The Man I Claim as My Wife

Chapter 1 The Forbidden Man

Twenty Years Too Young

The Brooks estate looked exactly as Nathaniel Cross remembered it, which was almost irritating.

The sprawling stone house stood behind wrought-iron gates and a long private drive lined with old trees, its warm windows glowing against the darkness.

Nothing about the place suggested that time had passed.

The same immaculate gardens surrounded the terrace, the same understated luxury filled the rooms, and the same staff moved quietly through the evening as if every gathering here had been rehearsed years in advance.

Nathaniel had attended enough of Richard Brooks's private dinners to know what awaited him.

Expensive food, carefully selected guests, conversations about investments and property acquisitions, expensive whiskey, and Richard's habit of introducing people who had no reason to know each other except that their businesses might eventually overlap.

It was the kind of evening Nathaniel could navigate without effort.

He could shake hands, exchange polite remarks, listen when necessary, and leave without allowing anyone to see more of him than he intended.

At forty-one, Nathaniel had become very good at maintaining boundaries.

He had built his reputation on discipline.

His real-estate company had started with a handful of modest developments and grown into one of the most respected private firms in the region.

His name carried weight in boardrooms, at charity functions, and among the people who wanted access to the circles in which he moved.

He was known for being decisive, private, and difficult to impress.

Richard had once joked that Nathaniel could turn a wedding into a business meeting simply by walking into the room.

Nathaniel had never denied it.

Tonight was supposed to be no different.

He stepped through the open terrace doors with a glass of mineral water in his hand and exchanged a brief greeting with Richard, who immediately complained about Nathaniel's refusal to drink.

"You've been working too much again," Richard said.

"I've been working exactly enough."

Richard laughed. "That's what you always say."

"And you're still inviting me to dinner."

"Because you're still my friend."

Nathaniel gave him a faint smile. Their friendship had survived more than twenty years of changing careers, failed relationships, business disputes, and long periods when neither of them had enough free time to meet.

Richard was one of the few people who had known Nathaniel before the company, before the money, before the polished version of himself that everyone else recognized.

That history was precisely why Nathaniel trusted him.

He glanced around the room, recognizing several familiar faces. Richard's business partners occupied one side of the drawing room, while their partners gathered near the fireplace. A pianist played softly in the adjoining room, creating an atmosphere that was elegant without being stiff.

Nathaniel was halfway through a conversation about a commercial development when Richard's voice caught his attention.

"You remember my son, Evan."

Nathaniel turned automatically.

The young man standing beside Richard was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

For several seconds, Nathaniel simply looked at him.

Evan Brooks had been seventeen the last time Nathaniel had seen him properly.

Back then, he had been a lanky teenager with unruly dark hair, an awkward smile, and the restless energy of someone desperate to leave home and build a life of his own.

Nathaniel remembered him complaining about university applications during one summer barbecue, arguing with Richard about which school he wanted to attend.

That boy was gone.

The man standing in front of Nathaniel was twenty-three.

Evan had grown into his height, his shoulders broader and his features sharper.

His dark hair was neatly styled but not overly formal, and his clothes were sophisticated without appearing as though he had dressed to impress anyone.

There was something confident in the way he stood, something quietly self-assured that hadn't existed when Nathaniel remembered him as a teenager.

Evan smiled.

"Mr. Cross."

Nathaniel heard the name and felt an odd flicker of discomfort.

"Still Nathaniel," he replied.

Evan's smile deepened slightly. "My father still calls you Nathaniel."

"Then you should probably do the same."

"All right. Nathaniel."

The simple use of his name shouldn't have affected him.

It did.

Nathaniel dismissed the reaction immediately.

He had seen Evan grow up. That was all. The sudden awareness came from surprise, nothing more. People changed dramatically between seventeen and twenty-three. It was natural to notice the difference.

Richard continued talking, explaining that Evan had recently returned after finishing university and had begun working on his own career plans.

Nathaniel listened, asking a few polite questions.

Evan answered intelligently.

He had studied business analytics and was now working with a small technology consultancy instead of joining his father's company. Richard had apparently encouraged him to come home and work for the family business, but Evan had refused.

"I want to build something that belongs to me," Evan said.

Nathaniel looked at him more carefully.

"That's usually harder than people expect."

"I know."

"You still want to do it?"

"More now than I did before."

There was no hesitation in his answer.

Nathaniel found himself unexpectedly impressed.

Most young people who spoke about independence did so with the confidence of someone who had never experienced the consequences of failure.

Evan didn't sound like that. He understood that his father's name opened doors, and he seemed determined not to walk through them simply because they were available.

Richard rolled his eyes.

"I've told him he could have a position waiting for him here."

"And I've told him I don't want it," Evan replied.

Nathaniel almost smiled.

Richard pointed at his son. "See what I deal with?"

"Sounds familiar," Nathaniel said.

Evan looked at him.

"What does?"

"Refusing perfectly reasonable advice."

For a moment, Evan's expression softened into something warmer.

"Maybe we have something in common."

Nathaniel didn't answer immediately.

There was something about the way Evan looked at him that made the room seem strangely quieter. Nathaniel became aware of details he had no reason to notice: the warmth in Evan's eyes, the slight curve of his mouth, the way his fingers rested loosely against the stem of his glass.

He forced himself to look away.

The conversation moved on, and Nathaniel was grateful for it.

Later, after dinner, he stood near the terrace doors while Richard spoke with another guest. Nathaniel listened with only half his attention. His mind kept returning to the same unsettling realization.

Evan was not the teenager he remembered.

He was an adult.

Nathaniel repeated that fact to himself as though repetition could make the thought less uncomfortable.

Evan was twenty-three. He had finished university. He worked for himself. He made his own decisions. He had his own ambitions and his own life.

There was nothing inappropriate about noticing that.

Attraction was another matter.

Nathaniel's jaw tightened.

He hadn't intended to think about Evan at all beyond the polite recognition of an old friend's son. Yet every time he glanced across the room, he seemed to find him.

Evan was speaking with one of the younger guests now, laughing at something the man had said. He looked relaxed, completely at ease among people who were considerably older than him.

Nathaniel watched him for longer than he should have.

He noticed the way Evan listened rather than merely waiting for his turn to speak. He noticed the confidence in his posture. He noticed the ease with which he moved through a room full of wealthy and influential people without behaving as though he needed their approval.

Nathaniel's thoughts became increasingly uncomfortable.

He looked away.

A few minutes later, he looked again.

Evan was now standing near the bar, alone.

Their eyes met across the room.

Nathaniel felt something shift inside him.

It wasn't paternal concern.

It wasn't nostalgia.

It wasn't the protective instinct he might have felt toward the child of an old friend.

It was attraction.

The realization landed with such clarity that Nathaniel immediately set his glass down.

No.

He refused to entertain it.

Evan was Richard's son.

That alone should have been enough.

The eighteen-year age difference should have been enough.

The history between Nathaniel and Richard should have been enough.

Everything about the situation demanded distance.

Nathaniel turned toward the terrace, drawing a slow breath as the cool night air touched his face. He had spent decades learning how to recognize a dangerous situation before it became a problem.

This was one.

Whatever had happened when Evan looked at him, whatever Nathaniel had felt when their eyes met, it needed to end before it began.

He would be polite. He would be respectful. He would treat Evan exactly as he should have treated him all those years ago.

As Richard's son.

Nothing more.

Nathaniel looked back once despite himself.

Evan was still watching him.

Nathaniel's stomach tightened.

He turned away again.

Whatever this was, he would bury it before it had the chance to become something neither of them could take back.

One Look Too Long

Evan had noticed Nathaniel watching him long before he decided to do anything about it.

At first, he had assumed it was coincidence. The room was crowded, and Nathaniel had spent most of the evening speaking with Richard's business associates. There was no reason for the older man to pay particular attention to him.

Then it happened again.