Chapter 5
Dinner with the Boss (Please Don't Fire Me)
Carol had changed outfits four times.
"The blue one was fine!" Lumi insisted as Daisy and Millie held up yet another dress option.
"The blue one made me look like I was trying too hard," Carol muttered, examining a deep burgundy gown. "What about this one?"
"You're definitely trying too hard," Missy observed from her perch on the vanity. "He's going to think you're up to something."
"I AM up to something," Carol hissed quietly so the maids wouldn't hear. "I'm up to NOT DYING."
In the end, she settled on an elegant emerald green dress—sophisticated but not overly formal, with delicate gold embroidery at the neckline. It brought out her eyes and, more importantly, didn't scream "I'm trying to seduce you" or "I'm plotting your demise."
Daisy arranged her hair in a simple updo with a few honey-blonde curls framing her face. Millie added minimal jewelry—just a pair of pearl earrings and a delicate gold bracelet.
"You look beautiful, my lady," Daisy said, stepping back to admire her work.
Carol looked at herself in the mirror and took a deep breath.
You've survived earnings call prep sessions with managing directors who threw staplers when models didn't balance. You've given presentations to rooms full of people looking for any excuse to tear you down. You've navigated office politics that would make Machiavelli proud.
This is just dinner with your terrifying, unkillable husband who you tried to poison and who caught you lurking in the garden watching him train.
Totally fine. Completely manageable.
"I'm going to throw up," Carol said.
"You're going to be fine!" Lumi said encouragingly, hovering near her shoulder. "Just be yourself! Well, your NEW self. Not the old self. Definitely not the old self."
"Very helpful, thank you," Carol muttered.
"This is going to be a disaster," Missy said cheerfully. "I can't wait to watch."
◆◆◆
The walk to the dining room felt like a march to the gallows.
Every step echoed in the hallway. Every servant she passed gave her wide-eyed looks of shock—the lady who rarely left her chambers, now calmly walking to dinner with the Duke. It was apparently the scandal of the century.
She reached the dining room doors. The butler—an elderly man named Edmund who had been avoiding her for two months—stood at attention. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing. "His Grace is already seated."
"Thank you, Edmund," Carol said, proud that her voice didn't shake.
He opened the doors.
The dining room was still intimidating—that long table stretching between them like a metaphorical battlefield—but tonight, only two places were set. Not at opposite ends of the table, but facing each other, near the middle.
Someone had made a decision to reduce the distance.
And at one of those places sat Caspian Vanthorn.
He looked up as she entered, and Carol's breath caught.
If he'd been breathtaking in training clothes, he was devastating in formal attire.
He wore a deep navy jacket over a crisp white shirt, his silver hair swept back and tied at the nape of his neck—more formal than the training ground but still showing the length that fell past his shoulders.
His green eyes were sharp and assessing as they locked onto her.
"Good evening," he said. His voice was deep, measured, and completely neutral.
"Good evening," Carol managed, forcing her feet to move toward the table. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner."
One silver eyebrow rose slightly. "You're... thanking me."
"Yes?" Carol said, confused. "Should I not?"
"You've never thanked me for anything before," he said flatly.
Oh god, Original Caroline was even worse than I thought.
"Well," Carol said, settling into her seat as gracefully as she could manage. "I'm working on being more appreciative."
Caspian studied her for a long moment, those green eyes analyzing her like she was a tactical problem to solve. Carol felt her cheeks warming under his gaze and quickly looked down at her plate.
Stop blushing. Stop blushing. He's going to think—
"Water or juice, Your Grace?" A servant appeared at her elbow.
"Juice, please," Carol said.
The servant nodded and moved away to pour.
Carol glanced at Caspian's wine glass, already filled. He caught her looking. There was something in that look—a challenge, maybe. Or a test.
Right. Because I tried to poison him. This is fine. Everything is fine.
The first course arrived—a delicate soup that smelled amazing. Carol picked up her spoon and tried to think of something, anything, to say.
How was your day? That's what normal people say at dinner, right?
"So," Carol began, her voice perhaps a bit too bright. "How was your day?"
Caspian paused with his own spoon halfway to his mouth. He looked at her like she'd just spoken in a foreign language.
"My... day," he repeated slowly.
"Yes. Your day. How was it? How did things go?" Carol realized she was rambling and tried to stop herself. Failed. "With the training and the border patrols and the... duke things you do?"
He set his spoon down very carefully. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"What? No! I'm fine. I just—" Carol took a breath. "I'm trying to make conversation. Isn't that what people do at dinner?"
"You've never tried to make conversation with me at dinner before," Caspian said. "The last time we dined together, you spent the entire meal glaring at me and then left early claiming a headache."
And also tried to poison you, but we're not mentioning that.
"Yes, well, I've decided to try something different," Carol said, attempting a smile. She took a sip of her juice to steady herself—sweet, cold, refreshing. "New approach. Fresh start. All that."
"I see." He picked up his spoon again but didn't eat. "And this new approach involves asking about my day."
"Among other things," Carol said. "I also wanted to say—your estate is beautiful. The gardens especially. And I saw some of your training this morning. You're very... skilled."
Those green eyes sharpened. "You saw my training."
Oh no.
"I was taking a walk," Carol said quickly. "Around the grounds. Getting to know my new home. And I happened to pass by the training area and—"
"You were hiding behind the hedge near the western wall," Caspian interrupted, his voice still neutral but with an edge now. "For approximately seven minutes. Then you fled when I noticed you."
Carol's face burned. "I wasn't hiding. I was... observing. From a respectful distance."
"While concealed behind foliage."
"It was shady there," Carol tried. "I didn't want to get sun on my face."
One corner of his mouth might have twitched. It was hard to tell. "I see."
They ate in silence for a moment. Carol could feel Lumi's concerned hovering and Missy's delighted cackling from their respective positions near her shoulders.
"This is painful to watch," Missy whispered. "I love it."
"You're doing fine!" Lumi insisted. "Just keep trying!"
Carol cleared her throat. "The soup is excellent."
"Mmm."
"The cook is very talented."
"Yes."
"I apologized to her earlier. For throwing a plate at her."
That got a reaction. Caspian's eyes snapped to hers, genuine surprise flickering across his usually impassive face.
"You apologized to the cook."
"Yes. It was wrong of me to throw things at the staff. Or anyone, really. But especially people who work hard to prepare delicious meals." Carol met his gaze, even though those green eyes made her heart race. "I've been... not my best self since arriving here. I want to change that."
"Why."
It wasn't really a question. It was more of a demand.
Carol considered lying. Considered some elaborate excuse. But something about those sharp green eyes analyzing her made her think he'd see through any deception immediately.
"Because what's done is done," she said finally. "I can't change the past. The marriage, the circumstances, any of it. But I can decide what kind of person I want to be going forward. And I've decided I'd rather not be miserable." She paused. "Or make everyone around me miserable."
Caspian studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment.
"You trapped me into this marriage with a seduction spell meant for another man," he said bluntly.
"You've spent two months writing letters to your family about how much you hate being here.
You threw a plate at my cook, screamed at my maids, and attempted to poison my wine.
" He picked up his wine glass and took a deliberate sip.
"And now you expect me to believe you've suddenly decided to 'try something different. '"
Each word was a precise strike, delivered without heat but with devastating accuracy.
Carol felt her face burning with shame—shame for things she hadn't technically done but was now responsible for anyway.
"You're right," she said quietly. "All of that is true. And I understand why you don't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either." She looked down at her soup. "But I meant what I said. I want to build a new life here. I want to try to make the best of this situation. For both of us."
"For both of us," he repeated, his tone skeptical.
"Yes. Look—" Carol gestured around the beautiful dining room. "You've given me everything material I could want. This room, my chambers, my clothes, the gardens. You've been... generous. Despite everything."
"I provided you with comfort so you would stay in your wing and leave me alone," Caspian said flatly.
"I know." Carol met his eyes again, ignoring the flutter in her chest. "And it worked. But that's not a marriage. That's two strangers living in the same house and avoiding each other. And I—" She took a breath. "I think we could do better than that. If you're willing to try."
Silence.
Caspian set down his wine glass very carefully. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"I don't know yet," Carol admitted. "Maybe we could start with dinners? Get to know each other? I promise—" She held up one hand. "I promise I'm not plotting anything. I'm not trying to manipulate you. I just... I'd like to try being friends. Or at least friendly."