Violet
I’m in love with my husband.
What’s so weird about that, you’re asking? That’s a given. A cause for celebration even. Sure, in a normal situation, but there’s nothing ‘normal’ about this arrangement.
“Two years, that’s all I’m asking. For me.”
It was the first time that dad had asked something of me. Normally he’d just tell me, but I guess he realized even the pushover daughter would balk at a marriage to a stranger no less.
Even if that stranger is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
That’s how I embarked on a marriage contract with William (“Please, call me Liam.“) King III. Yeah, the third. His father was my father’s best friend since college before his wife and he tragically passed away when Liam was in college.
“Second thoughts on leaving married life?”
Amber’s sharp tone cuts through my daydreaming. I blink, the busy New York brunch spot coming back into focus. Right, I’m with my older sister and mother for our monthly catch-up.
“Hm?” I hedge, smoothing my staticky blond locks, hoping they haven’t noticed me staring longingly at the happy couple two tables over. One year, five months and twenty-one days we’ve been married. Just one since I tripped headlong into love with a man who sees me as a contractual obligation.
Amber’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raise knowingly. She was the most incensed by the arrangement, perceiving it as an insult to her “god-intended birth right”, the company presidency. Never mind that dad’s deal secured Liam the board chairmanship, not heir apparent.
“About dissolving a marriage devoid of any real affection?” I school my face neutral, turning my forgotten coffee cup in restless circles. If only you knew, sister dearest. If only you knew.
She looks pleased, like the cat that ate the canary, likely imagining the inevitable marriage dissolution would usher Liam out of the company now that dad’s corporate footing was more stable.
Thankfully, before she can probe more, mom neatly changes the subject by asking about the upcoming Marshner benefit gala. I give the expected responses—polite, detached—throughout the rest of brunch, nodding along but halfway checked out mentally.
On my way back, I breathe in deep the cold late-winter air. I don’t particularly relish these monthly meet-and-greets. Between work and the benefit committee that I’m chairing, I’m swamped. A walk alone is just what the doctor ordered.
Except when I enter the sleek but opulent lobby, I suck in a breath at the tall figure by the elevators. Liam glances up from his phone, surprise lighting his face. He’s been coming home earlier lately. I tell myself not to read into it even as my foolish heart skips.
“Hello stranger,” he greets with that roguish smirk I love, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over me. His gaze sweeps over me and suddenly it feels a few degrees hotter. “Stunning as always. Leave a few victims in your wake today?”
Oh god. Did I just giggle? “If anyone’s leaving victims then it’s you and your silver tongue.”
“What can I say?” He winks, holding the elevator door open for me first, “It’s a hit with the sharks at corporate.”
The elevator ride passes in silence: him staring at his phone, me trying hard not to react to the warmth of having him next to me or that damned cedar cologne that gets me every time. It smells like home—and heartache.
The metal doors opened with a soft chime to a floor-to-ceiling glass view of Central Park. My eyes catalogued the abstract paintings—courtesy of me, this house had been barren when I first set foot in it—and Gestalt sofa before landing on a white box sitting prominently on the glass coffee table.
No way...
I approached without thinking.
“Oh good, it arrived.”
Liam is nonchalant as he loosens his tie, but I spin to face him, surprise surely written across my features. “You didn’t...”
He shrugs, a glint of humor in his gaze. “You seemed kind of rundown lately.”Fuck. He noticed. “Besides, thought you’d need a pick-me-up after subjecting yourself to brunch... willingly.”
Delighted laughter bubbles up as I pick up the white box of macarons, tracing the familiar logo. Dreamily, I recall that summer afternoon in Paris all those years ago: no arguing, no company drama, just a family—my family—whole and happy for once, enjoying vacation. I’m sure I’d mentioned the story to him before—maybe even twice—but I hadn’t expected him to remember right down to the brand.
“How much did you spend on this?” I ask timidly, knowing the special order and flying them directly from Paris—there were no international branches—would have been an arm and a leg.
“Don’t worry,” he called out from the bedroom, “We’re in no danger of eviction.”
I giggle once again—a habit around Liam—and carefully lift the lid to reveal over a dozen impeccably crafted macarons in an assortment of colors. Naturally, I go for rose first.
The delicate sweetness tastes better than I remembered and I know it’s not just the exquisite desert. It’s him. I brush away the faint sheen suddenly blurring my vision before he comes back as I torture myself again.
...Could he?
No, don’t be foolish Violet. He’s being kind. He’s a kind man.
Except deep in the recesses of my mind I can’t help but ask myself.What do I really have to lose?
I clutch the open box like a talisman as Liam comes back, smiling brightly as I offer him one. His ocean blue eyes twinkle as he takes pistachio, a classic. Just maybe—if I can just summon enough courage to lay my heart on the line—this contract might turn into something more.
