Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
CALDWELL
Mable is smiling, her eyes slightly dazed but bright as I pull her upright. There she is. She’s even relaxed in my hold now.
I should feel guilty for putting her on display, but I want Mable and everyone else to understand that I’m serious about us.
This will be hitting the news and tabloids by tomorrow.
This is not my typical style, so everyone will know Mable is different.
Not a family friend or someone I was set up with as a possible suitor from another high-society family.
“That was...” Mable licks her lips that are swollen from my kisses. I plan on keeping them that way.
I study her face, but she’s already smoothing her expression.
I don’t like that one bit. One of the beautiful things about Mable is how her emotions play across her face, not hiding, but they are now.
This is the part of the royal life I hate.
It was why I was hesitant to introduce Mable into it to begin with.
I hate that she’s forced to hide any part of herself.
“Necessary,” I finish. She laughs, the sound lighter than I’ve heard all night. I think she forgot about everything around us for a brief moment, and fuck, do I love that I can do that to her.
“Necessary?”
“Completely.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You were doubting me. I could feel it.”
“I wasn’t doubting you. I was doubting... never mind.” She lets out a small puff of air, the reality of what’s all around us coming back into full view.
Mable isn’t one for confrontation or to speak up quickly. I know I’m not going to be able to pull anything out of her while we’re at the reception, but I can show my girl what she means to me. Actions always speak louder, they say.
My father’s voice cuts through the noise, and I smile. I have an ally against my mother. Mom can often run circles around Dad, but when he hits a limit, which happens on rare occasions, she’ll back down from whatever it is.
“Caldwell! Bring her over here already.”
We both turn to see him waving us over from the head table, my mother seated beside him, looking anywhere but at us.
She remains poised, maintaining the facade she puts on to the rest of the world.
She isn’t always this way. There is another side to her, one that not many know. I wish she could always be that person.
“Come on,” I say, taking Mable’s hand. “Meet my parents properly.”
She stiffens slightly but follows. “You’ll love my father.” I squeeze her fingers, trying to reassure her. My father stands as we approach, his smile genuine and warm. My mother nods, polite but distant.
“So this is the young lady we’ve heard so much about,” my father says, extending his hand. “I’m Henry. Please, sit. Both of you.”
Mable shakes his hand, and I can see her relax fractionally at his warmth. “Thank you. The wedding was beautiful,” she says softly.
“Wasn’t it?” My father beams, flagging down two glasses of champagne for us. “Julian finally settled down. Took him long enough. Eleanor thought he’d never commit.”
“Henry,” my mother says quietly. “I just didn’t see it happening this quickly. They have known each other three months.”
I’m not sure if she’s taking a jab at my relationship with Mable, but it wouldn’t surprise me. They are, however, not wrong. I didn’t see my brother settling down, but it just goes to show you, the right woman can change everything.
“What’s done is done.” My father hands Mable a glass, clinking his against hers. “To new beginnings.”
She smiles, taking a sip, and I watch my father’s eyes soften. He’s always been able to charm anyone. It’s where Julian gets it from. It’s a skill I sometimes wished I possessed.
“Tell me about yourself, Mable. Caldwell has been remarkably tight-lipped.” He raises an eyebrow, looking at me, letting me know he’s not too happy about it.
“I just graduated,” she says. “I received a degree in urban studies.”
“She went to Imperial Supérieure,” I’m quick to add.
“Ambitious. I like that.” He leans in. “Eleanor got hers in political science, you know. Before she married into all this.”
My mother’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the slight tightening around her eyes. She hates when he brings up her past.
“Is that right?” Mable asks, turning to her.
“Long time ago,” my mother says.
I’m about to fill the silence when Cordelia appears, sliding into the seat beside my father like she belongs there. Which, in a way, she does. She’s been at our holiday dinners since she was twelve, along with her parents.
“There you are,” she says to me, then turns her smile to Mable. “I was hoping to get to know you better. He keeps you all to himself.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I say, but I’m smiling. She’s teasing me like she always has. We’re like siblings or cousins rather.
“Don’t be greedy,” she laughs, waving down a server for another glass. She turns to my father. “Henry, did you see Julian’s face when Emery started down the aisle? I’ve never seen him look so terrified.”
“He thought she wasn’t going to show,” my father chuckles. “The boy was sweating through his tux.”
“Remember when he fainted at his confirmation?” Cordelia asks, and my father roars with laughter.
“Fell flat on the altar!”
“And Wells just stood there,” Cordelia continues, eyes sparkling. “Didn’t even flinch. Just stepped over him like he was furniture.”
What they all don’t know is that there had been a bet, one I should have known my brother would follow through on.
“I did not,” I protest, but I’m laughing too.
It’s an old story, one that’s been told a hundred times at family dinners.
Cordelia and I normally share a look, but this time I glance at Mable.
When I was telling her about my brother, I might have told her this story, but I told her the whole story, letting her in on the secret.
Mable smiles politely. I reach for her hand under the table. “Mable, my father collects vintage cars. He’s got a 1967 Mustang he’s obsessed with,” I say, wanting to pull her into the conversation.
“Is that right?” she asks, turning to him.
But Cordelia’s already there. “Henry, when are you finally going to give Caldwell that Shelby? He’s been begging you to sell it to him since he was sixteen.”
“Still begging,” I admit teasingly.
“Never,” my father says.
“You’ll die in that car,” Cordelia says, and my father laughs again with her.
The conversation flows around us. I try to include Mable more, but Cordelia keeps the silence filled, bringing up memories, old jokes, and shared history. I’m sure she’s trying to show Mable that, while we might be royal, we can still be very much like any other family.
“Do you remember the summer at the lake house?” Cordelia asks, turning to me. “When you tried to teach me to water ski and I nearly drowned us both?”
“How could I forget?” I force a smile. That had been pure torture.
“He’s very patient when he wants to be. Isn’t he, Mable?”
Mable sets down her glass. “Very.”
There’s something in her voice I can’t read. I look at her, really look, and she’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Hey,” I say quietly, leaning toward her. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She stands suddenly. “I’m going to find the ladies’ room. If you all could excuse me.”
She’s gone before I can stand, slipping through the crowd. I start to follow, but Cordelia’s hand on my arm stops me.
“Let her breathe,” she says softly. “She’s overwhelmed. It’s a lot for someone who isn’t used to this. Sometimes a girl needs a minute.”
I hesitate, wanting to follow her. Cordelia’s probably right, but my instincts are saying different.
“She’s lovely,” my mother says suddenly, speaking for the first time since we sat down. “But she’s not one of us, Caldwell.”
“Mom—”
“She’s not.” My mother’s eyes are assessing. “Cordelia understands what this life is. The sacrifice. The performance.”
“I’m not performing with Mable.”
“Aren’t you?” My mother raises an eyebrow. “That display on the dance floor?”
My jaw tightens. “That was real.”
My father clears his throat, sensing the shift. “Eleanor, leave the boy alone. Tonight is about celebration.”
“For now.” My mother takes another sip of her drink.
Cordelia squeezes my arm, her expression sympathetic. “She’ll come around. They always do.”
I look to where Mable disappeared, unease settling in my gut. I should go after her. “Here.” Cordelia is pouring more champagne, my father launching into another story.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the table, interrupting my father as I stand quickly so as not to be stopped, barely hearing my father’s response.
I move through the crowd, heading for the restroom first—I check the hallway and the small lounge area, but she’s not there.
A woman exiting gives me a strange look, and I realize I’m hovering outside the ladies’ room like a stalker, but I don’t care.
“I was checking on my fiancée; did she happen to be in there?” I ask her, not wanting to say “girlfriend.” We are so much more than that. “Green dress, with—”
“Caldwell.” The woman interrupts me with a polite smile. “I think I and everyone else at the reception are aware of who you are with.” I can tell she’s teasing. “She’s not in there, but it’s sweet you’re tracking her down.”
“Not sure I agree,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Never should have let her get far enough away that I would have to.”
The woman laughs, and I think of her again. I head in the opposite direction toward the terrace. The doors are heavy glass, and I push through into the night air.
Immediate relief fills me when I see Mable standing there. I watch her for a long moment. Every time I’m away from her, I think she can’t possibly be as beautiful as I have in my mind. But fuck me, she is.
Mable stands at the stone railing, her back to me, arms wrapped around herself. The ocean crashes below, rhythmic and endless. She doesn’t turn when the door clicks shut.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice soft. I come up behind her, placing my hands on each side of her.