15. Jamison #2
I said nothing. Because I did want her. But how the fuck did I drag her back to my side now the merger review was active. Another part of me considered if this was just possession. Then, I’ d spend the night picturing her curled into my side, and I had my answer.
“She has done everything right for three years.” Emmie wiped at her cheek angrily.
“Everything. She attends your events. She remembers your whiskey. She smiles at everyone when you scare them. She waits for you. She asks about your work even when you barely answer her. She tries so hard to stand beside you properly.”
Each sentence landed worse than the last.
“She is sweet,” Emmie continued. “She is loyal. She’s beautiful. She is never cruel to anyone. Why isn’t she enough for you?”
Harrison looked at his drink. Marcel watched me over Emmie’s shoulder. I did not care about Sienna. That was the truth I had been telling myself for three years. I had repeated it enough that it should have hardened into something reliable.
“She’s a contract,” I said, “Nothing more.”
“That’s horrible.” Emmie’s fingers curled against Marcel’s shirt.
“The Bellemeres attached a body to a debt. Damius opened the review. They can move the body elsewhere. Everyone needs to stop acting like a dynasty negotiation is a funeral.”
“Sienna is not a body.”
“She is the debt mechanism.”
“She is a person,” Emmie snapped. Her sadness had sharpened into anger now.
Better.
Anger I understood. It did not make the room feel like it had moved too close around my throat.
“You all got too involved. That is the problem.” I tapped my ring on the glass once.
Emmie stared at me. Then laughed once.
“Too involved?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll go to St. Cross and make friends with Weston’s brothers’ wives. She’ll sit beside them at events. She’ll shop with them. They’ll know about ballet and her gallery. They’ll get all the little parts of her life because she’ll be there.”
Her hand moved to the collar. Marcel’s fingers covered hers immediately.
“And just like that,” Emmie whispered, “my only friend is gone.”
One shared look between us, and we made a joint decision. Change the subject.
“What about your birthday?” Harrison asked, as he sat forward.
Emmie looked toward him. Her expression made the question sound cruel even though Harrison had meant it gently.
“We were going to do the terrace thing. Dinner. Music. Your terrible cake order.” Harrison added.
“I don’t want to do anything.”
“Baby,” Marcel said softly.
Emmie shook her head. “Sienna was helping me plan it.”
“We can still do it,” Harrison said.
“I don’t want to.” Her voice broke again.
Harrison looked toward me. That was the mistake. Because something hard entered his eyes.
“Maybe I should take the merger.” He said, still staring at me.
“What?”
Harrison lifted one shoulder, casual in the way only a Crow could be casual while throwing a match into fuel.
“I’ll marry her.” Harrison held my gaze. “Sienna wants someone to speak to her. I can manage a conversation without acting like a bastard.”
My blood changed temperature.
“Harris,” Marcel warned.
“I already like her. Emmie keeps her friend. Damius gets the Bellemere bloodline settled. Sienna stays in Harlan. Everybody wins.”
My hand tightened around the glass hard enough that it cracked.
Again.
Fucking glass.
Always too fragile.
Harrison watched the fracture spread beneath my palm. His mouth curved. Bait. He wanted the reaction. He got one.
“You go near her,” I said quietly, “and I’ll put you through Marcel’s terrace doors.”
Harrison looked toward the glass doors. “They’re imported.”
“Stop.” Emmie wiped her face.
Marcel’s gaze moved between us. “Both of you.”
Harrison leaned back.
Satisfied.
The bastard.
He had made his point. I hated that he had one.
Emmie pulled herself straighter in Marcel’s lap, though she remained curled against his chest. His arm tightened around her waist.
“She’s being presented with Weston this weekend,” Emmie’s eyes filled with tears. “I got the invitation today. It was sent as a friendship arrangement.”
A friendship arrangement.
Harlan dynasty rubbish. An event invitation designed to place a woman beside a man without calling it courtship yet. Plausible deniability. Good manners. Family optics. The first step toward rearranging Sienna’s life before she knew anyone had touched the board.
“Harlan is hosting some ridiculous harbour luncheon,” Emmie continued. “Weston has been asked to attend as her companion. Her family thinks it will look less abrupt if people see them together before anything becomes formal.”
My teeth locked.
At ballet, he had sat front row. Now he had been invited to stand beside her at a public event under some bullshit friendship label while Sienna still thought she would sit with us.
“She doesn’t know.” Emmie looked at the floor. “She thinks she’ll be sitting at our table this weekend. Me. Marcel. Harrison. You. The same as always. But she won’t, her family is moving her to Weston’s table.”
Sienna removed carefully from my side and placed beside another Crow so Harlan could become accustomed to the sight.
So she could become accustomed to it too.
“She doesn’t know,” Emmie repeated, voice breaking. “We all know, and she doesn’t. I hate that.”
Marcel’s hand moved along her back.
“Then tell her,” Harrison said.
Emmie looked at Marcel.
Marcel looked at me.
Of course.
Because Sienna was still technically attached to me until the review settled. Dynasty information moved through men before it reached the women whose lives it dismantled.
I hated that fact tonight. Usually, it made business efficient. Tonight, it made my chest tighten.
“No,” I said.
“She should know.” Emmie stared at me.