Chapter IX #2
We’re led to our seats. I get Eden’s chair, and take the other. Laying on the gold-rimmed charger plate is a seven course menu—mine has the prices, Eden’s doesn’t.
“These are all my favorite things!” she exclaims, giving me a bright smile.
I nod, reaching over to hold her hand. “Yes, I had this menu curated for you.”
“Really?” Her eyes are wide over the edge of her menu. “How did you even know that—”
“Your mother,” I say. “I told her my plans and she consulted with the cook, who sent over all of your favorite meals.”
Another smile. “Thank you, Silas.”
“Anything for you.”
When Frances returns, she bears a bottle of aged wine that will pair well with dinner. After aerating the wine and pouring us both a glass, she disappears—leaving us alone until the amuse-bouche is ready.
Eden looks around, taking a sip of her wine.
Again, we end up in silence. It’s driving me up a wall.
If I ask her, she’ll say it’s grief—it is beyond annoying. Even from the grave, Vivienne is finding a way to insert herself into our relationship. The fucking irony of it all.
I sip my wine as well.
That’s when I remember.
“I want you to spend the winter break with me. St. Moritz, probably?”
She swallows thickly. “I’m not sure. I have a wedding to plan and—”
“It wasn’t a question, love,” I interrupt her.
Eden blinks. “We decided on a winter wedding.”
“Your mother decided on a winter wedding.”
“You don’t want a winter wedding?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So why are you forcing me to go to St. Moritz with you when you know I have to plan our wedding?” She sets her glass down so forcefully the table shakes.
“Our wedding date was planned before you even proposed to me. We’re in November.
The wedding is happening on December 31st. I don’t have any time to go skiing. ”
Eden’s tone rubs me the wrong way. First, she declined a direct order. She doesn’t decline my orders. Second, she’s overthinking the entire thing. Third—and most importantly—she’s disobeying me.
“Your mother is planning most of the wedding,” I say firmly. “You’re coming to St. Moritz. It’s non-negotiable.”
Eden’s eyebrows lower. “You don’t think I deserve to plan my own wedding? You’d rather I leave it to my mother? One of the most important days in my life and you expect me to abandon it and—”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m expecting you to do.”
Tense silence.
And that’s when Frances appears with the amuse-bouche.
Smoked eel on oatcake, topped with foraged sea herbs and a whisper of horseradish cream. It’s served with a dram of peaty local whisky to cleanse our palates from the wine.
As soon as Frances leaves, Eden is visibly upset.
“You’re getting married to please your parents,” I say. “Why does the wedding matter so much to you?”
Her jaw drops. “So because of that I should be denied the chance to plan my own wedding? The only wedding I might have in my entire life? I’m not going with you to St. Moritz, Silas.
I have to stay in London to make arrangements,” she huffs.
“Invitations go out tomorrow, our engagement party is in two weeks, you have no idea all the work that goes into this.”
I grab her wrist from across the table, jerking her toward me. I tighten my grip on her hand, panic flashes in her eyes and it stokes the flames kindling within me.
“Have you forgotten, love?” My voice is deceptively calm. I’m seconds away from blowing. “I never ask you. I tell you.”
She looks down at her wrist.
I know it hurts her—but this is a lesson.
“What will we be doing in St. Moritz?” Her voice is a whisper.
A smile twists my lips. “Enjoying my family’s chalet, the private ski slopes, dinner and drinks in the evening—and you in my bed every night.”
“Why can’t we do that after the wedding? It’s seven weeks away, Silas.”
My grip on her wrist tightens and she winces.
“The food is getting cold,” is all she says.
She turns her attention to her plate, and I let go of her wrist. Eden picks up the cutlery with shaking hands, taking small bites of her food.
I watch her as I eat.
Her mind hasn’t changed.
It should have changed. It needs to change.
“I’m not used to this side of you,” I say evenly.
“And I thought you’d be more understanding of the fact that we are getting married.”
Things turn into a stare-off.
I’m getting hot. Anger snakes up my spine, bringing with it heat that spreads to my arms and fingers. The same kind of anger that I told her I wouldn’t show her again. The one I asked to put behind us, when I apologized.
“A few days, then. Three.” I take the last bite of my oatcake. “I’ll have you back in London by the fourth. You can spend the rest of the break planning.”
Eden shakes her head.
“I have a wedding dress fitting as soon as school is out,” she shoots back.
“As a matter of fact, you don’t have any time to frolic around in St. Moritz.
We have tastings, venue walkthroughs, mockups to look over, music to choose.
” Eden narrows her eyes. “What about your suit? My parents will be hosting an engagement party within the first week we’re back—and everyone will be there. I feel like you don’t care, Silas.”
Is it the stress of it all that’s making her act like this?
I try to reach for her hand again but she pulled it away. The anger rears its head again but I tamp it down—I did hurt her a while ago. “I do care, Eden. But I’d get married to you right here in the middle of this restaurant. Just the two of us.”
My sentimentality phases through her.
“Your father’s a duke, my father is a viscount. Our wedding is the most anticipated event of the season. We won’t even be having a proper honeymoon because we have to get back to school by the fourth.”
Eden’s got her elbows on the table, kneading her temples. I notice it immediately because you never put your elbows on the table. Right now, she’s far from the composed, gentle, gracious woman I proposed to.
Right now? She’s stubborn.
I’ll fuck it out of her later.
“Fine,” I lie. “Let’s table this for another time and just enjoy our meal.”
“My answer will be the same.”
“Of course, love.” I’m intentionally patronizing.
I’ve always heard whispers of the strain wedding planning puts on a couple—but I never expected it to look like this. Viscountess Lockhart is capable of planning an extravagant wedding without Eden’s input. We’re aristocrats. Everything can get done for us if we want it to.
All Eden needs to do is tell her mother the kind of flowers she likes, the dress she’d prefer—all of which can be done over the phone. Why is she so invested in doing the work herself? I want us to be St. Moritz for the very reason she mentioned earlier.
We’re not going to have a honeymoon.
I want us to have a few special moments to ourselves before we get thrown into the whirlwind of parties, social engagements and the wedding.
We won’t even be allowed to live together at Augustine.
Marriage doesn’t change the fact that they separate us by gender in the dorms. Eden can’t comprehend what our future is going to look like—that’s why she’s being so stubborn about this.
She’s smart most of the time.
But there are a lot of things she will never understand.
I suppose all women are like that.
Fortunately, she has me to guide her—and for that, she should be grateful.