Chapter 16 - Callahan
I knew I probably should’ve said something.
Anything really.
A joke. A change of subject. A polite interruption. I had spent my entire life perfecting the art of redirecting my mother before she went too far. It was practically a survival instinct at this point.
But I couldn’t find it in me to do it.
Not when Vani was defending me.
Not when every single thing she said was true.
Except for gold diggers needing to be educated, I've met some questionable women who knew how to swindle a man but were incredibly dumb.
The backyard felt smaller than it had when we first sat down. The sun above us cast a soft glow over the polished table, over the untouched plates, over my mother’s perfectly composed expression that wasn’t nearly as composed as she wanted it to be.
My father cleared his throat.
He carefully adjusted his napkin, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth despite the storm that had just torn through the backyard. “Perhaps,” he said mildly, “we should all have lunch together another time.”
Translation: this was a disaster.
My mother’s lips thinned into a perfect, brittle line. She didn’t look at anyone in particular, which meant she was furious. Knowing when to take a hint, I stood. The scrape of my chair sounded louder than it should have in the suffocating silence. I extended my hand toward Vani.
She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her fingers in mine.
The moment her hand slipped into mine, something inside my chest tightened. I didn't feel angry or embarrassed. What I felt was something dangerously close to pride.
She had stood up for me and didn't back down once.
No one had ever done that for me before.
I shot a glance at my mother. There was no softness in her expression. No regret. No flicker of apology. For a split second, I hoped she would say something. Anything that suggested she felt even the slightest bit sorry for how the conversation had gone.
She didn’t. Her silence stung more than I expected.
Of course, she didn’t.
Vani gently pulled her hand from mine and turned toward my father and Emily. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding like she really meant it. “I didn’t mean to ruin lunch.”
Emily barked out a laugh before either of our parents could respond. “Ruin it? Please. That was the most entertaining family lunch we’ve had in years.”
“Emily,” my father warned.
“What?” my sister shrugged innocently. “It’s great material for my new book. Dysfunctional billionaire family meets unexpectedly fierce wife? It practically writes itself.”
Vani flushed.
Emily grinned at us, then hurried off before either of our parents could reprimand her further. She blew Vani a quick wink as she disappeared inside the house.
My father gave me a look, then glanced at Vani one last time. “We’ll speak later,” he said quietly.
I nodded.
Without another glance at my mother or Victoria, Vani and I followed Emily’s example and made our exit.
The walk to the car felt longer than usual.
The air outside was cooler, fresher. I opened the passenger door for her without thinking.
She slid inside, smoothing her dress over her knees, her shoulders tense.
I closed the door, circled the car, and got in on the driver’s side.
The moment the doors shut, sealing us in our own private space, she exhaled.
The silence between us broke when she started apologizing.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out before I could even start the engine. “I didn’t mean to go off on her like that. I just—she kept pushing and I—”
I turned the key in the ignition, but didn’t pull out of the driveway. I just looked at her.
She kept talking.
“I know she’s your mom and I shouldn’t have...”
She caught my expression and paused. “What?” she asked.
I arched a brow, waiting for her to admit what we both knew was true. She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Okay. Fine. I did mean to go off on her.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips.
“I wouldn't have gone off on her if she would stop insulting us,” she amended, frustration flickering in her eyes. “I know I wasn't exactly wrong for standing up to her, but I don't want to upset you.”
That did it. I leaned back in my seat and let out a quiet laugh.
She stared at me. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because,” I said, turning slightly toward her, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted someone to say all those things.”
Her expression softened instantly.
“She undermines you,” Vani said gently. “Constantly. She acts like you’re incapable of making your own decisions.”
“She’s been doing it my entire life.”
I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. The confession lingered between us.
Vani shifted in her seat, angling her body toward mine. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I looked through the windshield at the long driveway stretching ahead. “Because it’s easier not to.”
“Easier for who?”
“For everyone.”
She shook her head slowly. “That’s not true.”
“It keeps the peace then.”
“Peace is overrated when you're the only one making sacrifices to keep it.”
I sighed as I pulled away from my parents’ house, the gates closing behind us like the final punctuation mark on an exhausting sentence.
I stole a glance at my wife in the passenger seat. She was staring straight ahead, jaw slightly tense, fingers folded neatly in her lap as if she were replaying every word exchanged with my family.
Sure, I had been caught off guard.
No one, and I mean no one, had ever shut my mother down the way she just had.
Not my father.
Not board members.
Not my sister.
And certainly not me.
Yet somehow, this woman I had married in what was supposed to be a strategic arrangement had looked my mother in the eye and dismantled her condescension with nothing but calm logic and polished grace.
Ruthless.
Elegant.
Brilliant.
I sighed again—this time, what I felt was dangerously close to pride.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she murmured, finally glancing at me.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s never good,” she teased, though there was uncertainty behind it.
I shook my head, a slow smile tugging at my mouth. “You have no idea how proud I am of you right now.”
Her brows knitted together. “Proud?”
“Yes. You handled my mother better than I have in thirty years.”
Her lips parted slightly in surprise. “You’re really not upset?”
“Upset?” I let out a short laugh. “Evania, I was ready to applaud.”
Her entire face lit up with that bright, unguarded smile that did something reckless to my chest.
She studied me carefully, as if searching for any hint of irritation. When she found none, her shoulders visibly relaxed.
“You really mean that?”
“I do.”
My stomach growled loudly enough to be heard over the roar of the engine.
She blinked, then laughed. “Did you eat anything?”
“No,” I admitted. “Did you?”
She shook her head. “I was too busy being interrogated.”
That settled it.
I slowed down, signaling as I pulled into the parking lot of a nearby restaurant. If I knew my mother was going to be unreasonable, I would have skipped lunch altogether and brought Vani somewhere else.
“What are we doing?” she asked, curious.
“Feeding my wife,” I replied simply. “We didn’t survive that battlefield just to starve afterward.”
Her eyes widened with excitement as she looked at the restaurant’s sign. “Oh! I’ve wanted to try this place.
She didn’t even wait for me to turn off the engine before unbuckling her seatbelt. I barely had the door open when she was already halfway to the entrance. When I didn’t immediately follow, she turned around and waved both hands dramatically.
“Callahan! Come on!”
I chuckled under my breath. The sight of her standing there, glowing in the afternoon light, did something to my composure. For someone who had agreed to marry me with such businesslike clarity, she possessed a kind of genuine enthusiasm that caught me off guard every time.
I stepped out and followed her inside.
The bell above the door chimed softly as we entered. Warm lighting. The scent of grilled chicken and fresh bread. Soft music hummed in the background.
She inhaled deeply. “This already feels so much better.”
A server approached us with a polite smile. “Table for two?”
“Yes,” I answered.
We were seated in a booth near the window, sunlight filtering in gently. The server handed us menus and promised to return shortly. The moment we were alone, she faced me.
“Okay,” she said, dropping the menu for a second. “Tell me honestly. How likely is it that she'll invite me to another lunch?”
“On a scale of one to ten?” I mused.
She winced.
“About a seven.”
Her head snapped up. “Seven?”
“Okay, maybe a nine.”
Her lips pressed together in disbelief. “This is all her fault for provoking me.”
My laughter died down just in time for the server to return and take our orders. When the server left, I leaned back against the booth, studying her.
“You surprised me in there,” I admitted.
Her fingers stilled on the edge of the table. “Because I spoke up?”
“Because you have a master’s degree in business administration and you never mentioned it.”
She bit her bottom lip. “I honestly don't know why I kept it a secret. It's not like I'm ashamed of it.”
“You'd have no reason to be ashamed.”
“Exactly,” she said quietly. “It doesn't even make sense.”
"It doesn't."
“Are you mad at me?”
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m impressed. And slightly offended you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”
Her eyes softened. “It wasn’t about trust. It didn't feel relevant at the time. Our marriage is an arrangement. I'm not sure how much you want to know about me or what is necessary information to share."
That landed harder than I expected.
Because she was right.
I leaned back slowly, studying her with new awareness. There was so much I didn't know about my wife. I found myself wanting to know more about her , to uncover all her secrets, to know what made her happy, sad, angry, or annoyed. I wanted to know it all.
If someone had told me a week ago that I would be sitting across from a woman who agreed to marry me for convenience—who openly admitted she liked the financial benefits of the arrangement—and that I would actually enjoy her company… I would have laughed in their face.
Yet here I was.
“And then she really tried to convince my mother that the dog ate her homework,” she said, shaking her head. “We didn’t even have a dog.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “And your mother believed her?”
“Oh, absolutely not,” she laughed, leaning forward conspiratorially. “But she pretended to for a week just to teach her a lesson.”
“That’s cruel.”
“That’s parenting.”
I studied her as she spoke. The way her nose scrunched slightly when she smiled. The animation in her hands. The warmth in her voice when she spoke about her family. She loved them. That much was obvious.
“How many siblings did you say you have again?” I asked.
“Four. I’m right in the middle. Which means I’m both bossed around and expected to boss others around.” She lifts one shoulder casually. “I’ve mastered both roles.”
"I'm sure you have."
"I'm probably the most reasonable one out of the lot."
I raised an eyebrow. “You? Reasonable?”
“Hey,” she protested lightly. “I’m perfectly reasonable.”
“You agreed to marry me after one conversation.”
She shrugged. “Reasonable doesn’t mean boring.”
I couldn’t stop the corner of my mouth from lifting. She had this way of speaking that made everything sound effortless.
“And your parents?”
“My mom is the backbone of the family,” she said fondly. “She pretends she’s not soft, but she is. She’ll scold you and hug you in the same breath. And my dad…” She smiled wider. “He acts tough, but he cries at sappy movies.”
“Should you be telling me that?”
“Oh, he’d deny it,” she added quickly. “But we all know.”
I watched her as she spoke. The way her eyes brightened when she described them. The way her voice warmed at the mention of home. It was the opposite of how I spoke about mine.
“And you?” she asked suddenly. “Are family lunches usually like that?”
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
“It wasn’t always,” I admitted.
She tilted her head. “No?”
I shook my head slowly. “My mother wasn’t always like this.”
“Like what?”
“Controlling,” I said plainly. “Obsessed with how things look. With how everything reflects on her and the company.”
“She used to laugh more,” I continued. “Before the company expanded. Before the expectations grew.”
“And now?”
“She tries to rule with an iron fist.”
“Even you?”
I held her gaze. “Especially me.”
Thankfully, she didn’t press further. Instead, we shifted back into lighter conversation.
She told me about family dinners that turned into debates.
About borrowing clothes without asking. About inside jokes, I didn’t quite understand, but I could picture them perfectly because of how vividly she described them.
I found myself asking questions without realizing it.
“What’s the worst trouble you ever got into?” I asked at one point.
She gasped dramatically. “Are you trying to get me to confess crimes?”
“Possibly.”
She laughed again, and I felt the sound settle somewhere deep in my chest. It had been a long time since I've felt this relaxed and carefree. I caught myself watching her more than once. The way she moved her hands when she talked. The way she smiled without a care in the world.
And as she spoke, my mind betrayed me.
It drifted back to earlier.
To the moment she said she would be the mother of my children. I was too shocked to address it then and far too content to bring it up now. But I could acknowledge that I didn't hate the idea as much as I thought I would. I didn't hate it at all.