Jaime
JAIME
I was just six years old when my future was taken from me. Signed away with a handshake and a glass of expensive bourbon while I played with dolls in the garden.
Louis steps forward, his golden hair swept back from his face and his blue eyes wide as they meet mine.
“,” he says, reaching for my hand and bringing it to his lips. “You look breathtaking.”
I’m painfully aware that I haven’t said a word, but I don’t know what to say. I haven’t seen Louis for six years. It didn’t feel real back then—when I was sixteen and he was almost twenty—that one day we’d be getting married. Back then, I was crushing on the captain of the soccer team during the week and wearing skimpy bikinis around Jordy on the weekends.
He’s very pretty. With neat blond hair, light blue eyes, and a square jaw, he’s somewhere between Prince Charming and a Ken Doll. Sixteen-year-old me figured marrying him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But now, it’s different. Now , it’s real. Sixteen-year-old me was little more than a na?ve child swept up in the romance of it all. A fairytale. I mentally scoff.
“Jamie?”
I blink at my mother’s voice, turning to find her at my father’s other side. It’s only when I follow her pointed gaze that I realize I’m still clinging to his arm like a life raft. Reluctantly, I let go.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” I manage to force out, the words a little breathless.
“Shall we sit?” Mother gives me a look that might be concern but might also be a warning. It’s hard to tell sometimes.
She looks stunning, as always. Her thin black braids are piled high on her head, accentuating her gold-dusted cheekbones and heavily lined eyes. Her deep red dress and matching lipstick bring out the rich umber of her skin. She looks like a goddess. Beautiful and powerful.
As I take my seat beside her at the long table, I try not to stiffen when Louis takes the seat to my right. At least sitting beside me, I don’t have to look at him all night.
The server hands me a glass of champagne, and I take it and bring it to my lips, ready to down it in one go before Mother clears her throat, and I pause, realizing it’s for a toast.
“Here’s to new ventures,” my father says, raising his glass at the head of the table.
Everyone raises their glasses, repeating his words. I down my champagne in one go.
“How was Oxford, Louis?” my mother asks.
He chuckles, low and warm. “Intense. In all honesty, I’m glad to see the back of it. Although, my MBA was very enlightening.”
“We certainly have a lot to discuss while you’re here,” Father says, leaning back in his chair with a warm smile.
I resign myself to sitting back and staying out of it. I’m not a quiet person. I’m certainly not shy. Staying silent and sipping my refilled champagne goes against everything I love about myself, but I press my spine against the padded dining chair and suck it up.
Maybe that’s why I am so outspoken at college. Perhaps I’m making up for the demure mask I’m forced to wear around my parents. The thought makes me half-choke on a mouthful of champagne. My future therapist will get a kick out of this.
Then a thought slams to the front of my brain and I tighten my grip on the thin stem of my glass. What if Louis likes this quiet, ‘seen and not heard’ act I’m putting on? What if he hates loud and opinionated? Panic seeps back into my veins at the thought of having to wear this mask for the rest of my life.
“Please, excuse me,” I mutter, pushing away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Conversation halts as I stride from the room with as much calm as I can muster, but I only make it as far as the stairs before a hand grips my upper arm.
“,” my mother hisses. “What are you doing?”
I pull out of her grip and turn to face her. “I’m going to the restroom, Mom. Is that okay?”
Her expression relaxes and she exhales. “Oh. I thought you were planning on disappearing.”
“Disappearing?” I laugh. “Is that even an option?”
“Be quick,” she says, ignoring my comment, and turning back toward the dining room. “They’re serving the appetizers.”
Instead of answering, I kick off my shoes, hitch up my dress and jog up the stairs. I don’t need the restroom. I need my phone.
Being here, with him, I feel untethered, as though I’ve woken up from a dream only to find myself in a nightmare. Franklin West feels like another life—another world—even though I was only there this morning.
A strangled laugh escapes me as I reach the top of the stairs. How is that even possible? Lying on my bed, daydreaming about a future that was never mine, seems like years ago.
My room is empty of people, no evidence to show that an entire production crew was ever here. My bag is still on my bed where Mary left it and I all but dive for it, digging out my phone. There are two missed calls from Abi and a text message asking me to call her when I see her message.
ME: Mom summoned me home. At awkward family dinner. I’ll call later
My heart pounding, I pull up Zak’s text thread and type out a message before I lose the nerve.
ME: Friday morning. Grinds?
It doesn’t mean anything. We’re just friends. Coffee isn’t a date.
ABI: You’re in ducking FLORIDA? WTH?
I smile to myself, sending a shrugging emoji before forcing myself to put the phone back in my bag. Then, I take a breath and make my way quickly back down the stairs.
Although Mom gives me a stern look as I take my seat, no one else seems bothered that I disappeared for five minutes. Everyone’s halfway through their steak tartare but I just push mine around my plate a little. I have zero appetite, even though I haven’t eaten since grabbing breakfast at the airport.
Thankfully, Louis doesn’t try to talk to me during dinner, allowing me to get quietly buzzed on the champagne while the men talk business, and the women talk charity work and holidays. It’s all tediously cliché.
I’m so bored out of my skull that when Louis does eventually turn to me, it takes me a second to realize he’s talking.
“Sorry,” I say, blinking at him. “What did you say?”
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I asked whether you’d care to show me the gardens before dessert?”
I really don’t want to be alone with him, but I’d also rather gnaw off my own leg than stay in this room, so it turns out, he’s the lesser of two evils.
“Sure,” I say, rising to my feet. “Let’s go.”
We excuse ourselves amidst a room filled with heart eyes and walk in uncomfortable silence toward the French doors that lead to the garden. It’s still humid out, but the breeze from the ocean is cool and overall, it’s bearable. Which is more than I can say for my company.
I lead him down the path toward the Japanese garden my mother had planted a few years ago, aiming toward the saltwater infinity pool. We’re almost at the end of the gardens when he finally speaks.
“How’s your final year of college going?” he asks.
I shrug, absentmindedly thinking that Abi would be drooling on her designer sneakers at his fancy British accent. “I’ve barely experienced it. Classes only started a couple of weeks ago and now I’m missing this week, so I’m already behind.”
The words come out more bitter than I intend, and he draws to a halt, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at me.
“I know this is strange.”
I huff a small laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
He glances at me, his hair almost silver under the faint light reaching us from the house behind. “Yes, but this is happening. It’s going to benefit both our families, which means it benefits us, too. We may as well embrace it.”
I press my lips together. Are those his words, or the words his parents have recited to him since he was old enough to know what was going on? They sound eerily similar to the ones I’ve heard a thousand times myself.
“Sure.”
I start walking before he can press the matter further.
The Chevaliers are the European version of us. Louis’ mom is old money rich, her family involved in export trade dating back to the British Empire, and his dad is a mogul in the French textile industry, worth billions.
Even before I was born, my dad was trying to find a way to buy them out or forge a partnership, but the problem with old money is that they don’t like to give up the legacy. Claude Chevalier would only merge companies if he knew his heir was still going to take over one day. My dad was of the same mind.
“I’m serious, ,” Louis says, reaching for my hand and tugging gently until I stop. “This doesn’t have to be awkward. We don’t have to be unhappy. Give us a chance. Please don’t write this off before we’ve even got to know each other.”
A twinge of guilt twists in my stomach. It’s easy to feel like the only victim here, but he’s in the same boat as me. It could be a lot worse, and I’m well aware there are hundreds, if not thousands, of women who would kick my ass for turning my nose up at a snagging a handsome billionaire.
I sigh, offering a small smile. “I’m sorry. It’s just, this was all sprung on me this morning.”
Louis’ eyes widen and I realize again how my words must have sounded.
“Not the engagement, of course,” I correct. “My mom sent a car for me at college and then several hours later I was here. It threw me for a loop and I’m still trying to get my feet back under me.”
He smiles, squeezing my hand. “That’s understandable. And I apologize for the abruptness. That’s entirely my fault. We were planning on coming next weekend, but my schedule changed unexpectedly so we had to grab this opportunity.”
I nod and he reaches for my other hand, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over my skin.
“I wanted to see you, ,” he says quietly. “I wish I could say I haven’t looked at photographs of you on the internet like a stalker, but I’d be lying.”
An unexpected laugh bursts from me and I look up to find him smiling. I don’t say anything because I haven’t googled him—I haven’t looked for him—because I’ve spent the last few years trying to pretend that this wasn’t going to happen.
“You’re even more stunning in person,” he says, drawing me closer. “I’m honored to call you my fiancée, , and I look forward to getting to know the brains behind the beauty.”
My eyes widen as I look up at him. My future husband . No, I didn’t choose this. Yes, I’m bitter as fuck about it. But he’s right. Does it have to be so bad? Maybe not. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but maybe—just maybe—the aftertaste will be sweet.
As if reading my thoughts, Louis dips his head, slow enough to give me time to pull away or offer my cheek, but I don’t. Our lips meet in a soft, barely-there kiss, and I let him linger a second before pulling away.
“I have something for you,” he says, releasing my hands.
My heart picks up as he reaches inside his blazer and pulls out a small red box. I have a very good idea what’s inside, and so many emotions slam through me in quick succession, my head spins.
“I hope you like it.” Louis opens the box, revealing a beautiful Cartier engagement ring. “It was my grandmother’s.”
I have no idea what to say, so I say nothing as he pulls the ring free, slipping the box back in his pocket.
“This isn’t a proposal,” he says, slipping the ring on my finger. “Because our fathers already took care of that.”
A soft laugh escapes me, and I stare down at the sparkling jewel on my finger, wondering how he managed to have it sized so perfectly.
“This ring is a promise,” he continues, and I look up from the ring to meet his gaze. “I want us to have a relationship, . I want to be happy with you, and you with me. So, please wear this ring, knowing that I endeavor to make that happen for us.”
I swallow, only managing to nod in response. What he’s said makes sense and once again I’m reminded that he’s had as little say as I have in this situation. His own future decided at ten-years-old. I remember playing with him back then. The little blond boy with the funny accent who liked to play hide and seek.
The difference is, while Louis has grown up being groomed to take over the empire, my parents have sat back and let me do as I want. It’s something I’ve been grateful for because I’ve never wanted to take the reins of PEO.
Now, I realize that was never an option. Perhaps it was when I was born, but ever since this alliance was decided between the Smiths and the Chevaliers, I’ve had one purpose and one purpose alone: To marry Louis, combining our empires, and produce an heir.
Maybe part of me has always known this, but I’ve pushed it down, convinced I can still have the life I want.
My smile is forced as Louis kisses my cheek and takes my arm, steering us back toward the house. He says that the ring on my finger is a promise, but it feels a hell of a lot like I’ve been sentenced.