Chapter 27
Harper
Her words are gracious.
The tone is not.
It's the verbal equivalent of allowing the help to use the front entrance. It’s the kind of tone British royalty and titled folk invented and had centuries to perfect. It’s technically polite, fundamentally condescending, absolutely eviscerating.
Invented to put someone like me who doesn’t come from the upper class in their place.
Also, it’s not Mrs. Hamilton. Not Grandmother. Or Margot. It’s Lady Hamilton.
The message is clear: I haven’t earned familiarity yet. I’m here on probation. Like her grandson put me on trial until I proved myself in the kitchen.
I aced that. I’m going to ace this meeting too. I’m not going to be intimidated.
I draw myself up straight and shake her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Hamilton.”
Maybe, it's the pink Chanel suit. Or the severe bob that probably costs more to maintain than my monthly rent. Or perhaps, it’s the unmistakably expensive scent of a high-end perfume in the air, but Margot looks like she stepped out of Vogue—the editor's office, not the pages.
Her bone structure is striking, with her high cheekbones, strong jawline, and that aristocratic nose.
This must be where James gets his self-assurance. Age has only sharpened her beauty into something more formidable.
I straighten my spine.
I'm not going to feel small because my dress is High Street instead of haute couture, or because I bought it three years ago and it's definitely not this season's cut.
I'm a chef. I spend twelve hours a day in whites covered in sauce and sweat, creating food that makes people weep with joy. I'm good at what I do. World-class, if James' decision to marry me is any indication.
I don't have time to chase fashion trends or drop thousands on designer labels. My knives cost more than this dress, and I chose it that way.
So, if Lady Margot Hamilton finds me wanting because I'm not dripping in this season's fashion? That's her problem, not mine.
I meet her gaze steadily, lifting my chin slightly.
I earned my place in James' kitchen through skill and dedication. I earned the title of sous chef at a three-Michelin-starred restaurant before even turning thirty. I have nothing to apologize for.
But I really, really hope she doesn’t hate me for any reason.
Despite my defiance, despite knowing my worth, there's a tiny voice in my head that whispers: What if she sees right through this arrangement? What if she knows this marriage is fake?
What if she thinks I'm not good enough for her grandson?
James said this was just a courtesy visit, but he wouldn’t have brought me here if his grandmother’s approval didn’t mean something to him.
She also has final say over his inheritance. While he hasn’t mentioned it, I have no doubt that the money would go a long way in lowering his reliance on investors and being more independent in how he decides to expand his business.
It’s why I’m grateful when her features soften, just a minuscule amount. Just enough to tell me she doesn’t find me completely abhorrent. I snort inwardly.
She’s a tough cookie. But then, given she’s the head of the Hamilton Group and has played a role in bringing up James and his brothers, I assumed she’d have to grow balls of steel to hold her own against the testosterone she comes up against every day.
"Let’s sit down." She waves a hand at the couch I occupied, and seats herself in the armchair next to it.
Her back is straight. She folds her legs at the ankles, placing her hands in her lap. She’s paired her outfit with red-soled pumps from a famous brand which must be as expensive as the choker of pearls around her neck.
With her rigid posture and her absolute stillness belied only by those sharp eyes, she feels almost royal in her demeanor.
I risk a glance at James’ face to find him watching me with that familiar emotionless expression on his face.
Only, I also spot a question in his eyes.
One which asks me if I’m okay. Strange, I can bet I wouldn’t have spotted it even a month ago.
Perhaps, I’m getting to know him enough to interpret his expressions?
This is where the fact that I’ve worked so closely with him has led to such an intimate knowledge of his mannerisms. It’s where the lines are beginning to get blurred between my boss and my husband to-be.
I gulp. It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to think of him in that fashion.
And it feels overwhelming. I feel the blood drain from my face and struggle to bring my emotions under control.
I’ve done so well. I can’t let Margot notice that this entire experience might be turning out to be more intense than I realized.
My breath comes in fits and starts. I’m beginning to panic when there’s a touch on my shoulder.
I turn to meet James’ steady gaze. His blue eyes blaze with reassurance.
His entire stance radiates certainty. A silent promise that I’m not alone.
My heartbeat slows down. My breathing evens out.
He squeezes my shoulder and lets go.
Feeling much calmer, I turn to Margot. She’s been watching our entire interaction with great interest.
Her eyes gleam. There’s a small smile playing around her lips, which she instantly straightens out. I instinctively know that she doesn’t want us to realize that she’s pleased with us. Apparently, hiding emotions runs in the family.
"I am told you work with James?"
"I’m his sous chef." I nod.
"I’m sure you’re the best in the business; otherwise, my grandson wouldn’t have hired you." She taps her fingers on the arm of the chair.
The massive diamond ring on her finger makes a clacking noise, somehow emphasizing her words.
Does she mean hired me to work with him? Or hired me to be his fake wife? But that's ridiculous. Margot wouldn't know about our arrangement. I shoot a sideways glance at James to find he’s impassive.
Which means, he noticed his grandma’s insinuation.
"She is the best among the upcoming culinary talent, which is why I took her on to be my sous chef. And she is my wife to-be." James’ voice is casual.
But a thread of warning runs through his words.
Margot catches it and tilts her head. Her expression is almost catlike in its appreciation. It’s as if she baited us to see how James would react. Damn, this woman is a formidable opponent.
I’m getting a sense of how she’s kept her place at the top of the food chain.
It would not be wise to underestimate her.
Which I haven’t from the moment I saw her, but I had given her a certain amount of concession because of her age—which I just wiped away.
I need to treat her like a shark. On par with James…
but in a different league, for she also wields considerable influence over him.
Something I can use to my advantage, perhaps?
"I understand that our upcoming marriage may have come as a surprise to you, but—"
"Oh, pssh." She waves a hand in the air. "I gave James an ultimatum. There's a lot of money at stake. Although, just that wouldn’t have provided the necessary incentive to spur him on to take action."
"What do you mean?" James leans forward in his seat. There’s a half surprised-half-I’ll-be-damned look on his face.
"Who do you think alerted your investors to the fact that the viral video would possibly drag down your reputation unless you did something about it?"
"You did?" My jaw drops.
"Margot, you didn’t." James’ voice is shocked.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him display so much emotion before. Perhaps, the two times we’ve kissed I’ve felt him close to breaking through the barriers he puts on himself. Other than that, now might be the first time I’ve seen this consternation on his features.
"You spoke with Alfie?" he frowns.
"Of course, I did. You didn’t think I’d use this opportunity to get what I want?"
"Which is your younger son and your grandkids settling down?" He draws down his eyebrows.
The tips of his ears turn white.
Which only happens when he’s pissed off.
"I can’t blame you for using everything at your disposal to get what you want. I’d have done the same thing."
His expression is calm. But his tone is hard. It’s the only thing that hints at the anger seething inside him.
The air in the room turns arctic with unspoken words between these two.
I fold my arms around my waist, unable to stop the sudden chill traveling up my spine.
James shrugs off his jacket and places it around my shoulders. It reminds me of how he did the same thing when I retreated to the walk-in refrigerator to hide after my outburst.
Like then, I’m enveloped in his scent and his warmth, which sinks into my blood. I feel grounded. Anchored. I snuggle into his jacket with a sigh.
The gesture is not lost on Margot.
Her features soften. "I only want what’s best for you, James."
"I know that." James relaxes his stance.
"I suppose, this is the price I pay for having my uncle as my lawyer." His tone is fatalistic.
"Tristan is your uncle?" I frown.
"My younger son, who I will concede has been a proxy male role model for my grandsons. My older son and his wife are more interested in traveling." She sniffs.
"They were there for us until Phe turned eighteen."
"A child’s brain doesn’t stop growing until they turn twenty-six," Margot scoffs.
Which I know to be true, thanks to my involvement in Freya’s life. But I’m not going to say that aloud. I don’t want to be part of the face-off between Margot and James.
Ooh, the temperature dipped below Arctic, straight to the frozen darkness of the deepest ocean trenches.
"Our parents gave us their best years. I certainly don’t begrudge them wanting to live out the rest of their lives doing what they love." James sets his jaw.
Margot’s gaze turns sad. "They could keep in touch more."
Ah, I see. She misses them. But is too proud to come out and say it.
"They keep in touch with me.”
Her face falls, before she quickly recovers herself. Once more, her features compose themselves into straight lines.
James, of course, is blithely unaware of the effect his words have on her. "They also call the rest of my brothers and sisters, and—"
I nudge him with my foot. It’s not like Margot needs saving. But it feels cruel to let James blather on when she was unaware that her son and daughter-in-law haven’t been speaking with her but have exchanged phone calls with their kids.
Not that James realizes any of this. Men are so clueless.
He shoots me a startled glance.
"Uh, we need to update Margot about our wedding plans." I pull that out of my arse as a surefire way to get his attention.
Judging by his widened gaze, I’ve succeeded.
"Our wedding plans?" His brows draw down.
"Remember, you said you'd love to marry in the family church?" I flutter my eyelashes at him.
I have no idea if such a church even exists. Plus, he told me we'd marry at city hall. But titled families like the Hamiltons probably have one.
He stares at me. Something shifts in his expression: heat, maybe, or surprise, like he's never seen this side of me before.
Then my words register.
"I did?" He frowns, before understanding flickers across his face. He realizes I'm messing with him.
"You're mistaken. I don't want a church wedding." He sets his jaw.
Margot’s features tighten. "You don't?"
Oops.
Or…maybe not, oops.
Watching the Ice Commander squirm under his grandmother's disapproval is surprisingly satisfying. Payback for putting me in this position, in the first place.
James shifts his weight, catches himself, then straightens and folds his arms across his chest. "Neither of us can spare the time. We've already lost half a day coming here. A full wedding would cost us an entire service."
Margot turns to me. "Do you agree?"
I glance at James.
He looks casual. Controlled.
Except for the muscle ticking at his temple.
He's waiting. Testing. Wondering whose side I'm on.
The thing is, I am on his side. We're in this together, whether I like it or not.
Part of me wants to make him squirm a little longer. But the other part of me doesn't want to make things worse between him and Margot.
And somehow, weirdly, I also want to reassure him.
"Yes, I do." I tip up my chin. "The restaurant is important for the both of us. It’s James’ past and both our futures. This business is unforgiving. You have to be on top of the details all the time. One little slipup, and it might be the meal that's served to the Michelin guest. The only time he put me in charge was when he needed to help out his brothers. That he allowed someone else to take over the preparation in the kitchen while we’re both here today tells me, you’re important to him. "
Margot’s eyebrows shoot up.
I know my words have hit their mark, for a pleased look filters into her eyes before she blocks it.
"Seems the two of you are cut from the same cloth." She sniffs.
"Why do you think I asked her to be my wife?" James’ voice has what sounds like a thread of pride running through it.
I shoot him another glance, but his features are back to being impassive. Damn, that control of his is so perfect. Will I ever break through it and to him?
Margot gives a short nod. "Don’t bother inviting me to the wedding. I won’t have the time to make it."