Page 18 of Accidental Groom
“She’s thirty?—”
“She’ll need guidance. Structure.”
“She’ll needrespect.”
“She’ll get whatever you choose to give her.” Ralph waves his hand dismissively, and I almost see red. “Just take her, Harry. She’s yours to do with as you wish. Penthouse, estate — it doesn’t matter to me as long as the business objectives are met.”
The words make me genuinely recoil, the façade I’ve spent years honing cracking just a little.Take her. She’s yours to do with as you wish.
As if she’s a piece of furniture to be rearranged. As if her thoughts, her desires, her autonomy don’t factor into any of this.
But the problem, truly, rests in that I know exactly what I want to do with Elena. I want to strip away every insecurity my son planted in her head, want to show her what it feels like to be wanted, want to explore every sound I discovered she could make, every way her body responds to mine.
But that, I’m positive, is not what Ralph means.
“The arrangements are Elena’s choice,” I say instead, signing my name to the bottom of the last page with more force than necessary, the fine tip of the pen nearly tearing through the paper. “I’ll discuss the living situation with her when I see her later.”
Jason clears his throat. “If there are no further modifications needed, then I believe we’re done.”
Ralph nods and pushes himself up from the chair, straightening his tie. “Excellent,” he announces, and I can’t help but cringe at the formality of it all. “Harry, thank you for… well, stepping up in this situation. I appreciate it couldn’t have been easy.”
He has no goddamn idea.
————
My car idles in the parking garage beneath the Highcourt, the keycard to the room sitting on the dashboard and reflecting the harsh light. The reality of the situation started crashing down on me halfway through the drive — that this needs to be temporary, that I need to find my son and talk some sense into him, that he needs to honor his original commitment. Then Elena and I canget an annulment, she can marry the man she was supposed to, and things can go back to how they should be.
Even if the thought of her with my son makes something dark rear its head in my chest. Even if it means I’m slightly more like Ralph White than I want to be.
I pull out my phone and dial George’s number for what must be the twentieth time already today. It goes straight to voicemail, exactly like it's done for the last twenty-four hours.
“Me.Again,” I grunt down the line, knowing damn well he’s probably not even listening. “Whatever you’re doing, wherever youare, you need to come home. We need to talk. Call me.”
I end the call and try again. Same result.
Cursing beneath my breath, I grab my bag and shove the car door open. Having only one child was supposed to make succession planning simpler. Somehow, though, it seems to have left me with a spoiled, irresponsible heir who runs away when faced with responsibility.
I hate that Geraldine would’ve known what to do with him. She would’ve thought this entire situation was hilarious and had him back home in a heartbeat.
But she’s gone. And I can’t think like that.
When I get back up to the lobby, a flash of dirty blonde hair draws my attention before I can even make it to the elevator. Elena’s sitting on a couch against the far wall, a coffee abandoned on the table in front of her, her sister’s head of dyed auburn hair obscuring half of my view of her. A white and light orange sundress clings to her, accentuating the same breasts I’d practically worshipped last night, pooling around her crossed legs, hanging off her shoulders intentionally.
I’m not entirely sure what to do with the part of me that wants to cross the room to her.
She locks eyes with me, her mouth still moving as she says something I can’t quite hear, her gaze flashing back and forthbetween her sister’s and mine. It’s like she’s questioning the same thing—whether to move or stay—but I know that the part of her that’s telling her to move is likely the same part that coils inwards and follows directions when her father barks an order at her.
Instead, I take a step, and then another, forcing my feet to move. But not to her.
To the elevator.
I shoot her a quick text, just a sentence telling her that I need to speak to her but that it can wait until she has a moment.
And then I go.
Chapter 7
Elena
