Chapter Six #3
Ten million dollars on my finger, an upcoming honeymoon, and a consummation requirement, and the man can't hold eye contact for three seconds when I know for a fact that he stares down competitors in a boardroom on the regular.
I hate that that bothers me as much as it does.
The jeweler and his armed escort leave. Christian excuses himself to take a call. And Everly, still buzzing with wedding energy, pulls up florist options on her iPad.
"We need to decide on flowers," she says. "The designer wants to coordinate with whatever we choose for the ceremony."
Everett is on his phone again, or still, it's hard to tell when he starts and when he stops. It feels like one constant flow. He's been half-present since the ring, answering emails like a man trying very hard to pretend the last ten minutes didn't happen.
"Peonies," he says, without looking up.
Everly pauses. I pause. The florist on the video call pauses.
"She likes peonies," he adds, as if this is obvious information that everyone should already have.
Everyone stares.
"I never told you that," I say.
He shrugs. One shoulder. Barely a movement.
But I know, I know, he noticed. The same way he notes my coffee experiments and the way I organize files and apparently my shampoo, because peonies are my shampoo.
Could he have actually known that? They are my favorite flower.
They line the backyard of my childhood home, and the smell from the shampoo brings me back to happier days before the accident.
But he can't know any of that, so he must have smelled it off my shampoo.
Something about the way he said it—casually, like it was nothing—makes it worse. Because it isn't nothing. And he damn well knows it.
Everly catches my eye across the table and gives me a look that clearly says, See? before returning to her binder like nothing happened.
After the meeting breaks, she tilts her head and studies me the way I imagine she studies every person who enters her brothers' lives with the care of someone who has been protecting this family long before any of them realized they needed protecting.
"Welcome to the family, sis."
I let out a humorless little laugh. "Don't get attached. I won't be here long."
Everly glances toward Everett, and I do too. He looks away the second he catches us watching him.
He was staring at me.
When I look back at Everly, she's smirking. "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you."
Before I can respond, she lifts her phone again.
"Lana, my stylist, is coming tomorrow evening to fill your closet, so be ready.
I guessed your shoe size, but she's bringing multiple options just in case.
You'll love her. She's incredible." She scrolls, smiling to herself.
"She'll have you dressing like an official Kauffman in no time.
Everett told me no budget, so you're getting the full treatment.
She's shopping now, and the things she's pulling for you are obscene in the best way. "
I blink. "No budget?"
My gaze drifts back to Everett. He's standing by the window now, one hand in his pocket, his phone in the other, like the whole conversation has nothing to do with him.
"That's not necessary," I say quietly. "I don't need to owe him more."
"Owe him?" Everly arches a brow. "Aria, my brother is a lot of things. Transactional isn't one of them. He just needs you to think he is. He thinks it’s safer that way. I keep telling him he’s an idiot but he won’t listen to me. None of them do."
Before I can unpack that, her phone pings again.
She literally yips, jumps to her feet, and grabs my arm.
"You are never going to believe this, but I just got you a fitting with the top wedding dress designer in Seattle tomorrow morning.
" Her eyes are shining now. "She's calling in a huge favor for me, but no one turns down a Kauffman bride.
She has a year-long waiting list, so we'll have to go with a design off one of her racks, but she can tweak it enough to make it yours. "
"Everly, I don't need all of this —"
Another notification dings.
She glances at the screen and groans. "PR needs me in the office. I have to go. But I'll see you tomorrow, and I cannot wait.
Everly heads for the door, Christian right behind her. The jeweler already left after getting Everett's signature on the invoice. Jeremy disappeared minutes ago with his tablet, his phone, and his supernatural ability to manage twelve crises without making eye contact with a single human being.
And then it's just me and Everett in a penthouse far too big for two people.
I drift toward the wall of glass. The city is spread out below, all steel and ferries and lights starting to flicker on across downtown, and none of it feels like mine.
I hear him before I feel him.
Footsteps.
Then something about the air shifting that tells me Everett Kauffman is standing close enough to register.
"You're sure about this?" he asks.
I turn to face him. He's closer than I realized, and my pulse kicks. Wild and stupid and reckless. For one second, I want to reach out and touch him.
I don't.
"I'm sure," I say.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Then to the ring on my finger.
It only takes a second, but it feels much longer.
Then he steps back, both hands sliding into his pockets. Distance restored.
"I have to get back to work," he says. "My driver is yours now. I can drive myself while you're here."
"That isn't necessary. I can drive myself."
"You're engaged to a Kauffman. Everything is necessary when we're trying to convince the board," he says evenly. "My chef, Matteo, is here for breakfast and dinner. Let him know what you like to eat tomorrow, he'll keep it stocked."
I stare at him.
Logistics. Contingencies. That's what this is.
A man making problems disappear before they happen.
He goes on like he didn't just tilt something inside me.
"I know Lana is coming tomorrow to build out your closet, but you may want a few things for tonight. He can take you back to your apartment if you need to collect anything."
"Oh." I glance down at the ring again. "Right. My apartment."
"My accountant already sent the lease payoff to your landlord. A moving company is coming next week," he says.
I blink. "I can get another job and pay you back for the lease buyout."
"Your job is to be my wife, Aria."
The words land somewhere deep.
"Anything you need, I'll take care of until the year is up."
Then he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a black card.
"You don't have to ask," he says. "Just use it."
I take it automatically, staring down at the smooth black surface in my hand, barely aware of how we got here.
His driver. His accountant. His card. His ring on my finger.
His whole damn world, closing around me one piece at a time, and I'm not sure if that's safety or a trap or both.
Then he turns and heads toward his office without looking back.
And I'm left standing at the window with a ten-million-dollar ring on my hand and absolutely no idea what just happened to my life.
Cammy would tell me to run. Penelope would tell me to enjoy the ride. If I'm being honest, I don't know which one of them is right.
That night, I lie in the guest suite—the one with the gray bedding and the view of the city and the silence pressing against the windows—and stare at the ceiling.
Christian's words swirl around me.
An annulment can be granted if the marriage was never consummated or considered fraudulent.
Somewhere on the other side of this penthouse, Everett is staring at a ceiling too.
I know he is.
I know it the same way I know he likes one and a half sugars and a splash of cream, even though he never told me. It's the only time he's ever not grimaced.
Some things you just learn from paying attention.
And paying attention to Everett Kauffman is becoming the most dangerous habit I have.