Page 59 of Accidental Groom
If Elena is going to have any chance at making a choice like I’m trying to allow her to, George has to grow up, step up, and at the very least, apologize. She’s motivated by spite and revenge at this point, and I know damn well she’d choose to stay with me just to annoy him instead of deciding what she actually wants for herself.
But that means George has to stop hiding behind excuses and stop blaming everyone but himself.
He has to be an adult for once in his life.
I press my palm flat against the glass, the weight of it all bearing down.
Geraldine, gone.
George, poisoned by grief and indulgence.
Elena, finally getting a chance to fight for her own life.
And me — a man who thought he could control everything, standing knee-deep now in a mess of his own creation.
But for the first time in a long time, I know what matters to me right now. Not the contracts, not the empire, not the Switzerland project, not the whispers in Manhattan clubs or the headlines in glossy magazines.
It’s her.
Her laughter when she forgets to hold it in, her freckles and the way they shift when she scrunches her nose, the way she saysourswhen she talks about the life growing inside of her, even though she’s still not sure what the hell either of us is doing.
It feels like she’s mine. And I feel like I can admit to myself that I want her to be.
I just have to let her choose it.
Chapter 19
Elena
The dining room at the flagship Highcourt Hotel feels more like a stage than a restaurant. Heavy velvet curtains drape across tall windows, candles flicker in crystal holders, and silverware gleams on tablecloths under low lights. It’s the kind of place where someone goes on a date — not hosts an impromptu intervention for a twenty-eight-year-old delinquent.
I smooth my dress down, the emerald silk clinging uncomfortably, but I’m not sure if that’s because I know the eyes that will look at me in the private dining room won’t like what they see or because of the inevitable bump that will show soon.
Harry’s hand rests firm against my back, grounding me. He bends down to me as we stand just outside the door to the private dining room, his voice low in my ear. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, swallowing before turning to look up at him. My heart hammers against my ribs. “I can handle it.”
He studies me for a moment, his eyes sharp and searching, before nodding. “All right,” he sighs. “If George crosses a line, I’ll end it. We’ll go.”
I nod back, grateful for something solid beside me. He’s always steady, always immovable — at least when it comes to everyone else.
He opens the door, and we step inside.
Grace, Harry’s sister, is already seated. She’s elegant in an understated way, dressed in navy with her auburn hair pulled back in a loose twist. There’s warmth in her eyes when she spots me, an easy grin spreading across her cheeks. Beside her sits Liam, her son — sixteen and lanky with the beginnings of stubble and a restless energy that makes his leg bounce constantly in his chair. His expression is guarded, though, one that clearly says he’s not thrilled to be dragged to a family summit.
And then there’s George.
He’s sprawled at the opposite end of the table, wine glass in hand, posture lazy in his open suit, his eyes already staring us down with challenge. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t pretend at all with politeness, just raises his glass slightly, mocking. “Well, if it isn’t the happy couple.”
Harry ignores him and guides me into my seat at his side, then takes his own. The silence that follows is thick, weighed down by eyes glancing around at each other, trying to pick this apart before it even begins. Grace tries to smooth it over by asking if I’ve settled into the Highcourt Hall cottage, but George cuts in before I can answer.
“Why are we here, Dad? Is this a family reunion or a group lecture?”
Harry doesn’t flinch. He places his napkin across his lap, smooth as steel, before resting his chin on his fist and looking directly at his son. “We’re here because you need to hear some things face-to-face.”
George leans back, bringing his wine glass in toward his chest. “This should be good.”
Harry’s voice stays even, but the weight in it makes my hair stand on end. “You’re not inheriting anything. Not the business, not the estate, not a cent beyond the trust already established.”
