Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
HAPPILY EVER BEFORE
Will
I stopped listening about ten minutes ago. I wonder if he's noticed, not likely. He always preferred those around him in silent agreement. I'm not sure what Alfie relayed, but whatever it was, that, combined with my lack of reply to anyone's messages, has caused my father to show up here. A building he only sets foot in once a year to satisfy my mother and the annual patrons gala he doesn't even realize they sponsor.
He's still talking, something about quarterly projections and family legacy, but my mind is elsewhere. Specifically, it's in my bed this morning where I left Arden with her laptop and a cup of coffee cursing under her breath about her upcoming meeting. The memory of her there, hair wild, is infinitely more interesting than whatever lecture I'm currently enduring.
Boston isn't that far of a drive while they are staying at the Newport house for the season. Of course, as usual, kicking it off Memorial Day Weekend. It's still one of my favorite places, the beach as well as the house itself. Memories of us as kids there hiding from the parties rather than being forced to attend them. I've thought about taking Arden out, obviously not when my parents are there, but just the two of us holed up in the pool house for a few days.
It's been two months of this. Pretending the insatiability between us is just physical, but it's not. She falls asleep in my arms almost nightly.
So much of us seems to exist in beds. Beds, bathrooms, cars, the occasional stairwell.
But it goes beyond any sense of reason, that's why I know despite what she said early on, this isn't just about sex. Her unavailability is an election she's made, and while she's let me see pieces of why, she does not yet seem willing to admit anything to the contrary. We came to terms in the gallery downstairs. I told her what I am willing to be, I meant it and still do. Anything .
"Will." My father's sharp tone cuts through my reverie. "Do you hear me?"
I meet his eyes, the same ones I see in the mirror every morning, though mine, I've been told, have a habit of looking amused even when they shouldn't. Like right now.
"Of course, I do. You need me to sign away my life for this merger, Memorial Day weekend is paramount, and my current life choices are… impressive ?” He huffs in a way to remind he doesn’t share the same sense of humor. “That’s right, disappointing .” I correct. “Did I miss anything?"
"I'm not here for my health. I didn't come all this way to take another lap around this place.”
"You should, we have a new exhibit in this place and your name is slapped all over it."
The number of didactic plates mentioning the 'Sterling Collection' is almost laughable considering he has no idea what his donations to the arts actually mean. Actually, I think he just doesn't care.
"That's your mother's doing, not mine." His retort is spit out as an insult, it's not to me, it's one of the few things she and I share. I think her love of the arts comes from the social standing it can achieve, whereas mine is something entirely different.
"The position is waiting for you," my father says, like he's offering me salvation rather than a sentence. "You’re expected to take your place by the end of summer."
"The board expects, or you expect?"
He ignores my question, the way he ignores anything that doesn't fit his narrative. "This is your legacy, William. The Sterling name means something."
"It means something here too." I gesture to the gallery beyond my office walls, ironically also possessing their name.
"Yes, well." His fingers drum against my desk, a habit I inherited but hate recognizing in him. "If you continue to resist what's best, certain... reallocations of resources will need to be considered about any peripheral ventures."
The threat lands exactly as intended. He knows exactly which strings to pull, which dominoes to threaten. After all, he spent years setting them up.
The knock at the door has us both turn. It might be a sixth sense at this point, the way I can feel her orbit. The unexplainable force that roots me in place when she's anywhere.
He yanks the door open as if he has any authority here, probably because there aren't many places he doesn't.
Fuck . I would have preferred to avoid this. The Alfie-show was enough, and almost scared her off, Hugh Sterling actually has the bite that Alfie pretends to.
"What," he says with a harshness that wouldn't be befitting of a greeting to anyone, let alone her. I'm on my feet, not sure that there's anything to do as she squares her shoulders against him. Readying herself for a fight she has no context for.
"This is my?—"
"Arden Bancroft." She steps forward with the kind of confidence that makes my heart skip, extending her hand as if my father wasn't currently trying to incinerate her with his glare.
"Fine," he says, ignoring her hand. "I'll see you both next week. For godsakes Will, wear a fucking tie for once." He moves toward the door and Arden steps right by him, landing at my side as her body instinctively angles toward mine, a movement so slight only someone looking for it would see.
His eyes narrow on me and I'm only looking at her. The devil can keep my soul, my stock, and whatever else I need to sign away. There's no deal worth giving that up.
"What's that about?" She takes a seat in my desk chair, immediately spinning it once before facing me. "I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel."
I lean against the desk, unable to help my smile as she continues to spin. "You're making me dizzy."
"You love it," she says, reaching out to grab my leg to stop herself. She handles my father's disdain the same way she handles everything, with that mix of defiance and wit I've heard her use in her own battles. "Besides, your office chairs are way better than mine. I might have to steal this one."
My father's words about 'reallocation of resources' creep in as I watch her spin. She has no idea that her own workplace politics might be easier to navigate than the ones waiting for us at the Newport house. At least in her world, the threats are clear and the battles are fought in boardrooms, not at family dinner tables.
"You already steal my clothes, and my sanity. Now you want my furniture too?"
"Don't forget your heart," she says with exaggerated batting of her eyelashes. She’s teasing, but in the joke there’s honesty.
“Yep, you have that too.” I stop the chair's circles, and catch her between my arms. We’re practically nose to nose. With her cheeks flushed from laughter, I lean forward and pull the chair closer to me.
"That... would be my father."
"Though the resemblance is uncanny," she teases, reaching up to trace my jawline. "You're much prettier though."
"And we've been summoned." There's never been an inopportune moment to see her, which is probably why she just showed up here, but this was less than ideal.
"I can get you out of it," I say hurriedly.
"You don't want me to meet your parents?" Her face falls the slightest amount. Almost imperceptible, before she snaps it back to mask what looks like it could have been momentary disappointment. Fuck.
"That's not it." I lean forward to take her face in my hands. "Of course I do, but it's not an easy situation, and I don't want you to be subjected to it if you aren't ready."
"Please," she scoffs, but leans into my touch. "I think I can handle your parents."
Her fingers crawl into my hair, interlocking to pull my face to hers. "Besides," she whispers against my lips, "I already have an in with their son."
“Ah, that’s where you’ve miscalculated… they don’t trust my judgement, remember ?”
The most beautiful thing to exist is the transformation of strangers into this. Whatever this is. It's the unnamed underpainting of something extraordinary. And one day, the layers will all be there. It will be framed in gold and strangers will sit in front of it just like we do, trying to understand the depths of what they cannot see but know is there.
"Just promise me one thing," I murmur against her lips.
"Hmm?" she breathes against mine.
"Whatever happens, you and me, we're on the same team. "
Her laugh breezes through my office like wind chimes in a gallery. She might not realize just how serious I am being, but she agrees.
"Same team," she says.