Chapter Four
Alexander
It was first Friday after our wedding and it began with its usual steady flow of disappointment.
My mother was fretting over Claire like she'd been gifted a fragile heirloom, passing her dish after dish as if food might make her feel loved and accepted.
And across the table, my brother James sat next to Allison, their stolen glances practically lethal. Of course, I also caught Allison’s lingering stare on me… and on Claire, which instantly put my hackles up.
Claire sat beside me, her voice distracting, full of light and sweetness. Her bright responses seemed to warm up the room and everyone in it, which had my mother fawning over her even more. I hadn’t expected that, but I wasn’t complaining.
And I sat, stewing in resentment. Watching her absorb the chaos, I wondered how long she’d last before she cracked like everyone else. My way of life tends to break people, and that sunshiny attitude of hers is the kind that goes first.
"You must try this, dear," my mother insisted, placing another serving on Claire's plate.
She hadn't shown this much enthusiasm since James started bringing Allison to dinner.
"I'm sure it's delicious," Claire said with a smile that made even the icy walls of the dining room seem warmer. Her gaze met mine, sparkling and sweet. I couldn’t help but be impressed by her.
I pretended to be disinterested, stabbing at my steak, but I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering back to her.
She met every challenge with a grace I found hard to ignore.
Even the usual antagonism from my father couldn't pierce her soft armor.
“So, when will there be a little Reed running around?” Allison’s words brought the conversation to a screeching halt, and she didn't even have the decency to look apologetic for being so rude.
Claire's hand brushed against mine, a light, accidental touch that sent an electric surge through the entire room. She seemed to radiate something genuine, something that almost made this charade bearable. I could tell it unnerved everyone else too.
She let out a light laugh. “Well, it’s a little soon for that,” she said, somehow upbeat. “But I can’t wait.” With that, she wound her arms around me and planted a kiss on my temple which was so unexpected. She was unbelievably good at this.
But Allison wasn’t done; her gaze locked on Claire, calculating, searching for a weakness. "I see you're all settled in," she said, the underlying challenge clear.
Claire just smiled. "It's been wonderful, everyone’s so welcoming."
Welcoming. I bit down a smile. That probably stung at least two people in the room.
"Ah, the newlyweds," my father finally said, as if acknowledging us was a grand gesture.
James and Allison shifted closer to one another in their seats, and the air thickened with the kind of toxic cocktail I usually washed down with scotch. Claire took it in stride, talking about some inconsequential nonsense with a sincerity that was beginning to make me suspicious. How could she be so unaffected by all this?
The answer to my question stormed in with the subtlety of a fireworks display.
Jen, in all her self-entitled glory, strutted into the dining room wearing a designer dress that I’m sure Claire had to pay for. "Am I late?" she asked, like a diva late for curtain call. Every eye in the room snapped to her, exactly as she'd planned.
Even Claire looked startled.
Behind her sister, an unsure looking doorman stuttered about her letting herself in.
Jen twirled, flaunting the dress as if showcasing the ultimate prize.
"Isn't it amazing? A little gift from my generous sister."
I clenched my jaw. Typical. I caught Claire’s mortified expression, a mixture of embarrassment and resignation. It seemed Jen's entitled behavior followed her wherever she went.
"And it's just my color," Jen said, draping herself into the empty seat next to Claire.
The dam inside me broke. "And what would you know about color, Jen?" I said, my tone laced with venom. "Other than how to grift the green from your sister?" I’ve heard their phone calls, seen the text messages, heard the whispers for the leech that is Claire’s sister.
Claire looked at me, wide-eyed, shocked at my audacity.
Jen’s eyes widened in mock horror. "Someone’s touchy."
"You show up here, uninvited, wearing something that you clearly didn’t earn, and I'm the touchy one?" I didn’t bother hiding my disdain. "You really are something else."
Jen shrugged, unfazed. "Can't help it if my big sister is so giving, can I?"
Claire tried to smooth things over. "It's really not a big deal," she said, too soft for this battlefield. But I wasn’t done yet.
"It is a big deal when people take advantage of you," I said. I wondered if Claire understood that this went far beyond a dress. That I was speaking more about my family than hers.
The tension spread like wildfire across the table. My parents exchanged puzzled glances, oblivious to the iceberg of familial resentment they were skimming across.
"Alexander," my mother said, her voice a cautious reprimand. "Be polite to Claire's family."
Polite. My blood boiled at the word. As if there weren’t traitors right here in our midst, willing to do anything to cause pain and turmoil.
Allison’s voice cut in like a blade. "It's so great to see Jen here. Maybe next time she can bring the rest of her family."
I could see her enjoying this, every little dagger she twisted into us. "Perhaps she will," I said, my voice a smooth, emotionless counterpoint to the anger building inside. "You always did like a full house."
Her eyes narrowed. The war was on.
"We all enjoy seeing you happy, Alex," she said, the way one might comment on a homeless man finding a dollar. "Even if it did take a bit of creativity to make it happen."
My father let out a chuckle, clueless as ever. "Nothing wrong with a little imagination."
Even Claire seemed to sense the danger now. She opened her mouth, probably to say something about dessert, when James decided to turn the knife himself.
"It's amazing how fast things can change," he said. "I mean, one moment you’re on top, and the next you’re not."
His grin was insufferable. And it was aimed straight at me.
"It's amazing what someone will do to get to the top," I said, cold, calculating, and ready to go in for the kill. "Like steal."
Claire put a hand on my arm. I shrugged it off.
"Can’t steal what doesn’t belong to someone else," James said, feigning pity.
I looked at Allison. She was so beautiful in the ugliest way possible. How could I have ever loved her?
"We do have news," James said, glancing at my parents, who seemed relieved and tense all at once. “We’re going to start a family.” He looped an arm with Allison’s.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I pushed my chair back and stood, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor, a noise that I knew would echo long after I was gone. "Claire," I said, my voice clipped, "let's go."
Her cheeks flushed, she stood quickly, nearly knocking over her glass. The clatter seemed to break the paralysis that held the room, and she looked back at her sister, at my family, torn between her innate sweetness and the relief of escape.
"I'm sorry," she said, the words almost lost in the shuffle of her leaving. As she caught up with me, she whispered under her breath. "I should have known Jen would follow me and ruin things. I'm sorry."
She had no idea, even now. And I wanted it to stay that way.
I didn't look back to see their reactions. The only thing that mattered was that I was getting out of there, taking Claire with me, and leaving the wreckage of this Friday dinner from hell behind.
The penthouse loomed large and hollow, the silence between Claire and me sounded louder than the closest sonic boom. She trailed behind, a shadow growing smaller and sadder until I lost her somewhere between my indifference and the beating I wanted to give my brother, James.
When I found her again, she was curled in a corner like a damaged flower, her stifled sobs shredding what was left of my conscience. "Claire," I said, my voice a graceless intrusion. "You're not—this isn’t supposed to upset you." But it had, and I didn’t know how to fix it.
She looked up, her eyes pools of raw emotion. "I'm fine," she lied, her voice as fragile as she seemed in that moment.
My attempt to brush it off felt hollow. "We don’t care what they think," I said, my words more of a command than comfort.
"They’re your family," she whispered, as if that was supposed to make their behavior acceptable. Her shoulders shook with every word, tremors in my fault lines.
This wasn’t the reaction I expected. I thought Claire's sunny disposition would shield her, that she'd weather this storm like she did everything else. Seeing her crumble shook me.
I knelt awkwardly beside her, my presence a poor substitute for real empathy. "They’re not family when they act like that." Allison wasn’t family at all.
The attempt at reassurance hung in the air between us, clearly inadequate. Claire seemed to shrink further, and I could practically feel the warmth drain from her.
"I’m just tired," she said, her voice so small it barely existed.
"Claire," I tried again, not even sure what I was supposed to be saying. "Look, I—this will get easier."
She met my eyes, a painful sincerity in her gaze. "Will it?"
I’d never been good at softening the truth. "No," I said. "Probably not."
I watched her process this, saw how desperately she tried to pull herself together. She wasn’t as invincible as I'd thought. That realization hit harder than expected.
"You’ve done so much for me, Alexander," she said, choking back another sob. "I can’t let you down."
"Let me down?" I asked, genuinely confused. "You’re not—"
"I didn’t think it would be this hard," she said, cutting me off, her confession tumbling out like she’d been holding it in for years. "I feel so alone here. Like I’m drowning in nothingness."
Her words found some dormant part of me, one I thought I’d buried long ago.
She continued, her voice steadier but no less broken. "And then Jen showed up, and I just—I thought I’d be free of her for now. Mostly, anyway."
Her admission was raw and real, so unlike the polished lies I was used to. I found myself wanting to shield her, even from her own family.
"You’ll adjust," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. I realized I had no idea what she’d been through. No wonder the dinner had hit her like a freight train.
"It’s just so hard pretending," she said, each word heavy with the truth of it.
The irony of her statement almost made me laugh. Pretending was the only thing I'd ever excelled at.
Her vulnerability made something shift inside me, and I didn’t know if I liked it.
"Claire, I—" The words caught, tangled in unfamiliar territory.
She waited, silent and expectant, and it dawned on me that no one had ever relied on me for anything like this.
"—underestimated you," I said, my voice finally finding confidence. "I thought this would be easier for you."
It was a poor echo of what she needed to hear, but I watched as some of her warmth and radiance returned.
"You’re a lot stronger than I thought," I added, surprised to find that I meant it. Her resilience, her honesty—it was all beginning to gnaw at the walls I’d put up.
She blinked, taken aback by the compliment, if you could call it that. Her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, a crack in the sorrow.
A sudden urge to reach out and touch her shoulder, to offer something real, washed over me. I stifled it, unsure if I was more afraid of her reaction or mine.
"I’ll give you some space," I said instead, retreating to familiar ground. "Let you... collect yourself."
She nodded, a simple gesture that whispered grace and gratitude. "Thank you," she said, her voice a whisper of its former strength.
I walked away, the distance between us both a relief and a regret. As I left her there, I realized she wasn't the only one suffocating under the pretense of this arrangement. Her presence, her unexpected hold on my thoughts—was cracking open parts of me I didn’t even know existed.
Back in the confines of my home office, I tried to bury myself in work, but Claire's tears kept returning to haunt me. I wasn’t as detached as I needed to be, not even close.
I found her the next morning at the kitchen island, her usual sunshine dimmed by a night of worry. My chest tightened at the sight, a reaction I despised almost as much as my family. I had a plan—orderly, controlled—and Claire unraveling right before my eyes wasn’t part of it.
"These came for you," I said, setting a small box on the counter like a grenade. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, eyes widening at the contents. A strange satisfaction crept in with my discomfort. She was not what I expected. Not at all.
She lifted the book from its wrapping, her expression a mix of shock and nostalgia. "How did you—?" she asked, her voice full of awe.
"You mentioned it," I said, trying to sound casual as I leaned against the counter, pretending to check my phone. It was an act of war, this small token. I wasn’t supposed to care.
"Anne of Green Gables," she said softly, running her fingers over the cover like it was made of spun gold. "I haven’t seen this since I was a kid."
Her reaction was disproportionate to the effort I'd put in, and it made me unreasonably pleased. I found myself smirking, and that was unacceptable.
"I thought you'd appreciate it more than a bouquet of flowers," I said, aiming for nonchalance but failing.
Her smile was dazzling, a burst of light in the dark corners of my intentions. "Thank you, Alexander. Really."
The sincerity in her voice chipped away at my defenses, and I shifted my stance, uncomfortable with the warmth between us. "There's more," I said, placing a card next to the book. "Take it. Use it."
Claire picked up the card, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What's this?"
"It's a card," I said, deadpan. "You buy things with it. Clothes, shoes, whatever you need."
She looked at me, speechless, the shock written all over her face. I'd seen a similar look on men who walked into boardrooms thinking they could beat me.
"Your wardrobe," I said, clearing my throat. "You'll need to... adjust. To fit in better." Look at me, being delicate around her feelings.
Her surprise was starting to chip at my resolve, so I pushed on. "I've hired someone to help," I added, trying to maintain the upper hand in a situation that felt more and more out of control. "A stylist. They'll come tomorrow."
Her mouth opened, but words seemed to elude her.
I took the opportunity to regain some footing. "Don't look so stunned," I said, my tone half-sarcastic. "It's purely for practical reasons."
She blinked, processing. "I just—I don’t know what to say."
"Then don’t say anything," I said, more harshly than intended. This was new territory for both of us, and I didn't like it. Not at all.
I watched her, uncertain and grateful, clutching the book like it was a lifeline. The depth of her appreciation shook me more than I'd ever admit.
Leaving her there, I forced myself to retreat into the sanctuary of my office, where I could convince myself I was still in control of something—anything.
Her presence was a distraction, an unscripted line in the script of my life, a script I thought I'd written myself. It was becoming increasingly clear: I wasn't as prepared for Claire as I believed.