Be a Doll(41)

“You’ve received a warm welcome to your husband’s family then, Lila,’’ Mr. Moran said with an even voice that belayed nothing of his thoughts, but his cold eyes on me told everything I needed to know.

He didn’t believe our charade.

The only reason why he didn’t call us out on it was probably because he had no proof that our marriage was in name only. It would only take him a few weeks to find about Carter Manor if he asked the right people in his circle of acquaintances. That thought made me gulp the remaining wine in my glass.

“Mathis’ family, or should I say my family now, welcomed me with open arms. I’m very lucky.’’ I smiled at my husband and linked my hand with his, twisting my fingers with his.

While that move was purely for show, my body reaction was very real. Warmth invaded my body from my hand in his to my neck and up to my face, probably tainted it a light shade of pink. Goosebumps broke out over my arm and I thanked my long sleeves for hiding the extent of the effect a simple touch from him had on me.

“Hm,’’ Mr. Moran began and ignored the dark look his wife tried to send him as discreetly as possible. Mathis’ fingers tightened around mine, making me all the more aware how much strength laid under his impeccable suit and in his big hand. “Do you know Mr. Karrowsky, Mathis?’’

“He’s one of my father’s business partners, I believe.’’

“He’s also a good friend of your father.’’

“Charles,’’ Mrs. Moran said, a warning in her voice that made the blood run cold through my veins.

If that Mr. Karrowsky was a friend of Mathis’ father I’d rather not imagine what he was told. A wave of shame hit me sideways, drawing out a shiver from deep inside me before anger rose steadily, both at the situation and at my own reaction. I needed to stop feeling like a common whore when in all truth I wasn’t and I had yet to open my legs for my damn husband. I wasn’t the first or the last woman to be in an arranged marriage.

I had nothing to be ashamed of.

All of my life choices had been motivated by one thing and one thing only; survival.

“Apparently your father doesn’t think very highly of your charming wife.’’

Mathis’ dark laugh took me by surprise and considering the slight arch of the older man’s eyebrows, he wasn’t any less surprised. Mrs. Moran cringed and dried her lips on her napkin, surreptitiously eyeing the front door in the far entry hall in front of her.

“My father and I haven’t seen eye to eye in a very long time, Charles,’’ Mathis said with a condescending tone of voice he hadn’t used up until now and I immediately noticed the shift in the air. The niceties were over and Mathis took the reins again, ignoring the fact that his interlocutor was twice his age and expected to be addressed as such.

My husband went from calm and collected young businessman hosting a nice dinner with his wife and two guests, to business mogul, powerful and without a care in the world who he would stomp on in the process of advancing.

“But—‘’ Mr. Moran began, but Mathis held up a hand to silence him.

“I’m not finished. Let’s be honest here,’’ he talked over him and didn’t make a move to remove his hand from mine. If anything, his grip only tightened possessively. “You only wanted to come here to get a look at my private life and judge my being a couple. I decided to play following your rules, opening my home to you and your wife after asking my wife, without any notice whatsoever, to organize this dinner. And now, you dare talk about how my father perceives my wife and my marriage?’’ He shook his head and stood up, tugging on my hand gently to match his stance. “My father has never approved of anything I ever did, starting with my business venture and as far as I know he isn’t the one at the head of a business empire. I will not listen to any more of what my father has to say regarding Lila and I will not let my wife be the subject of humiliation.’’ His cold voice slapped our guests who stumbled to their feet.

Mrs. Moran shakily went to her feet, apologizing profusely as she made her way to the front door where her purse and light jacket awaited her at a coat rack next to the door.

Mr. Moran looked straight at Mathis, anger twisting his face and deepened his already very wrinkled face. His cheeks previously red from the wine turned purple. “You should respect your elders, young man, and your father’s thoughts too.’’ Then he shot me a nasty glare and walked away.

“I’m thirty-two-years old, Charles. I know exactly what I’m doing and where I want my life to go. Maybe you shouldn’t listen as closely to your old friends’ gossip. Your business would be in better shape then.’’

“You’ll be hearing from me,’’ he said louder, his anger making his voice shake slightly.

“Oh, I’m sure I will,’’ Mathis replied even colder, his dark eyes staring down the older man.

Mrs. Moran broke the stare-down by tugging on her husband’s suit jacket sleeve as she opened the door. “Charles, let’s go!’’

As soon as the door closed after them Mathis released my hand and turned around, a hand in his hair and the other in his pocket.

My eyes landed on the table and the empty plates and glasses half filled with water and wine. The discarded white napkins thrown on the table and the chairs pulled back haphazardly were the only clue as to how abruptly the evening ended.