Chapter 8
ELIZA
Back upstairs in the suite, I watched Jesse step into the little office with my father. That was how impressive our hotel room was—it even had a fully functioning little study. I’d thought the door just off the guest bathroom was a closet, but nope.
As soon as Jesse and I had walked in, Father had emerged from that not-a-closet and complimented Jesse on his family’s foresight in providing accommodation with an office. It was absurd and yet, somehow, that wasn’t the biggest thing on my mind right now.
Instead, as I watched Jesse and my dad disappear behind that door, I wondered what on earth was going on now.
I thought he was going to tell me in the bar, but at what had seemed like the last minute, he’d simply offered a lame, “it’s complicated,” and then asked if he could walk me back up to the suite.
So here we were.
I sat very still on the couch while Winnie mentally flipped through the wardrobe choices she’d brought along out loud. She ought to have at least greeted her soon-to-be fiancé when he’d walked in, but instead, she’d been too preoccupied with her phone.
As always.
“I’m going out again tonight,” she announced, though I wasn’t certain if she was speaking to me or her followers, so I didn’t respond. She paused, glancing at me like she expected commentary. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” I said curtly. “I thought you might be speaking to your camera, but in any event, would it help if I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea to go out again?”
Winnie rolled her eyes dramatically. “I cannot sit in this hotel room for a whole night. Chicago nightlife is trending right now and I’m already missing out on content.”
Content.
Frustration surged through me so intense that I almost screamed. How can she even be thinking about that right now?
Jesse and our father had been in that office for several minutes now, talking about something that almost certainly involved us—or at least her. My stomach twisted a little, nerves fluttering through me.
It had to be about him and Winnie.
What else could it be about? But then, what would’ve brought him to our hotel in the evening and necessitated stopping in the bar rather than just coming straight upstairs?
Meanwhile, I was also trying very hard not to think about the drink we’d had together downstairs, but my brain kept replaying every minute of our interaction anyway.
Jesse had been perhaps the first man ever who’d taken enough notice of me to see, within seconds, that the drink was too strong and not nearly sweet enough.
He’d also listened so carefully when I spoke, like what I was saying actually mattered. That was a rarity for me as well, but then, of course, he’d told me that he’d come here to speak to my father and I still didn’t know why.
It was really gnawing at me, but before I could spiral too far into speculation, the office door opened. Jesse stepped out first and Father followed, walking him to the door leading to the hallway. They shook hands and nodded at one another.
It was painfully formal, but it also looked serious, a suspicion which wasn’t tempered at all by the fact that my father was holding a folder.
Winnie straightened slowly. She must’ve noticed it too, her eyes lighting up with unmistakable interest. She even paused the lip gloss application process she’d been embroiled in before they’d appeared.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, practically vibrating as she leaned toward me. “Do you think that’s it?”
Jesse glanced across the room, but instead of looking at her, his eyes landed on me. More than that, like the absolute menace he was, he winked before he turned back to my dad.
Heat rushed straight into my face at an alarming speed. Again. Good heavens, I’m becoming embarrassingly predictable.
Jesse turned his focus back to Dad. He gave him a polite nod before turning to the door as Dad opened it. “We’ll look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Roderick.”
“We won’t keep you waiting long,” Dad replied crisply. “Good evening, Jesse.”
“Good evening, sir.”
With that, he was gone, disappearing into the hallway without a backward glance. Winnie tracked his exit like a hawk watching prey. The moment the door closed behind him, she spun toward our father.
“Is that the marriage contract and the prenup?” she demanded in a tone that made her sound like she was foaming at the mouth. “Oh my God. It is, isn’t it? How much are they offering me?”
Dad blinked hard. “Excuse me?”
“The folder,” Winnie said impatiently, pointing. “Is that it? Please tell me that’s the prenup. I need to see the numbers. Also, we should talk about filming rights for the wedding because I’ve already spoken to my media manager again.”
She looked genuinely thrilled, like Christmas morning had arrived early, but my dad only stared at her for a beat. Then he cleared his throat and turned to me. “Eliza, may I speak with you in private for a moment?”
Winnie made an exaggerated gagging sound. “Oh, come on. What now?”
“Of course.” I frowned, ignoring her theatrics and following my father into the little office.
As I entered, Winnie flopped dramatically back down on the couch, calling after us. “If this is about the wedding aesthetic, I’m telling you now that beige is not happening.”
Dad snapped the door shut behind us, sighing before he shook his head and waved me into a chair. I took it, perching primly at the very edge as I watched him move around the desk and set the folder down.
“The Westwoods have changed their minds,” he said without any preamble.
For a moment, I didn’t understand what he meant. What have they changed their minds about?
A second later, however, it clicked. Winnie. Jesse. The entire ridiculous arrangement.
My stomach dropped, but curiously, it wasn’t with relief. Instead, what I felt as I stared back up into my father’s eyes, was defeat. All because he’d been right about the estate.
In that moment, the truth of it sank like a stone in my chest. While he talked, the weight of the realization pressed deeper with every word. That old castle of ours bled money. It always had, but now it was bleeding faster than we could ever patch it.
Staff salaries, repairs, taxes, maintenance, insurance… It had all piled up until the numbers had stopped feeling real.
“We can’t hold on much longer,” Dad said, his voice breaking into my thoughts again for a moment. “Without the Westwood marriage, I’m afraid we’d have to sell soon. No money and no heir ultimately translates to no estate.”
His voice was steady and practical, the same tone he used when he talked about the weather or needing an oil change. Life on that estate was the only life I’d ever known though, and my mind wandered off again as he kept droning on about the Westwoods and how they were our only chance.
It drifted away from this cramped hotel office, away from the neat stack of papers in the folder, and away from even the quiet hum of the air-conditioner. In my head, I was back at the castle, imagining what it was going to be like packing it up.
Generations of Rodericks had lived there, their portraits still hanging in the Ancestral Hall. I couldn’t picture taking them down. Telling our staff we were leaving them. Gathering up whatever meager possessions we wouldn’t have sold and piling them into suitcases.
I knew that castle like the back of my hand, even now seeing in my mind’s eye the way the stone steps dipped in the middle from centuries of footsteps. Father kept talking, but his voice had blurred into the background, like someone speaking underwater.
As I stared at the desk, suddenly all I could think about was the bar, telling Jesse everything about Winnie, very clearly conveying that I felt this was a terrible idea. How Winnie was constantly filming, making it sound like she only cared about content, which, to be fair, was the truth, but…
If I hadn’t said anything, if I’d just kept quiet, maybe he wouldn’t have backed out of the deal.
“Eliza.”
Father said my name sharply enough that my head jerked up and the room rushed back into focus. I blinked away the tears pressing at my eyes and gave him a tight nod. “I’m sorry, Daddy. What did you say?”
He was watching me with a measured expression, not irritated or disappointed for once, which was curious. “You drifted off.”
“I was just thinking.” I hesitated, then forced the words out. “I feel like this is all my fault, Daddy.”
The confession hung in the air between us.
His brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly, and for a second, I almost told him everything, the words hovering right on the edge of my tongue.
How I’d talked about Winnie to Jesse only half an hour ago.
How I’d basically handed him every reason to walk away from the arrangement.
If he’d changed his mind because of that while Winnie herself was still willing—hell, excited—to go through with it, I didn’t know what I would do. My righteous indignation would’ve ruined our best and only shot of remaining in our home, but Dad shook his head before I could say any of it.
“This isn’t your fault, darling,” he said firmly, sliding the folder across the desk. “The Westwoods haven’t changed their minds about the marriage.”
I frowned, confusion twisting through my chest. “They haven’t? I thought you said—”
“They changed their minds about the person involved,” he said gently. “Jesse has chosen you as his bride, Eliza. Not Winnie, but you.”
While I heard him speak the words, I didn’t understand the sentence at first. It felt like it was just floating in the air, separate from meaning, but a few seconds later, the penny dropped. Hard.
Jesse Westwood has chosen me as his bride.
My heart stopped. “What?”
Dad smiled like this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he’d expected news of this sort all along and nothing had changed. “The contract is ready. Everything has been calculated and approved.” He tapped the folder lightly with his index finger. “All you have to do is sign.”
Sign.
The word echoed in my skull, rattling around like a ghost without a home. The room tilted slightly, like the floor had shifted under my feet. I felt like I’d been sucked into a vacuum where time and sound had stopped working properly.
My ears rang. The office seemed too small, the air too thin.
Me? Marry Jesse Westwood? Me…
“They’ve given us time to let the lawyers look over it upon our return to England,” Dad said calmly. “Jesse has pointed out the most pertinent clauses, but he insists we have our own people peruse the document before he expects an answer from you.”
The words kept coming, but they still weren’t really making much sense, so I just stared at my father, unable to speak or even breathe. Suddenly, the door burst open and Winnie stormed into the office like a hurricane.
“I knew it!” she shouted, her voice shattering the strange silence I’d been shocked into. She pointed a manicured nail straight at Dad with fury blazing in her eyes. “I heard everything. Do you think you can just switch it like that? After everything we discussed?”
Dad stood slowly. “Winnie, calm down.”
“No!” she shouted, her eyes snapping to me. “You?” Disbelief dripped from that one single word, matching the expression her face contorted into as she snorted. “You’re the chosen one? That Jesse must be touched in the head. Why the fuck would he have chosen you when he could have me?”