Chapter 2

For once, Silas did not look erratic. He looked happy—and frightened that happiness might be taken away.

"Marriage isn't a one-week trial," I told him. "It's not playing house until we get bored. If we do this, it's for real. On paper."

The sheer speed of his nod almost made me smile.

Then he caught me around the waist and spun me once. A laugh escaped him, bright and unguarded. When he set me down, the bridesmaids were smiling despite themselves.

His joy loosened a fraction of the anger locked beneath my ribs.

Since the original marriage license named Preston, it couldn't simply be transferred, and the cruel little ceremony he had planned carried no real legal force anyway.

Silas and I walked out of the resort, got in the car, and drove south to White Plains to pull a new marriage license together.

While the clerk checked our identification before issuing the license, Silas watched every stranger who approached the counter. When an employee reached across him for a form, his hand curled into a fist.

I rested my fingers against his sleeve. Without hesitation, he lowered his hand. When he looked at me, his expression was wary but holding out hope, like a child checking to see if he had done well.

The clerk twice reminded him to confirm the information and look at the signature lines.

He checked the spelling of Maren Caldwell three times before signing. I signed beneath the name Silas Rowan and felt the last pieces of my old future fall away.

New York required a twenty-four-hour wait before the ceremony. We returned to the estate house in the late afternoon and took separate rooms. At dinner, Silas still hadn't let his guard down. He kept the folder holding our license firmly beside his plate, dragging it closer anytime a waiter stepped too near.

And I should have been horrified by the speed of my decision.

Instead, I felt strangely calm.

The next day, after the twenty-four-hour waiting period, an authorized civil officiant married us before an adult witness; all four of us signed the license, and the officiant kept the original for filing.

We left with a stamped ceremony receipt and photocopies of the signed license packet. Silas pressed his copy to his chest as we walked outside.

"You can put it in the folder," I said.

He shook his head.

"It might disappear."

The answer should have sounded foolish. Instead, it made my throat tighten.

In the car, I placed the folder carefully between us.

"I need to make one stop," I said. "Go back to the estate house and wait for me. I will not be long."

His fingers closed around the signed license packet.

"You are coming back?"

"Yes."

He searched my face, then nodded.

Later, I drove to Vale Holdings.

Preston's assistant rushed to stand when she saw me approaching, but before she could speak, I walked right past her and pushed open the door to his executive office.

Preston and Lydia sprang apart at the intrusion.

The scene was painfully obvious. Her blouse hung open at the throat, and his tie lay discarded on the floor. Lipstick stained the corner of his mouth, matching the red marks marring her collarbone. Behind them, the broad surface of his desk was swept clear in the center, flanked by scattered papers and a knocked-over crystal glass.

Seeing the undeniable proof of his hunger for someone else, the question that had haunted me for months finally answered itself.

I used to wonder if his distance was my fault. Once, I had gathered every scrap of courage I had, arranging wine, roses, and expensive lingerie in the apartment we were meant to share. I had genuinely believed I was too restrained, too shy to make him want me.

But he had just looked at me. Looked at me as if I were something dirty.

"Have some dignity, Maren. If that is what you want, find a nightclub. Do not bring it to me."

With that, he slammed the door and left.

That night, I drank the wine alone, then threw the lingerie and roses away. Afterward, I apologized to him for embarrassing myself.

Now the man who claimed to hate my advances had Lydia half undressed on his desk.

She buttoned her blouse slowly and smiled.

"Shouldn't you be entertaining your new husband?" she asked. "You really cannot stay away from Mr. Vale, can you?"

Preston straightened his shirt without shame.

"Enough, Lydia."

He spoke to her gently. Then he looked at me with annoyance.

"I told you not to come here without an appointment. What if an employee sees this scene? Go home. We can reschedule our wedding for next week."

The casual certainty in his voice stunned me more than the betrayal itself.

He still thought the choice belonged to him.