Chapter 8

Connie's POV

"What's wrong?"

"We're already connected," I said, holding out my phone so he could see.

"We went to the same schools," he said. "Probably added each other at some alumni event."

I thought about it. He wasn't wrong. Stuyvesant, then MIT—there'd been overlap, shared events, mutual contacts. Somewhere along the way, we must have added each other and never followed up.

I didn't think much of it and put my phone away.

Adrian glanced at me.

"Send me a message."

"Right now?"

"Yeah. Otherwise, I won't know which account is yours."

That was fair. I opened the chat window. The thread was empty—completely clean, like it had never been touched. I stared at the blank input field for a moment, unable to think of anything to say, then typed a period.

Sent.

The message appeared on his screen, along with my name.

He tapped into my contact info. His finger hovered over the display name field for a second.

I leaned in to look.

He'd deleted whatever was there before and typed two words in its place.

Mrs. Vance.

I went still.

Hearing him say it out loud was one thing. Seeing it sitting there in his contact list was something else entirely. I wasn't sure what to do with that.

Before I could figure it out, he opened Instagram.

He pulled up the photo we'd just taken, made a small adjustment, and posted it.

I stood next to him and watched his thumb press the button.

The photo: us under the tree. Me in the veil, his arm around my waist.

The caption was one word.

Married.

No explanation. No hashtags. Nothing else.

Just that.

I was still looking at his screen when I noticed something—my account was already in his following list.

"Is that me?" I asked.

I opened my own Instagram and scrolled through my followers. His name was right there, quiet and unremarkable, like it had always been.

Apparently, he'd been following me.

I had no idea.

I almost asked him why. We hadn't been close, hadn't really talked—not properly, not before any of this. But the question didn't make it out.

"Shouldn't Mrs. Vance follow back?" he said.

There it was again. That name.

My face went warm before I could stop it. I looked down at my phone and hit follow without overthinking it.

"Done."

The corner of his mouth lifted. Just barely. Just enough.

I caught it anyway.

Something stirred in my chest, though I couldn't quite put a name to it. He seemed genuinely pleased. It didn't feel forced or put on. He just seemed quietly, genuinely satisfied—with the photo, with posting it, with all of it.

I'd always thought he simply needed a wife to help him weather the crisis before his company's IPO.

But the things he'd been doing didn't seem like something a man would do just to fulfill an agreement.

As I was lost in thought, Adrian suddenly spoke.

"Are you going home to pack your things now? Would you like me to come with you?"

Right. The prenup. We were required to live together for the duration of the marriage, starting today.

My fingers tightened around my phone.

"I—"

The words stalled in my throat.

Eleanor and Benjamin didn't know. I hadn't told them. I hadn't even hinted at it.

The thought of walking back into that house and saying it to her face made something heavy settle in my stomach. I didn't know how Eleanor would react. Surprise, maybe. Anger. That particular brand of quiet disapproval she never had to raise her voice to deliver.

I looked down and ran my thumb along the edge of my phone case.

"What is it?" Adrian asked.

"My parents don't know I got married."

I looked up and met his eyes.

"I should tell them in person."

Whatever this marriage was, it was still something. I didn't want them finding out from a stranger's feed.

Adrian nodded once.

"Okay."

No follow-up questions. He just pocketed his phone.

The car turned through the gates of the Long Island estate, and I watched the house come into view through the window. My stomach tightened.

The staff noticed us the moment we came through the door. I could see it on their faces—that careful, trained blankness that didn't quite hide their surprise. I understood it. In all the years I'd lived here, the only man who'd ever walked in beside me was Grayson.

"Matthew," I said, catching the attention of the house manager near the entryway. "Are my parents home?"

He stepped forward, composed as always, though his eyes moved briefly to Adrian before returning to me.

"Mrs. Whitlock is upstairs, Miss Hale. Mr. Whitlock is still at the office."

He gestured toward the staircase.

"Please, follow me."

Eleanor was on the second-floor terrace, settled into one of the outdoor chairs with a stack of travel documents in her lap and a half-packed suitcase open beside her. She was on the phone, working through logistics in that efficient, unhurried voice she used for everything.

"Don't change the flight. The hotel's already confirmed."

"Mom."

She looked over. Her gaze moved from me to Adrian and stayed there for a moment.

"Oh, Connie." A slight pause. "Who's this?"

"This is Adrian Vance."

I shifted slightly and made myself say it.

"He's my husband."

Eleanor's hand stopped moving. The phone stayed at her ear.

The air on the terrace went very still.

I'd prepared for questions on the drive over. How did you meet him? Why so suddenly? What does he do? I'd run through all of them in my head and had answers ready.

But Eleanor just said, "Oh."

Then, "I see."

She didn't look at either of us again. Instead, she turned to the housekeeper standing nearby.

"Bring up that box from the storage room."

The housekeeper returned quickly, carrying a box that looked as though it hadn't been opened in years.

Eleanor took the box and opened it. Inside lay a yellow topaz jewelry set. The stones were clear and well-cut, though the settings were visibly dated.

“These were given to me by the orphanage director when we adopted you. She said they had been left behind by your birth mother. Now that you're married, you should keep them yourself.”

She pushed the open box toward me.

I looked at the jewelry. Something hollow opened up in my chest.

Somehow, her indifference was harder to sit with than anger would have been. Part of me had almost wanted her to yell.

"All right." She stood, smoothing her slacks. "You two can go. I won't be attending any celebration. I'm leaving for Europe tomorrow and might be gone a while."

"Mrs. Whitlock—" Adrian started. "Connie is your daughter. She—"

I grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"It's okay, Mom." I kept my voice even. "Could you let Dad know as well? If he'd ever like to meet Adrian, we're happy to—whenever works for him."

"Don't bother. Your father's very busy."

She opened the closet and went back to packing, pulling out dresses one at a time and holding them up in front of the mirror. My marriage, apparently, was already settled business. The more pressing question was what to wear in the south of France.

Whatever small hope I'd been carrying quietly dissolved.

I forced a smile, though it felt wrong on my face. The kind that sat on my lips without reaching anything underneath.

"Of course. We won't take up any more of your time."

She made a sound of acknowledgment.

That was it.

I packed a few things from my room, then followed Adrian back through the house and out the front door. The afternoon light cut across the lawn in long, pale strips.

Back in the car, I buckled my seat belt with hands that felt slightly too stiff, then turned to look at Adrian in the driver's seat.

I managed a somewhat strained smile.

"I'm sorry about that. My family is just... like this."