I order a whiskey from the bartender and lean against the counter serving as a makeshift bar. I stay in place once he hands it to me, sipping the amber liquid and surveying my surroundings.

“Quite the event, Mr. Kensington.”

I glance to my left and almost choke. The liquor slides down my esophagus with a stinging stab, rather than the usual pleasant burn. “Mr. Raymond. How nice to see you, sir.”