Chapter 70
James
"The two of you seem happy." Margot folds her arms across her chest. We’re in her study, where she’d summoned us to meet her.
The rest of the family is in the drawing room for pre-dinner aperitifs.
“We are very happy.” I take my wife’s hand in mine.
We're seated in chairs facing Margot's desk instead of in the more comfortable armchairs or couch in the study.
A family meeting conducted like a board meeting? Very Margot.
I turn to find my grandmother staring at me like she’s seen a ghost.
“What is it?”
“You smiled,” she says slowly.
I wonder what she’s getting at. “I have smiled in the past.”
“Not like this, you haven’t.”
Ah, she’s referring to the fact that I’m more open with my emotions.
“Must be my darling wife’s influence.” I bring her palm to my mouth and kiss it.
“What changed?” She looks between us. “The last I heard the two of you were spending time apart. And now it’s like you two are on a permanent honeymoon.”
Something wistful flutters across her face.
It’s gone quickly, but I know I didn’t imagine it. Thanks to my being more aware of my emotions, I’m also noticing them in those around me. Including my gran. She’s lonely. And perhaps, she doesn’t want any of us to go through life without a partner as she’s being forced to.
She might say that she wants her son and grandkids to get married to propagate the family line, but I wonder if it isn’t because she wants us to be happy.
"Let’s just say that my wife has opened my eyes to a world of possibilities. And I’m grateful to her for it." I squeeze Ember’s hand.
When she leans in, I bend and brush my lips over hers.
My heart lifts.
That light inside seems to shine brighter the more time I spend with her.
"Seems Arthur Davenport was right to suggest giving you an ultimatum to get married." Margot sniffs.
I want to be angry with her for interfering in my life. But I can’t refute that it's why, when the crisis with the first video happened, the thought of the fake marriage arrangement with Harper entered my mind.
"Seems you did." I say without looking away from my wife.
I owe her a lot. If she hadn’t given both of us space to think things through, I’d have never come to the realization that it's important for me to voice my love for her.
It changed my approach to my brigade in the kitchen as well. No more cutting people down to size or constantly challenging them. At least not all the time.
I’m more open in outlining my expectations.
It means they know what’s expected of them.
And it gives them a chance to deliver without surprises.
Within a week, I noticed that productivity in the kitchen went up.
There are less excuses, less surprises. It's smooth running, all around.
Which seems to increase the tastiness of the dishes delivered to the guests too.
It's certainly a more enjoyable experience. It gives me the confidence that when the Michelin inspectors arrive unannounced, they'll be satisfied with what they sample.
My stress levels have decreased. I find myself taking the time to relish what I'm cooking. And all of this is thanks to my Ember.
I place my other hand over Harper’s, so her much smaller one is enveloped between my mine.
"Thanks to you, I realized I had to stop being the Ice Commander. I had to stop being the perfect Michelin-starred machine and become a man willing to be imperfect for you."
My wife’s eyes shine. And the love I see in them gives me the courage to be even more honest, even if my grandmother is watching us closely.
"The time we spent apart made me realize that if I didn't find the words to tell you the truth, I was going to lose you."
Harper’s expression softens, a tender smile touching her lips. "I know how hard that was. You chose to be vulnerable. You chose the chaos of your feelings over the safety of your silence."
"I had to.” My voice is raw with a seriousness that leaves no room for doubt. "Losing you was the one variable I couldn't live with."
Margot clears her throat.
With reluctance, I tear my gaze off my wife and turn to my grandmother.
"So yes, your scheme worked. I found my soulmate. And I am grateful to you for that. And it’s true that if you hadn’t given me a deadline to get married and claim my inheritance, I may not have married my wife.
But this is the last time you interfere in my life. "
I keep my gaze steady, my tone resolute.
She must sense how strongly I feel, for she nods slowly. "I understand."
I search her features and am satisfied by the seriousness mirrored in hers.
"Good. And now…" I rise to my feet, still holding my wife’s hand. She rises with me. "We should head to the dinner you so kindly arranged." I lead my wife to exit the study.
Harper nudges me.
I glance at her, and she jerks her head in my grandmother’s direction. She wants me to ask her to come along with us.
It’s her home. A meal she’s organized. Surely, she can find her way there.
But when I look over at Margot, she’s watching us with a strange look on her face.
One I could almost characterize as loneliness.
Except, Margot doesn’t get lonely. She’s never lonely.
She’s still chasing the next power move through the Hamilton Group.
Looking at her now, the Grand Matriarch title feels like a heavy cloak she’s struggling to carry.
She looks small. Fragile, almost. And dwarfed by the dark expanse of that massive desk. I’d never tell her that; our pride is the one thing we share in equal measure. But I have Harper’s hand in mine. I have a future that isn't just a series of cold, calculated routines.
If I’m serious about learning to speak the language of feelings, if I want my family and my brigade to truly know me, I must continue to reach out to them. To be open with them. To continue to be vulnerable with not just my wife but those I come into contact with daily.
I swallow around the tightness in my throat. "Perhaps…you’d consider accompanying us?"
I frame it like my grandmother will be doing us the favor. It feels only right to give her an out, so she doesn't have to admit she’s lonely.
The tightness in my throat fades. Hearing the words out loud makes me realize I’ve done the right thing. That, with practice, it will get easier to show my more humane side.
For a heartbeat, the room goes dead silent.
Margot doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. I’m certain she’s going to retreat behind a sharp remark and send us on our way.
But then, she rises. Her movements are slow, deliberate, as she rounds the table.
She walks over and hooks her arm through my free one. "Shall we?"
"Has Clara been taking lessons from you?" Tristan, who’s seated next to me at dinner at the family room in Margot’s home looks up from sampling the soup. "I can’t remember the food at Margot’s being this delicious."
"I wouldn’t dare tell Clara how to cook."
We both snicker.
Clara is Margot’s cook. She’s been with us since Tristan was a young boy.
And at different times, has chased most of us out of the kitchen when we’d wander in hungry for supper and raid her pantry. Except for Lyra, who never broke any of the rules growing up.
Clara must be in her seventies now but refuses to retire.
"Her niece has joined her in the kitchen. She approached me and asked for pointers, which I was happy to give.”
I raise a shoulder.
He gives me a quizzical look. "You made space in your busy schedule for her?"
"She showed promise, and she’s hard working. It’s the least I could do."
I agreed to help her because she was enthusiastic.
Tristan tilts his bowl to get at the last of the soup, before he sits back with a sigh. "I wouldn’t think marriage would soften you up, but—"
“—it has.” I put my arm around my wife. “Marrying her has changed me, for the better."
"Aww." Phoenix, who’s seated opposite us at the table, smiles at me. "Look at you, being all loving and husbandly."
Harper pats my chest. "I’ll take the credit." She smirks.
Woman’s got bite. God, how I love that.
Our gazes tangle. The air between us heats. I lean in and kiss her on her lips. I would deepen it, except my uncle whistles. I raise my head to scowl at Tristan who’s grinning at me from next to Phoenix.
"What did you do, Harper, to defrost the Ice Commander?"
“Yeah, do tell, Harper." Gideon drawls. "Watching him wear his emotions on his sleeve is downright creepy."
"Stop bothering my wife," I growl.
"Jeez, and all possessive too." Phe gives Harper a thumbs-up. "Whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up. I love this version of my brother a lot more."
Tristan raises his glass from where he’s seated at the foot of the table. “To Harper and James.”