Page 60 of Six Month Wife
Leeland Matthews is the picture of composed power. Of course, he's got the tailored suit, salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, and the kind of presence that turns heads without him saying a word.
He rises as we approach, his sharp blue eyes zeroing in on Adair like she’s a challenge he’s eager to take on.
“You must be Adair,” he says, extending a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
She shakes his hand firmly. Her smile is polite but not overly warm. “Mr. Matthews, thanks for having me. It's a pleasure to meet you, too.”
“Call me Leeland,” he says, settling back in his seat and gesturing for us to do the same. “No need for formalities. We’re family, after all.”
Almost convincing, until you catch the gleam in hiseyes. It’s not warmth, it’s performance. And the condescension? Not subtle.
The first ten minutes crawl by. The waiter drops off waters and menus, but the table’s stiff. Tight smiles. Chilly small talk. Two sharks circling, both pretending not to smell blood.
I try to keep things safe. Weather, Yacht club renovations, Mindless filler. But Leeland cuts right through it.
“So, Adair,” he says, casually placing his glass down like he’s setting a stage. “I hear your wellness café’s had a few bumps.”
My stomach knots. That wasn’t a question. It was a trap.
Mother fucker. I should’ve warned her.
Adair’s spine straightens. No panic, a flicker of steel behind her eyes. She brushes an imaginary crumb from her lap and meets his gaze with a smile I’ve seen disarm men twice his size.
“I wouldn’t call it trouble,” she says lightly. “More like growing pains. Starting something from scratch isn’t for the faint of heart. But I’m sure you know that.”
Leeland’s lips twitch, but he doesn't offer a smile. “Well,” he says, “I could’ve called it a strategic pivot to maintain operational flexibility, but that felt a little too LinkedIn for brunch.”
“Dad,” I warn, my voice low.
“It’s fine,” Adair says quickly, glancing at me before turning her attention back to my dad. “You’ve done your homework. That’s commendable.”
“It’s my job to know who’s tied to my son,” Leeland says. “Regardless of the terms of that arrangement.”
“Even if it’s pretend?”
Adair’s smile is sweet, but her tone could cut glass. She said it out loud.
Until now, we hadn’t named it. Leeland and I danced around the truth, both knowing but never confirming. I never gave him the satisfaction.
He chuckles, leaning back like he’s already won. “Even in that context, yes. The estate attorney is as thorough. They’ll be evaluating whether this marriage is genuine—or a convenient shortcut to Parker’s inheritance.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. Her expression doesn’t change, but I know her well enough now to recognize the restraint it takes for her not to go scorched earth. “We’re fully aware of that.”
“They won’t stop at paperwork,” Leeland adds, folding his hands. “They’ll look at everything. Socials, address history—hell, probably your Amazon orders.”
Adair’s quiet for a beat, eyes locked on his. I can practically hear the gears turning.
Then she leans forward slightly. “Well,” she says, calm and cool, “I’m glad to hear everyone’s doing their due diligence. That money must mean a lot to you. Would be a real shame if it all went to charity because someone decided Parker and I weren’t convincing enough.”
Leeland’s jaw ticks slightly.
A crack. Barely there, but I see it. And holy shit, it’s beautiful.
Fuck, yeah. That’s my wife!
Adair isn’t done. “But for the record, Mr. Matthews, sorry, Leeland, my business and the product line I'm developing and marketing don’t depend on anyone’s inheritance. I have several options for saving and growing my business. So, you don’t need to worry aboutmebeing here for thewrongreasons.”
Her voice is even. Measured. But there’s steel in it, too.
