Chapter 13
Adelaide
Liam storms several feet ahead of me, and I don’t know why I desperately try to catch up. I know what lies in store for me, yet somehow, as always, I believe there’s a chance I can still defuse the situation. Despite the ringing in my ears, I pick up the pace and reach out for his hand.
“Hey, slow down,” I say gently. “We’ll get you changed and we’ll be back in the club in ten minutes. It’s okay, babe.”
Liam yanks his hand away from mine and fumbles in his pocket for his room key. “I haven’t unpacked yet, Addy, so all my other shirts are going to be creased like hell.”
“I’ll iron one for you,” I offer, and Liam just scoffs as though it isn’t an entirely reasonable solution. It would take me literally two minutes to iron a fresh shirt for him, but Liam is so pissed off, he’d rather just be stubborn than actually fix anything.
He scans the key card and strides into his room—the room I believe he’s sharing with Connor—while stripping off his damp shirt, and doesn’t even hold the door open for me.
I catch it as it’s closing, hesitantly following him in.
When it clicks shut behind me, bile rises in my throat, because now we are truly alone.
I get that feeling deep in my gut again, the one I’ve been trying to ignore more and more often lately. Is it normal to feel like this with the person you’re marrying? I feel like it’s not.
Liam throws his bag onto his bed and starts pulling out different shirts, cussing under his breath. He flings one toward me without even giving me the courtesy of looking my way, and I squeeze my fingers around the linen fabric as I turn to the closet to retrieve the ironing board.
“Why are you so drunk that you’re spilling drinks everywhere?” he questions, and I hear the tab of a beer can cracking open. He collapses into an armchair, knees spread wide, watching me with soulless eyes as I heave the ironing board into the center of the room.
“I am not spilling drinks everywhere,” I mumble, springing the board upright and fetching the iron. “It’s so dark and loud in that club, and I bumped into you. It was an accident.”
“See? This is why I had to sacrifice my own bachelor party in Cancun and come to Vegas instead. You need me around to stop you from embarrassing yourself all weekend,” he mutters, taking a swig of his beer. “Who knows what the hell you’d be doing if you knew I wasn’t watching?”
I knew it. I knew Liam’s whole spiel back home about combining our parties being a way of us all having more fun was a load of crock. Unexpectedly, a hot wave rises inside me.
“When do I ever embarrass you?” I ask. It feels risky to dare argue back, but I figure I’m okay while he’s across the room in that chair and with an ironing board shielding me.
I spread out his shirt, run the iron over the creases.
“We go to work together every day, and every day I give one-hundred-percent effort. We get home and I don’t go anywhere, Liam.
I take care of the house and I cook our meals and I try my best to make life easy for you.
When do I even get the chance to embarrass you? ”
“You just did, didn’t you?” he snaps. “You’re going to be my wife, Addy, or did you forget that?
You want me to take over the firm? You want us to own a six-bedroom home on six acres of land one day?
You want me to buy you a cute little convertible and let you stay at home with our kids?
Then act like someone who deserves those things.
I could really be something, Adelaide. I can give you the most incredible life, but you need to .
. . you need to handle yourself with class. ” He shakes his head in frustration.
“I do handle myself with class,” I point out, reeling from his verbal battering. It all feels so unfair, but suddenly I can’t find the words to defend myself.
“Yeah, because having your bachelorette party in Vegas is classy. And that dress?” He scoffs and takes another chug of his beer.
I glance down at my long dress as my chest aches.
I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress with a hem that sat above the knee or a blouse with a plunging neckline.
“You told me I looked incredible,” I say quietly, recalling the moment earlier tonight when he first laid eyes on me and pulled me into a hug.
He even told me he liked my veil. Subconsciously, I reach out to touch it, questioning whether he hates it too.
“Why is it so form-fitting? I already have every curve of your body memorized, Addy, so who are you showing off for?”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I will myself to maintain a steady expression as I ignore his irrational insecurities, staring straight down at his shirt and keeping myself busy.
“What would you have preferred I do to celebrate?” I ask, and I know I’m really pushing it now.
There’s only so many times I can answer back before I cross a line.
“I don’t know. A spa day or a pottery class or something.”
Steam puffs from the iron as I glance up at him in disbelief. “A pottery class? While you’re allowed to jet off to Mexico and get wasted in Cancun?”
“I can handle myself,” he says pointedly.
You’re such an asshole, I think, shocking myself with the heat in those four words.
There are always different rules for me than there are for him, and it’s so fucking unfair. Liam is far from perfect, yet there isn’t the same pressure on him to be so, because he’s the Hartmans’ golden boy, their one and only son, destined to take over Hartman & Sinclair Realty.
Just like I am destined to take over the Sinclair half of the firm, yet I’m less of a fledging realtor and more of a glorified personal-assistant-slash-receptionist at this point.
Liam won’t quite let me establish my role in the business yet, says I need more time to learn the ins and outs, which supposedly means handling all of his paperwork while he celebrates closing another sale by popping champagne in the office with his father.
The glass ceiling feels very real at Hartman & Sinclair these days, but I can’t blame Liam entirely for that.
For generations, the firm has been passed from son to son, kept in family hands.
My father retired early over a decade ago, but held his share in the firm, expecting Theodore to be the child of his to step up and continue the legacy.
But obviously, as first-born, I craved the praise that always came with doing things just right, and at the age of sixteen, I sat my father down and very politely asked if I could be the next Sinclair in line to join the firm.
He was ecstatic, because how great would it all be?
His partner, Richard Hartman, already had his son onboard too—a son who was best friends with the guy I was dating, a son I already knew well.
Hartman & Sinclair Realty would live on for another generation, with the baton eventually passing to Liam and me.
We were only really friends because of Connor, and it wasn’t until after graduation that Liam and I finally discussed the elephant in the room—that it was looking very likely that we would one day end up owning a real estate agency together, and that we both needed to be on the same page if it were to work.
Luckily, we shared the same dreams and ambitions, and I felt reassured that the two of us would make a great team.
Connor left for basic training a couple weeks after graduation, and Liam was there to pick up the pieces of my broken heart.
He missed Connor, too, but together we navigated those feelings and focused instead on our future.
We left for college together that fall, and something changed between us.
Maybe it was all of the times he came by my dorm to help me study for finals, or the passionate way he voiced his plans for the future of Hartman & Sinclair Realty with a sparkle in his blue eyes, or the natural way he instantly bonded with my parents .
. . We quickly realized we wanted to build more than just careers together.
This was more than just a business partnership.
It was perfect, really. Everything fell into place.
We graduated from college, blissfully in love, and stepped into the world of realty side-by-side.
I knew success wouldn’t happen overnight.
I knew we both had a lot to learn before the reins were handed over to us entirely, but I realized very quickly that something was wrong.
Liam immediately prospered, while I’ve spent the past few years fighting to earn my place in the hierarchy.
It was too Hartman heavy. There was Liam, and his father Richard, and his uncle Paul.
I was the only Sinclair and the first woman to ever join the business, and it took me until only recently to realize that I was not viewed as equal.
Liam would be given big-name clients to deal with and he’d disappear off to host open houses, while I was tackling the stack of paperwork he’d conveniently forgotten to complete himself.
All three of the Hartman men would tell me they wouldn’t survive without me keeping a handle on everything.
Now it’s four years later and I have barely left the reception desk, but I keep thinking .
. . One day . . . One day I’ll step up and close my own deals. I just need to let Liam shine first.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You mean we, right?”
Liam casts me an agitated look. “Huh?”
“We will take over the firm one day. We will buy our dream home. We will split the childcare,” I clarify, but the more I press, the more the tremor in my hands worsens. “We’re equals, aren’t we? I’m more than just eye candy at the front desk whose only job is to be your personal assistant, right?”
“Addy,” Liam says coyly, “of course we are. Why do you think I work us so hard? So that we can have our own empire. Is that shirt ready yet?”