The Reluctant Bride (Arranged Marriage #1)(4)

“Only for a little while,” Mother says.

My gaze returns to hers. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to go through a very public engagement. A rather public wedding. You’ll need to remain quiet and appear the devoted husband to your new, beautiful wife, but eventually, you may…stray. If necessary. It’s part of the contract.” She offers a delicate shrug.

“What the fuck? Are you serious?” I’m angry on my future wife’s behalf.

Who the hell adds in an it’s okay to cheat clause into a marriage contract?

The same asshole who barters his daughter off for an arranged marriage, that’s who.

“You can worry about all of that shit later,” Winston says, glancing at his watch yet again. “I have to go. Am I still needed here?”

“You may go, Winston,” Mother says, as if he won’t leave until he receives her approval.

He’s already striding away before she can get the words out, the door closing on a soft snick, leaving us alone.

I steel myself, prepared for a barrage of convincing words. I know how this works, and she does too.

She firmly believes she’ll get me to agree to this, but for once…

Pretty sure Mama Constantine is wrong.





Chapter Two




Charlotte


I’m sitting in my favorite chair, reading a book with my cat in my lap when my bedroom door bangs open, startling me so badly I drop the book.

“We need to talk.”

The booming sound of my father’s voice makes Doja jump off my lap with an irritated meow.

“What do we need to talk about?” I barely make eye contact with my father. Reginald Lancaster is intimidating. Angry. Lately almost all the time. He’s rarely home, thank God, and when he is, my mother makes herself scarce.

Not that I can blame her. I do the same thing. And really, she’s rarely home, so it’s nothing different. Usually, it’s just me and the servants wandering around the monstrosity that is my family’s townhouse in Manhattan.

Oh, and Doja the cat. Can’t forget her.

“I’ve found someone for you.” He shuts the door and moves further into my bedroom, his gaze scanning over every little thing, though I doubt he actually sees anything.

He doesn’t know me. He never really has. I’m the forgotten one—the only daughter when all he wanted was a houseful of sons. Big, strapping Lancasters to carry on the family name. The legacy. A baby girl is useless. Only good for one thing—making babies.

And even there I fail in his eyes. None of my babies will be Lancasters.

“What do you mean, you’ve found someone for me?” I ask warily, bracing myself.

“Your future husband.” He settles into my desk chair, turning it so he’s facing me. He’s getting older. There’s plenty of gray at his temples and lines fanning from his eyes and bracketing his mouth, but he’s still handsome. Dignified. He lures everyone in with his charm, but I know the truth.

Deep down, he’s cruel. Cold. Hard on my brothers, especially the baby of the family, Crew. When I was young, our father ignored me. As I got older, he treated me with indifference.

Until I became rebellious. That last year in high school consisted of me testing my limits on a regular basis, taunting the devil, so to speak. I eventually broke him, and felt his wrath.

More times than I care to admit.

He’s currently assessing me with those cold blue eyes we all inherited. The Lancaster gaze, my mother calls it. She has brown eyes, which are genetically dominant, but not when it comes to the Lancasters.

Wait a minute. Did he actually say—

“My future husband?” I squeak.

Irritation flits across his features. “Your tone, Charlotte. Please. And yes, you’re engaged to be married.”

I sit up, suddenly struggling to breathe. I’ve been very comfortable in my existence, despite how boring it truly is. I don’t cause my family any trouble—not anymore.

Once upon a time, I did though. And that’s the reason I’m being kept in a cage.

Now I leave the troublemaking up to my brothers and cousins, who create enough havoc to last twenty lifetimes. I stay at home most nights, reading or watching movies—old ones usually. At one point, I read a lot of books on witchcraft and even considered becoming a witch who sought revenge for others. Doja could be my familiar and I would go around casting spells on unsuspecting men who did their women wrong.

This still sounds like a good idea, if I’m ever out amongst the living once again. It’s been a year since I came home from Paris, hurt and humiliated. I went there to study architecture at one of the most prestigious universities in the world and learn from the experts. My father was dismissive, believing I went to France for an extended shopping excursion, though I proved him wrong with that idea.

I’m not my mother.

No, instead I fell under the spell of my history of architecture instructor. A charming Irish man with dark eyes and hair, who was older and worldly. I had the most obvious crush on him—all of us did. But I was the one he kissed in the empty classroom. That kiss turned into a whirlwind affair that lasted almost the entire semester.

Until his girlfriend showed up for a surprise visit—during class. She burst into the room and ran up to him, smothering him in kisses. Leaving me completely devastated.