Chapter 11
The morning I went to discuss the terms of my own marriage, I changed my blouse three times.
The cream one eventually won by being the least offensive.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that did not need smoothing,g and tried to convince myself I was preparing for a legal meeting, not stepping voluntarily into a life-altering arrangement with a man who could make a room fall silent by entering it.
Downstairs, the kitchen felt wrong without Dad.
He was still in the hospital, loudly objecting to the word observation and losing every argument with his doctors.
My phone rang while I packed vegetable soup into a container for him.
“Did you eat?” he asked instead of saying hello.
I looked at the untouched toast on the counter.
“I was about to.”
“Grace.”
“I was thinking very seriously about eating.”
His laugh came through the phone stronger than it had sounded in days.
Then his voice gentled. “You’re nervous.”
“A little.”
“You can still say no.”
I leaned against the counter.
“I know.”
“I mean it. I don’t want my fear to become your life sentence.”
My eyes stung.
“If I don’t at least try, I’ll wonder forever whether I gave up before I knew what I was refusing.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’ve never been prouder of you.”
“You promised no emotional blackmail today.”
“That wasn’t blackmail. That was fatherly appreciation.”
“Suspiciously similar technique.”
He laughed again.
Forty minutes later, I stood outside Reeves Holdings looking up at glass and steel disappearing into the grey sky.
Even the building seemed disciplined.
Inside, the lobby was all pale marble, fresh flowers, and people who walked as if every appointment mattered.
At security, I gave my name.
The guard’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“Of course, Miss Zane. The General is expecting you.”
That sentence followed me to a leather chair near the elevators.
I crossed my legs. Uncrossed them. Tried my ankles instead. Picked up a magazine and stared at the same page for six minutes.
Then the private elevator opened.
Alexander stepped out in a charcoal suit.
The lobby did not technically become silent, but enough people lowered their voices that it felt that way.
He acknowledged greetings with small nods and continued forward until his gaze found me.
I stood too fast.
My handbag slipped off my shoulder.
We both reached for it.
His hand got there first.
“You dropped this.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re early.”
“I didn’t want to be late.”
“You weren’t.”
I nodded as if that exchange had made sense.
Something faint shifted in his eyes. Amusement, perhaps, though he did not grant me the mercy of a smile.
“Come with me.”
The private elevator contained only the two of us and an unforgivably reflective wall.
I watched the floor numbers climb.
“How is your grandmother?” I asked.
His expression softened by a degree I would not have noticed a week earlier.
“Stable.”
“I’m glad.”
A pause.
I panicked and added, “The flowers in your lobby are beautiful.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted them back.
Alexander glanced toward the arrangement visible through the closing doors.
“My grandmother chooses them.”
“Then she has good taste.”
“She’ll be pleased you said so.”
The elevator opened on a quiet upper floor.
He stepped out, then looked back when I hesitated.
“This way.”
I followed.
The marriage had not begun yet, but somehow I already felt as though I had crossed a border.
