Chapter 21
CHARLOTTE
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” I muttered as we landed, wheels thudding against the runway hard enough to jolt me forward in my seat.
Trent didn’t react. He hadn’t reacted to much of anything since Alex’s call, other than to go very still, tense in that controlled, unreadable way that made me suspect he was thinking so loudly that he couldn’t hear anything else.
The entire flight back to Chicago had been quiet, neither of us saying much. He wasn’t cold or shutting me out, but he was definitely distant, focused on whatever emergency Alex had dropped in his lap.
Meanwhile I’d been desperately trying not to think about the kiss. Spoiler alert, I’m failing. Spectacularly.
It kept replaying on a loop in my head, his hands braced on either side of me, the way he’d leaned in like he couldn’t stop himself, the warm, slow press of his mouth against mine that had turned my bones to soup.
Every time the plane hit a pocket of turbulence, I’d jumped and he had looked over with that unreadable expression on his face, and I’d pretended like I wasn’t dying inside.
The problem wasn’t the kiss itself. It was that I wanted another one—and so much more.
I’d spent the entire flight stealing glances at him, staring at the curve of his mouth, the dark stubble shadowing his jaw, and the way his forearms flexed when he shifted in his seat, and trying to remind myself that this wasn’t real.
Feelings weren’t part of the deal. I was a grown woman with a functioning brain, not a hormonal teenager imprinting on her fake boyfriend, but none of that mattered now because as soon as we deplaned everything moved fast.
Two black sedans idled at the bottom of the jet bridge. Men in suits waited with clipboards and earpieces like we were entering witness protection. My father’s drivers, different in every way to those my brothers and I preferred.
“Charlotte,” one said with a polite nod. “Your father asked that we bring you home.”
Trent stiffened beside me. It was nothing dramatic. He didn’t fling his arms in front of me to prevent them from pulling me with them, but I still felt it.
“Mr. Shepard,” the other man said. “Alex is expecting you at his offices.”
“Now?” I asked, turning and shaking my head. “Can’t we—”
Trent’s jaw flexed once before he masked it. “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”
But it wasn’t fine. He looked like a man being pulled away from a fire he wanted to understand before it burned everything down. When he glanced at me, there was something conflicted and rough in his eyes. “I’ll call you.”
It was a lie. I could hear it. He knew it too. I opened my mouth to say something, but he was swept away to the waiting car before I could get a word out, his shoulders broad, his posture tight, and then he disappeared behind tinted glass before I could take a single step after him.
I stood there for a moment like an idiot with my heart thundering and my brain struggling to catch up, but my driver cleared his throat. “Miss?”
Right. Home. Whatever that means for me right now.
The city blurred past the windows as the car wound its way through familiar streets toward the house I’d grown up in. My stomach churned the whole ride. Whatever Alex had discovered, whatever this bad news was, it had rattled Trent.
Which rattled me.
By the time we pulled into the circular driveway, my chest felt too small for my lungs. When my father opened the front door before the driver could even knock, it got even worse.
“Charlotte,” Dad said, smiling in a relieved, slightly too warm way that told me he’d been worried I wouldn’t come. “Good, you’re here. Come in.”
I followed him inside, dropping my bag by the stairs. He didn’t waste time. “Let’s talk in my office, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. Uh oh.
That was the tone he used when shit was about to hit the fan but he was trying to soften the blow.
My heels clicked down the hallway as he led me to his office, the same room where he’d negotiated millions of dollars in deals, grounded me for sneaking out at sixteen, and warned me not to waste my talent at least fifty times.
If we were talking in here, I’d been right to be rattled. He closed the door behind us and turned to me, and a fresh wave of dread rolled down my spine when his gaze met mine. Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
He gestured for me to sit, but I stayed standing, muttering a quick, lame excuse. “Thanks, but I just got off the plane. I’ve been sitting for too long.”
“Very well.” He strode around his desk and sat down, folding his arms on the polished wooden top and looking at me like he was about to deliver a verdict. “Do you understand why our family arranges marriages, Charlotte?”
The question was so expected, so rehearsed, that it almost made me laugh. Almost. “Yes, I understand. It’s about legacy and stability. Partnerships that strengthen the family. I’ve been hearing the speech since I learned how to walk, Daddy.”
He nodded, obviously satisfied with my answer. “It worked for your Uncle Harlan. Look at his boys. Four marriages in a year. All of them successful. Happy even, from what I hear.”
I thought of those boys, grown men, all of whom actually loved their wives. All of whom had chosen them in the end, even if the beginnings had been complicated. My father took a breath, then dropped the name that made my chest lift before I could stop it.
“Now, Trent.”
Just hearing it sent warmth sparking through me. It was completely involuntary, but my mouth was even starting to form the shape of a smile until Dad spoke again.
“There’s no way that can happen.”
The floor vanished beneath me.
“What?” My voice cracked. “Why not?”
“He’s a good man, honey,” Dad said, exhaling. “A stand-up boy who’s been in this house more weekends than I can count. He’s like a son to me. You know that.”
The warmth I’d felt at hearing his name evaporated so fast that I suddenly felt cold, chilled to the bone as I prompted him. “But?”
“But he has a history,” Dad said. “And it’s not pretty. Unfortunately, that business with his adulteress ex-wife tainted his name.”
Savannah. Of course. The scandal. The whispers. The thing Trent lived through and survived and somehow rebuilt himself after.
“He’s also a cowboy,” Dad added sharply. “For Christ’s sake. Oil money or not, is that truly the life you want? A ranch? Mud, and livestock, and a man who wakes up at four in the morning? Is that what you think is best for you?”
“Yes,” I said instantly.
His eyes flashed with irritation and he barreled on as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “I have an offer on the table from the Van Allens. A formal one. It’s good.”
A nauseous wave rolled through me, but Dad just kept going. “Gregory is very serious about you. He’ll marry you right away, forgoing the usual courting period. You’d move to England and become an aristocrat. A lady. Lady Van Allen, a marquess’s wife.”
I stared at him, stunned. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered. Marquess. Right. That’s what he is. What even is that?
Dad, meanwhile, smiled faintly, a touch of pride making his chest swell. “You know, you had a great aunt who married into aristocracy. Long ago—”
“I don’t want to marry Gregory!” The words ripped out of me like an explosion. “Please, Daddy. I can’t.”
Silence dropped between us like a guillotine, my father staring at me like I’d just slapped him across the face.
His disappointment was a physical thing, a tangible weight pressing into my ribs.
“Your clock has run out, Charlotte. You’re twenty-five and you’ve had years to find someone suitable.
This is the Westwood way. Since you won’t be carrying on the family name, it falls on me to ensure you marry someone worthy. ”
Worthy.
As if I’m livestock. As if Trent is somehow unworthy.
My throat burned. My palms shook. My heartbeat pounded so hard, I felt it in my teeth as I realized with perfect, painful clarity that my father expected not only to choose a husband for me, but my life. As if I had no agency or choice whatsoever.
My cousins had chosen. Fine, they’d been told when to choose and none of them had any choice not to, but they’d chosen. Fuck, as far as I knew, Harrison actually did have a choice. Harlan hadn’t forced him into it. In fact, he’d tried to discourage Harrison from getting married so young.
Sterling, Jameson, and Callum had resisted, but the ultimatum had simply been the kick in the butts they’d needed. It hadn’t been like this.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” Dad told me gently, as if the words were a sugar cube meant to make the medicine go down.
It felt manipulative and cruel, like he knew exactly where to press to make me fold. I swallowed hard. “Dad, I’m trying to explain—”
He cut me off with a long, weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like I was the inconvenience here. “Fine. If Gregory is so unacceptable to you, there’s another option.”
My breathing hitched, oxygen stalling in my lungs.
“Marry Trent.”
The world tilted as I stared at him, certain I’d misheard. “What?”
“We don’t date in this family, but I understand you’re in a relationship with him now,” he said flatly. “Once these wheels start turning, there is no stopping them, and if Trent Shepard is the man you believe is worthy of you, then marry him. Have him come to me, today, and pitch his offer.”
I gaped at him. “I’m not a racehorse.”
“You’re right,” he said, expression unchanging. “You’re the goddamn princess of Chicago and unless that cowboy comes into my office today and tells me in detail how he plans to take care of you, you are marrying Gregory. And that is final.”
Something tore inside me, quietly and cleanly, like a seam ripping. I didn’t even remember opening the door, leaving, or rushing down the hallway. My heart was in my throat, beating so violently it stole the air out of my lungs.
Marry Trent.
Marry Trent or Gregory.
A choice that wasn’t a choice at all because Trent wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t marry me.
Not to save me or even to save himself. Not after Savannah. Not after the way his entire life detonated because he’d married the wrong person for all the wrong reasons.
Meanwhile, my father, who was meant to be the ultimate protector in my life, was treating my marriage like a transaction with a deadline he needed to meet by close of business. I didn’t stop moving until I was outside.
I needed to breathe. No, I needed Trent. No, not him. Alex. I needed—God, I didn’t even know, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty. This wasn’t just fallout anymore. It was war.
“Westwood and Sons,” I said breathlessly to the first driver I saw when I reached the bottom of the staircase.
The same guy who’d brought me here flicked a glance at the door, like he wasn’t sure he should take me, but when my dad didn’t appear, he seemed to relax. I didn’t even remember getting in the car, much less the drive.
The only thing I was truly aware of was the sensation of my pulse drumming in my ears and the sick churn in my stomach. By the time the elevator doors opened on the executive floor, my throat was tight, my palms cold, and I felt like I was unraveling.
Without knocking, I pushed open the glass door to Alex’s office, stepping directly into a meeting I should’ve told them I’d be interrupting, but I couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried. Three heads snapped toward me as soon as I entered.
Trent was the first to react. He stood so fast, his chair screeched back and his coffee sloshed violently, the dark liquid cascading across the conference table. He didn’t even notice. His eyes were on me, wide, sharp, scanning me like he assessing every inch for injury.
“Charlotte?” His voice was low and rough, like I’d scared the living daylights out of him.
Alex rose halfway, bracing his palms on the table. “Jesus, Char. Are you okay?”
Nate didn’t bother standing. He just exhaled loudly, running a hand over his face, and muttered, “Dad got to you first, didn’t he?”