"The wedding should take place within six weeks."
My mother's voice carries the same tone she uses when discussing quarterly projections—clinical, efficient, devoid of sentiment. She signals for the server without breaking eye contact with Edward Calloway.
"Another martini, please. And the Dover sole for the table."
It isn't even one thirty, and this will be her second drink.
"Six weeks seems ambitious," Edward says carefully. "Given the circumstances, perhaps we might allow for a longer engagement period. The families are still grieving."
"Grief doesn't pause for convenience, Edward. Neither should business." Helen accepts her fresh martini, and I catch the tremor in her fingers as they close around the stem. "The merger has already been delayed by tragedy. Further postponement only invites speculation."
James sits across from me like a statue carved from granite, his dark eyes revealing nothing. The recognition between us hangs in the air like smoke neither of us can acknowledge.
I know the weight of those hands. I know the sound of his breathing in the dark.
And he knows I was falling apart in that club, desperate and drunk and using his body to forget my brother was dead.
"Caroline has been living abroad for several years," Helen continues, as if I'm not sitting three feet away. "She'll need time to reacclimate to New York society. The wedding preparations will help with that transition."
"I'm sure Miss Ellsworth has her own thoughts on the timeline," James says, and his voice is exactly as I remember—low, controlled, a blade wrapped in velvet.
My mother's laugh is sharp and dismissive. "Caroline's thoughts are aligned with the family's interests. Aren't they, darling?"
"Of course, Mother. I live to serve the dynasty."
The sarcasm lands without impact. Helen simply takes another sip of her martini and turns back to Edward. "Now, about the property arrangements. I assume James has discussed the living situation?"
"Not yet," Edward admits. "We thought it best to wait until after the introductions."
"Living situation?" I keep my voice neutral, though my pulse quickens.
"You can't continue staying at the townhouse indefinitely," Helen says. "It sends the wrong message. An engaged woman should be establishing her own household, preparing for married life."
"I have a household. In Vienna."
"Vienna is no longer relevant." She doesn't even look at me. "Edward has generously offered one of the Calloway properties. A lovely apartment on the Upper East Side, fully furnished, all expenses covered until the wedding."
James's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Whatever this arrangement is, he wasn't consulted either.
"That's very generous," I manage.
"It's practical," Edward says. "The building has excellent security, and it will allow you and James to spend time together before the ceremony. Get to know each other properly."
"The same building where James lives, in fact." My mother's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Fourteen floors apart, so everything remains appropriate, but close enough for regular interaction."
The server arrives with appetizers, and the conversation shifts to safer territory—the chef's reputation, the quality of the wine selection, the weather's effect on spring travel plans.
I push food around my plate and feel James watching me with the intensity of a predator assessing threat levels.
"If you'll excuse us for a moment," Edward says, rising as an older couple approaches from across the dining room. "The Harrisons have been asking about the merger. Helen, would you join me? Your insight on the European holdings would be invaluable."
"Of course." My mother drains the last of her martini and stands, smoothing her skirt with practiced grace. "Caroline, try to be pleasant. This is your future husband."
They walk away together, and the silence that falls between James and me is a living thing.
I count to ten before speaking. "I thought you didn't attend dinner parties. Something about patterns and expectations."
His eyes narrow. "This isn't a dinner party. It's a business deal."
"Of course. You're very good at those."
"And you're very good at appearing in places you don't belong." He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a register meant only for me. "What game are you playing, Miss Ellsworth?"
"I could ask you the same question, Mr. Calloway." I match his posture, our faces close enough that I can smell his cologne—cedar and cold air, exactly as I remember. "Did you know who I was that night?"
"Don't be absurd. If I'd known you were William Ellsworth's sister, I never would have—" He stops himself, jaw working. "This is an unfortunate coincidence. Nothing more."
"Unfortunate." I almost laugh. "That's one word for it."
"What word would you choose?"
"Catastrophic comes to mind."
Something flickers in his expression—not quite amusement, but close. "We agree on something, then."
"We agreed on something that night too. No attachments. No expectations. No second meetings." I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. "Yet here we are."
"Here we are," he repeats. "Trapped by circumstances neither of us chose."
"Your father seems quite pleased with the arrangement."
"My father sees an heir secured and a merger completed. He doesn't concern himself with the details of how those things are achieved." James reaches for his water glass. "I assume your mother is similarly motivated."
"My mother hasn't concerned herself with my feelings since I was born eleven minutes too late and the wrong gender entirely."
His eyes sharpen with what looks like recognition.
"We're both heirs now. Death has a way of rearranging hierarchies."
The words hit harder than he intends—or perhaps exactly as hard as he intends.
Lucy was driving. Lucy killed Will. And now Lucy's brother sits across from me, and I'm supposed to smile and plan a wedding and pretend I don't taste bile every time I think about sharing a name with the family that destroyed mine.
"Neither of us will reveal that night," I say quietly. "It serves no one."
"Agreed." His voice is ice. "As far as anyone knows, today is the first time we've met."
"And it will remain a transaction. Nothing more."
"Nothing more," he confirms.
But even as he says it, I catch myself noticing things I shouldn't—the way his collar sits against his throat, the controlled tension in his shoulders, the memory of how those hands felt against my skin when I was drowning in grief and he was the only solid thing in the dark.
I hate myself for noticing. I hate him more for making it impossible not to.
My mother returns with Edward, her cheeks flushed from wine and social performance.
"Wonderful news, Caroline. The apartment will be ready by Thursday. I've already arranged for your things to be moved from the townhouse."
"Thursday," I repeat. "That's three days from now."
"No time like the present." She settles back into her chair, signaling for another martini. "You and James will have plenty of opportunities to become acquainted."