Chapter IX
IX
SILAS
Ihad planned for this drive into town to bring us closer together.
It should’ve been quiet, peaceful.
Just the hum of the engine, the soft lull of the romantic pop music playing from the speakers.
My hand on her thigh, her left hand on mine showing off the six figure rock.
It was supposed to feel like a peek into our future—a romantic drive with the windows down, the breeze rustling her hair while she laughed and rested her head on my shoulder.
That’s what I envisioned when I decided to take her into town.
But that’s not what is happening right now.
Eden sits stiff in the passenger seat.
She’s dressed as I expect—a sundress cinched at the waist, showing off just enough of her body to make her alluring without looking like a whore. Her hair is loose around her shoulders and she wears a light layer of makeup that accentuates her features.
Her hands are folded in her lap—covering her ring, though it’s so big that some of it peeks through—and her gaze is fixed out the window like there’s something out there more interesting than me.
More interesting than us.
The school is long behind us. We’re halfway through the thirty-minute drive to the nearest town that meets my standards. The plan? An exclusive dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, then a night of sex that’ll remind me why I love her so much.
Why does her quietness bother me?
Eden is exactly who I want her to be. She got dressed the way I liked, and now she’s sitting beside me as a good girl—a good wife—should.
But there’s something about the silence…
I twist the steering wheel with one hand, moving the other to her thigh as we take a particularly sharp turn. She looks down at my hand, then back out the window. I wait a few more minutes, in case she has something to say.
She doesn’t.
“You’re quiet.”
Her head turns in my direction, slowly. “I’m just a bit tired.”
“Tired?” I give her a glance. She’s always been a terrible liar, but this seems like the truth. “What’s been making you tired?”
She sighs. “My new roommate is strange.”
Weird is an understatement, but she doesn’t know how fucked up Anastazya is. If she really knew who she was, she wouldn’t even feel comfortable sleeping in the same room as her at night. But I have Ana on a leash.
Eden is safe, as long as she continues to be obedient.
“I’m certain it’s just because she’s still new to you.”
She studies me briefly. “They’re trying to replace Vivienne, and she can’t be replaced.”
I do my best to stifle the groan that’s caught in my throat. It’s been more than a month—why is Vivienne still on her mind so much? Unless…
“Did you and Vivienne ever get into anything?”
I slow the car to look at her. We’re on a country road—no cars around at the moment. Eden cocks an eyebrow. “What?”
“I know how it can get with Catholic girls and their roommates. Did you guys mess around, or something?” I study her face.
Eden’s flickers with an emotion I don’t think I’ve ever seen before—anger.
“I don’t get what you’re implying.”
I still press, because it’s obvious that she’s lying.
“We both know the photo wasn’t doctored.
Vivienne was gay. You’re innocent and in a new environment, maybe this is even your first school where you have a roommate.
” I turn my attention back to the road briefly.
“I wouldn’t be mad, love. If you fooled around with her, you can tell me. It’s not even really sex.”
Eden starts fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She’s silent for longer than I’d like, but when she speaks her voice crackles over her words. “No, Silas. Vivienne and I didn’t have sex.” Another long pause. “Why would you even think that?”
“It’s been more than a month. You’re still so emotional about it.”
Eden sighs deeply, her words coming out in ragged, harsh breaths. “She was my friend, Silas. We didn’t have to be intimate for me to care about her.” She looks out the window again. “If Cedric died, do you think you’d be over his death within a month?”
Hm.
Out of all my friends, Cedric is the most useful. We share the same room. We share the same philosophies—we come from the most aristocratic families. Yet, just like everyone else, he’s a means to an end.
“Yes,” I say. She gives me an incredulous look. “The only person I would grieve for that long would be you.”
Her eyes well up, but she blinks the tears back quickly.
Eden falls back into silence then. No follow up questions. The need for her approval snaking up my throat is new to me, and I suppress it as best as I can. I sink the gas pedal, the car speeds up. But my mind? It’s elsewhere.
If Eden died, I’d have to start from scratch.
There wouldn’t be enough time to find and marry someone else like her to save my family’s name. I’d also miss the feel of her slickness contracting around me, her pliant body and mind, and her gentle obedience.
It would take me more than a month to let go of that.
“I don’t think I’d ever be able to move on, if you died.”
The words hang like a death knell between us.
“If you died…” Her voice trails off. “I’m not sure what I would do. It would hurt.” She looks down at the ring on her finger. “We need each other.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
“Indeed we do,” I say, reaching over to hold her hand. She grips it tightly, her small hands soft like velvet in mine.
I’m tempted to say that when I first met her, I was only interested in her wealth. But that’s a secret I’ll take to the grave with me. The end always justifies the means—and it just so happens that I’ve fallen in love with the means.
The love story we tell our children will be one of fated love. Our daughters will believe that their Catholic god chose brought us together. But our sons? They’ll know the truth.
The Spirit ordained it.
We spend the rest of the drive in a comfortable silence.
The sun is dipping below the horizon when we pull into town. It’s small and deceptively quaint. It’s a Scottish town tucked between the rolling, mist-clad hills of the Highlands. To the untrained eye it looks like another postcard-perfect place.
Cobblestone streets wind lazily through the clusters of ivy-draped stone cottages, each with wrought-iron gates and gardens out front.
There’s a high street lined with charming little shops: a bakery with fresh scones and a selection of jams, a tailor, a bookshop, and a restaurant that’s been there for generations.
The people are polite, of course, but there’s an undercurrent that you wouldn’t notice unless you’re privy to it. Old money is the lifeblood of this town. The people here—they live here because they want a private life, not because they have to.
The charming little clothing shops on the high street? Filled with obscure expensive brands. The bakery? Ran by a renowned French chef. The tailor? Imported from Italy. And of course, the restaurant has a Michelin-star.
I didn’t choose this place by accident.
Here, social currency is worth more than anything else—and fortunately, I still have plenty of it left. Next semester, Eden and I will return to this place married, a union that will make her the crown jewel of her family tree, and save my family from disgrace.
Plus this time, I’ll be able to pay for it all instead of relying on my name.
We pull up right in front of the restaurant in a designated parking spot.
“We’re here,” I announce, trying to keep my tone light. The ma?tre d’ was more than happy to oblige my request to close the restaurant for our private dinner. Still, my heart thrums a bit more than usual.
I straighten my jacket, wiggling my toes in my custom Italian shoes as I round the car to open the door for Eden. She takes my hand and steps out—the scent of jasmine and vanilla surrounding me as it mixes with the fresh, crisp air.
She looks up at me.
Big doe eyes.
A coy smile.
“You’re beyond beautiful this evening,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss her.
“Thank you, Silas.”
Her words don’t satiate me. She should seem more in love with me, the way I like. She should be desperate for my attention, salivating for my compliments. She didn’t even blush when I complimented her.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
She takes a step ahead of me, but I jerk her back in place. Eden looks down at our joined hands, then back up at me. “I am,” she whispers. “Just hungry.”
There’s something off.
“How are your parents and your brothers?” I ask, leading her into the restaurant.
She pauses ever so slightly. “They’re well. How is your father?”
“The same.”
Inside the restaurant, we’re welcomed like the royalty we are.
I watch the awe in Eden’s eyes dance around the restaurant—and suddenly, I feel calm. This is the Eden I remember, the one I want to love for the rest of my life.
Every girl I’ve brought here has had the same reaction.
But hers is the only one that matters.
Inside, bare stone walls are softened by heavy velvet drapes, each a different color of the forest. The entire room is candlelit—wax drips elegantly down golden sconces and antique chandeliers. Beneath our feet, dark oak is polished to a soft gleam.
And in the center of the room, a single table is draped in charcoal linen, with black crystal stemware and gold-rimmed plates. A vase with freshly picked wildflowers—mirroring the bouquet I gave her all those nights ago—sits on the table.
It’s exactly how I envisioned it.
We’re met by a mousy woman in a skirt suit. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, her face wrinkled with age. She gives us a bright smile.
“Lord Peregrine-Ashford and Lady Lockhart,” she says, as she curtsies. “It’s a pleasure to have you dining with us, here at Aurum. My name is Frances, and I’ll be ensuring your satisfaction this evening.”
Eden nods with a smile, reaching out to shake Frances hand. The woman is shocked obviously—she just curtseyed, she knows we outrank her—but she accepts it all the same. Another reason why I’m certain Eden will make a good wife.
She makes me look good.
I don’t spare Frances a glance.