8. Genevieve
Chapter eight
Genevieve
The morning sun spilled across the dewy grass as Eugene darted ahead, clutching the small soccer ball we’d picked up last week. He looked over his shoulder, grinning, his sneakers crunching against the gravel of the courtyard.
“No running, Lovebug,” I called after him, knowing my warning was likely to go unnoticed.
Gregory had already left for the office early in the morning with nothing but the cold, empty sheets as a goodbye.
Eugene kicked the ball forward, chasing after it with clumsy determination. His laugh carried across the yard, bright and unbothered, and for a moment, it eased the tightness in my chest.
“Mommy, did you see that?” he shouted, his little soccer uniform swallowing him.
Opening my car door, I set my belongings down. “I saw,” I said, smiling.
This wasn’t really about Eugene learning how to play soccer. Not yet, at least. It was about giving him somewhere to spill all that endless energy, instead of tearing through our living room with his toy cars.
If we were lucky, he might learn how to follow a whistle, or at least kick in the right direction. Even if I knew the reality of it would be just a bunch of toddlers chasing one ball the wrong way.
Despite that, I wanted him to have this, his first uniform, his first little team, his first chance to feel part of something that was just his. If only his father would care enough to show up, to clap for him on the sidelines, to be present for the little wins and celebrate his accomplishments.
Eugene deserved that. Deserved more than a distracted kiss on the forehead or the promise of a later that never came.
“Uncle Reid!” I heard him yell, and instantly, my head whipped over my shoulder, giving me whiplash.
The black Lincoln idled at the edge of the courtyard, sleek and gleaming, sunlight glinting off the chrome. The driver had barely cut the engine before Reid stepped out.
Eugene darted toward him, ball forgotten, sneakers slapping. My pulse spiked, legs locking in place as Reid crouched down easily and scooped him up with one arm, the other settling a hand against Eugene’s back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Look at you,” Reid said, his voice holding excitement. “Ready for the first day on the field?”
Eugene nodded so fast his hair flopped into his eyes. “I’m gonna score!”
“Can’t wait to see it happen, bud.” Reid chuckled, low in his chest. It caused a sense of warmth to flow through me, a feeling I wanted to die the second it came.
Heat burned my face, fury and panic colliding as I approached. “Put him down, Reid,” I seethed, low enough so only he could hear me.
Instead of listening, he smiled smugly, ruffling Eugene’s hair before lowering him back gently to the ground. Eugene ran back to wherever he’d discarded his ball, brimming with joy and excitement.
“What are you doing here?”
Reid straightened slowly, his gaze dragging over me in a way that virtually made my skin burn. “He needed a proper send-off on his first day.”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s little league soccer. Half of the time, he’ll be kicking and missing the soccer ball that’s half his size, and the other half, he’ll be sitting on the sidelines with a juice box.”
Reid slipped his hands into his pockets, as though he had every right to stand there in the middle of my morning. “He still deserves having someone in the stands. Besides, Gregory’s busier these days… Not gonna be around much for the little guy. Someone ought to be.”
My jaw clenched, the retort catching in my throat as Eugene’s laughter carried across the yard. “You don’t get to insert yourself into this,” I hissed. “This isn’t about you.”
His smirk curved into something that made my skin crawl.
“Of course it isn’t, Vieve, it’s about the kids…
isn’t it, little guy?” he asked an oblivious Eugene, who was busy kicking at the ball.
His eyes landed back on me and then they lingered, pinning me to the ground more effectively than his hands ever could.
I tore my gaze away, forcing myself toward my car. “We’re going to be late. We’re leaving now.”
“Perfect,” Reid said easily, striding after me. “Marcus will drive.”
Heat clawed at my throat. “That won’t be necessary—”
“It is,” he cut me off smoothly, stepping between me and my car. “If you’re coming to the office with me after.”
My breath caught. “I’m not—”
“You are.”
The calm in his voice scared me more than if he’d yelled. No fight in it, no space for me to argue. The decision was final, almost like the choice had never been mine to begin with.
“His father’s the one who’s supposed to be here with him,” I snapped under my breath, pulse pounding, “but instead, you’ve got him buried under twice the work, and you keep showing up where you don’t belong.”
For the first time this morning, Reid’s cocky smirk faltered. His eyes darkened, catching every ounce of bite in my words. The shift was small, but I felt it like a strike. For a moment, silence stretched, heavy, daring me to look away first.
Then, with infuriating ease, his grin returned. “Guess you’ll need someone to help cheer him on then,” Reid said smoothly, as if the sting had never landed. “Lucky for you, I’ve cleared my morning.”
The field was already a circus.
A dozen toddlers in jerseys two sizes too big swarmed around the single ball, tripping over their own feet and each other.
One boy stopped mid-play to chase a butterfly, while a little girl in pigtails sat cross-legged in the grass, examining her shoelaces like it was the first time she’d noticed them.
“Okay—no, no, this way!” Coach Dan called, his whistle shrill as he flapped his arms toward the lone goal standing crooked at the far end.
It was almost as if teaching this sport was a passion of his.
I could only wonder if he’d considered who he would be teaching and how their ages essentially disqualified them from learning much of anything.
The parents on the sidelines laughed, a chorus of amused chuckles at the chaos unraveling across the grass.
Eugene darted after the ball, legs pumping furiously, his grin wide and fearless. He stumbled, caught himself, and kept going, laughing so hard he nearly toppled over again. My chest filled at the sight, the simple joy of it.
“He’s got your stubbornness, that’s for sure.”
The words cut across my thoughts. I stiffened, pulse skipping as I was reminded that Reid had settled into the folding chair beside mine, his arm draped lazily over the back like it belonged there.
I didn’t look at him. My eyes stayed fixed on the field, on Eugene, who was now tangled with another boy as they both tried to claim the ball. “You shouldn’t be here,” I murmured, and he hummed, the sound of it making my stomach twist.
“You said that plenty of times already.”
“And yet you can’t take a hint.”
Reid’s mouth curved, eyes still on the field. “Funny. You say that, but you still let me drive this morning.”
My stomach knotted. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice.”
“Exactly. That’s how this works now.”
Silence settled between us, broken only by the shrill whistle and the kids tumbling over each other in the grass. I forced my focus on Eugene, cheering when he managed to kick the ball, even though it rolled straight out of bounds.
Reid didn’t laugh like the other parents did. He leaned closer instead, his words brushing against me, too soft for anyone else to catch—but soft enough to make me feel weak, for my hands to tremble at his closeness.
“You’ll get used to being seen with me. It won’t be long before people begin to speculate why you’re spending time with your fiancé’s brother.”
“Is that your goal? To give our family another scandal? To humiliate me?”
“Why shouldn’t it be? You let it happen to me.”
Turning to him, I found his gaze already waiting for me, dark and unflinching. My breath caught, the noise of the field fading beneath the pressure of it.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to say, not here, the children’s laughter carrying across the grass. But the weight of his stare was louder than words, promising this wasn’t finished.
He didn’t need to say more. The accusation was enough.
The words dug into places I’d spent years trying to seal shut. Memories I’d forced down until they blurred at the edges: his hand in mine, the nights we spent together, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted. And the day I let it all slip through my fingers.
I cheered weakly as the coach blew the whistle for their second water break. Eugene came barreling toward us, cheeks flushed, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his grin stretching wide.
“You’re a machine out there, bud.” Reid leaned forward, his voice warm, his charismatic smile slipping on like a mask. He could fool everyone with it… everyone but me.
Eugene lowered his arms, his face tensing as he flexed his imaginary muscles. “A MACHINE!” he practically growled as I handed him his water bottle.
He took a long gulp before fumbling with the cap, his little fingers too slick to twist it back on as he huffed in frustration. This was a ritual he’d adopted in the last month or so, little spurts of toddler independence he’d take on before he inevitably asked me to finish the job.
He turned without hesitation. “Uncle Reid, can you help me?”
The words struck harder than I wanted to admit. He didn’t even glance at me. He went straight to him.
Reid reached out easily, his large hand dwarfing the tiny bottle as he screwed the cap tight with one smooth turn. “There you go, champ.” His voice carried the same casual firmness he used when he was giving orders, only it was softer, warmer now.
Eugene beamed, gripping the bottle with both hands. “Thanks!”
My chest tightened. It was nothing but a quick moment. It was just a water bottle. But watching my son look up at Reid like that, trusting him so completely, it pulled at me in ways I couldn’t afford.
And like another punch to the gut, Reid leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking toward mine with a glint that told me he knew exactly what he was doing.
I looked away first.
The worst part wasn’t that Reid had inserted himself into our morning.
It was how easily Eugene had let him. And how, deep down, I’d known this was only the beginning.
The car slid to a stop at the curb of the Newman Trust building, its mirrored glass stretching toward the sky like it owned the city.
“This isn’t necessary,” I whispered, but Reid ignored me. He stepped out first, one hand adjusting his sleeve before the other reached back for me, not an offer but a command. His palm brushed the small of my back as I followed, my legs unsteady, my pulse too loud.
We’d stopped first at one of Raymond’s offices on the lower floors, where Eugene had already curled up on the leather sofa for his nap.
Employees glanced up as we passed. First at the brooding, controlling man commanding the room, then at me, whispers already forming before the doors even shut behind us.
On the way up the elevator, we stayed on opposite sides of it, the air in the confined space tense. The numbers blinked slowly overhead, each floor dragging like a countdown.
“You know this is pointless,” I muttered, arms crossed tight. “Dragging me in here, parading me in front of everyone, it doesn’t prove anything.”
“I don’t need to prove anything to anyone, Genevieve. I’m not your useless fiancé.”
Heat climbed my neck. “Gregory doesn’t need you undermining him at every turn—”
“I don’t have to undermine him,” he said, voice low, steady. “He does that all by himself.”
“This whole thing, you being here, it’s ridiculous.” My chest constricted. “You’re humiliating him.”
“That’s the plan.”
My jaw clenched at his nonchalance. “You’re no better than him if you think that.”
In the blink of an eye, he moved closer. His hand pressed flat against the wall beside my head, firm enough that I couldn’t step away. The faint hum of the elevator filled the silence, loud against the rush of my breath.
“You want to know what I am, Vieve? I’m worse.”
I stood my ground, glaring up at him. “I could’ve told you that much.”
His gaze flicked down over me, slow, before locking on my eyes again.
My traitorous breath hitched, my back pressed tighter to the cold steel as if it could hold me steady.
Our breathing mingled, the tension in the air so thick that the thought of the doors sliding open and exposing us like this only added fuel to the fire.
I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn’t. My tongue felt heavy, useless. When I finally mustered the strength to push him away, my palm pressed against his chest, he caught my wrist in an instant, pinning it above my head with terrifying ease.
“Stop—” I hissed, but the word broke.
“Why?” His voice was quiet, almost curious, as he caught my other hand too, forcing it high above me, caging me completely.
“You said it yourself… I’m worse than him.
What would be worse than me being caught with my younger brother’s soon-to-be wife?
Especially if she’d rather be pinned to the wall by me than endure one of his failed attempts to keep her satisfied. ”
“You’re disgusting.” My whisper shook, but I forced it out as I forced my body still, forced it not to react to him lowering himself. His lips getting closer… and closer to my neck. My knees weakened at the proximity, my breaths coming out more shallow.
“Reid,” I all but whispered, trying to keep my reaction minimal to him, trying not to give him the satisfaction of knowing I could still fall apart for him.
He didn’t answer. The slow tilt of his head, the way his lips hovered so close to my neck as the heat of his breath brushed my skin, that in itself was enough of an answer. My pulse roared in my ears, each thud louder than the hum of the elevator.
My chest rose and fell too fast, shallow, as if I couldn’t get enough air. His closeness was suffocating, drowning, and the worst part was the way some deep, hidden part of me still remembered it. Remembered him.
Then as quick as that feeling came, it was gone as he pulled away from me abruptly, stepping back as the elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors slid open with a bright chime that felt almost mocking, spilling light into the narrow space.
I stayed pressed against the steel wall, my wrists tingling where he’d held them, my breath still uneven in my chest. My knees felt weak, unsteady, like one wrong move might send me collapsing to the floor.
That look of detachment found his features once again. No trace of the closeness remained in him. Not the whisper of his breath against my neck or the strength of his grip pinning me in place. It was as if the last thirty seconds hadn’t happened at all.
Just like that, the mask was back in place. “Let’s go.”