Chapter 10 Marcus
MARCUS
Iexhale as I walk into the dining room. Not because I’m relieved to see that the room is perfectly set and ready for our guests arriving soon, but because I am so frustrated with my maddening wife.
When I left her, she was only just getting out of the shower.
And despite me asking her—no, telling her—more than a handful of times to please stop walking around in a towel, she still insists on doing so.
The memory of water beading over her skin flashes in my mind, tightening my chest and heating my blood in equal measure.
But even though I’m a walking ball of confusion—frustrated and hard at the same time—it’s not the threat of permanent blue balls that’s pissing me off. It’s the fact that Esmerelda knows how important tonight is and still insists on playing games.
Our guests will be arriving in less than ten minutes, and she is nowhere near ready. Not even the fact that she was playing with my dogs, who absolutely adore her, makes it less infuriating. She knows exactly how important tonight is. Especially since Tallulah Minto-ho-yo will be here.
A flicker of flame draws my eye to the set table. The candle’s sweet pomegranate scent drifts toward me and mixes with the fragrance emanating from the arrangements of pale pink and cream roses. Light glances off the gold cutlery flanking the fine china. Everything is perfect.
Apart from my office, the dining room is my favorite place in the house.
The stone walls hold multitudes of memories from a much less complicated time.
One where warmth and family were a given, when daily meals filled with laughter were held in this room, back when my mother and grandmother were still alive.
The space mirrors my grandmother’s strength and quiet pride.
It’s a space that speaks of wealth with a blend of tradition and power, but not in an ostentatious way.
It’s a contradiction that I’ve always loved.
My grandmother, the embodiment of grace and femininity, belonged in the room of dark wood and bold lines.
It’s been a while since I’ve actually looked at this room instead of taking my meals here with glazed-over eyes.
The walls are made from thick stone. A long, dark oak table stretches nearly the length of the room, polished to a mirror sheen and wide enough to seat a small army.
Ornate carvings of wolves and forestry—a subtle nod to our ancestry—line the edges of the table and have darkened in time from all the residual polish.
Heavy-backed chairs upholstered in gold-and-green brocade sit ready for our guests to fill and start issuing their judgment.
Overhead, a wrought-iron chandelier hangs low.
Where once its ornate branches would have held flickering candles, it now holds bulbs that can change settings with the mood.
I’ve gone for dim lighting this evening, so I can hide any untoward facial expressions, like maybe my wife’s as she glares back at me.
Our family crest hangs above the arched stone fireplace.
Green and gold, standing pride of place above the mantel.
As I stare at it, another worry creeps in and takes up space in my mind.
Will they make us replace our ancestral crest to include Esmerelda’s?
I sincerely hope not. And yet, as I stand here, I wonder how she must feel having everything familiar ripped away from her.
Is she grieving the loss of her heritage, or isn’t she sentimental that way?
Based on the fact that she had my people killed, I’d say she probably is grieving.
You don’t kill for the family business unless you are loyal.
As quickly as it came, the empathy I was feeling for my wife dissipates. I’m filled once more with confusing emotions as they vacillate from one to the next. It’s absolutely exhausting.
I turn away from the mantel to gaze out the window.
As the time creeps closer to everyone’s arrival, the more my stomach curls in knots.
Not only do we face banishment if we can’t pull off a civil meal together, but so do our people.
The weight of responsibility has me striding toward the drinks cart, but movement catches my eye from the tall windows dressed in thick, embroidered drapes.
As per the instructions I issued to my drivers, three cars descend the drive at the same time.
One holds my father, uncle, and stepmother.
Another, Esmerelda’s mother, father, and brothers.
The last, Councilwoman Tallulah Minto-ho-yo.
I had my drivers synchronize everyone’s arrival so there would be no awkward small talk in drips and drabs. Now, we can get the awkwardness over with at once.
Squaring my shoulders, I smooth a hand over my jacket and force my mouth into something resembling a welcoming smile. Time to greet them and play the gracious host, even if my every instinct is to bolt.
“Could I perhaps get you more water, Mrs. Lovell?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at my father’s sickly sweet tone.
The man couldn’t feign sincerity if he was being held at knife point.
His over-the-top doting isn’t fooling anyone, least of all me.
But it doesn’t need to. It just has to convince Councilwoman Tallulah Minto-ho-yo that this dinner is a harmonious family affair and not the beginning of a pack war.
Too bad Esmerelda is insistent on playing one of her infuriating games.
Leonard kicks me under the table when I glance at my watch for what feels like the hundredth time.
I’m at the point where I either need to sit on my hands to stop checking how late Esmerelda is or melt the damn thing in the fireplace.
The room feels like it’s closing in on me, hot and suffocating, but that might just be the rage simmering under my skin.
She knows how I feel about tardiness. Especially tonight.
Especially when we’re being watched. I am so over Esmerelda’s passive aggressive games.
Her side of the family is all tight smiles and sharp glances.
Mine are acting like this is a reunion and not a punishment.
We’re supposed to convince Tallulah that we’re committed to this union.
Instead, I’m left entertaining both sides like a fucking MC at a wedding.
The whole thing is a joke. I just don’t know who’s laughing.
The last few days with Esmerelda in the house have been a complete mindfuck. She’s either being really sweet or doing something to drive me up the wall. I’m not sure which one I’m more suspicious of. All I know is, I’m not fucking amused.
“So, Marcus, tell me. How was the honeymoon?” Mrs. Lovell’s voice slices into my thoughts with the question I’ve been dreading since I greeted the guests.
Her gaze flicks to Tallulah. If the council thought sending one of their spies in here would give them an accurate representation of what’s going on, they couldn’t be more wrong.
I shoot Esmerelda’s mother a tight smile. “It was great, Mrs. Lovell. Much needed. The trouble is, I think my wife took the vacation a little too seriously. She’s still in holiday mode. My apologies for her tardiness.”
Esmeralda’s brother, Edward, snickers. “She must’ve been on her best behavior, because she’s never been great with her timekeeping,”
The whole room forces out laughter. It’s an artificial, unnatural sound that grates on my nerves.
Again, who is this charade fooling? I don’t understand planting a council member here.
They all know we were forced to get married and that we’ve all been threatened with banishment if we don’t make this work.
Do they think everyone’s going to be at each other’s throats all night?
Of course we’re going to be on our best behavior.
But the council’s naivety isn’t my problem right now.
My bratty wife is. And I’m not giving her the satisfaction of waiting another fucking minute.
“Shall we just commence? Goodness knows she could be ten minutes or an hour,” I say with a smile I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “Time blindness is a thing. As is love-blindness, they say.”
More fake laughs greet me from around the table, and I give everyone a winning smile before turning to Leonard and speaking through clenched teeth. “Go and get my wife. Drag her here in her underwear if that’s what it takes.”
Leonard’s eyebrow shoots up. “You sure about that?”
Fuck, I’m so pissed I’m not even thinking straight.
A possessive anger—and something else—floods me.
No, I’m not jealous. Why would I be? It’s not that I feel any possessiveness toward Esmerelda.
It’s more like if I have to put up with this bullshit of pretending to be in a happy marriage, she can damn well show up.
“Just make sure she’s decent and get her here, Leonard.”
He smirks at me. “Your wish is my command.”
I turn back to the table, acutely aware of every pair of eyes tracking my movements. The expectant silence is oppressive. My gaze sweeps the faces, some curious, some guarded, all waiting to see what I’ll say.
“Firstly,” I begin, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest, “I’d like to thank my stepmother, Olivia, for suggesting this dinner and for allowing us to host it here.
” I let my eyes find her across the expanse of gold and china.
I hold the contact for a beat too long, letting her silently know I’m aware of the politics at play.
“It’s an honor to have you all seated around our table for our first official family meal. ”
The words are polite, even warm, but beneath them lies the truth. We all know this is less about welcome and more about inspection.
I look pointedly at Tallulah, and she gives me a knowing smile. She’s not stupid, either. I guess she’s just here to make sure no one kills each other.
Olivia slaps on a saccharine smile and turns to Mrs. Lovell. “I sincerely hope I didn’t overstep by suggesting this dinner?”