Page 1 of Matrimonial Merger (Lakeshore Empire #2)

Daphne

“You look really tired,” my brother Davey said, concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Daph?”

“I’m good,” I promised, covering a yawn.

“Let me bring you home?—”

“No, I’m good. Are you okay with the presentation?”

“Got it,” Davey closed his laptop. “I am a big boy. The spring campaign will be a hit. Promise.”

I smiled, proud of myself. We had new brand partnerships rolling in.

Licensing deals were my new favorite topic.

And yet? I was having a hard time feeling joy today.

I felt under the weather and exhausted. I should have been excited about announcing our new exclusive handbag deal.

Instead, I wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep.

My brother stopped by the door. “You sure you don’t want a ride?—”

“I’m going to Mum’s,” I said. “I need to pick up a dress and shoes from my closet there.”

“Fundraiser?” Davey said.

“The mayor’s fiancee needs to look beautiful.” I rolled my eyes. “So, here we go. Mum had the housekeeper steam a couple options.”

“Well, good luck, First Lady of Chicago,” Davey teased. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

I gave him a playful salute and slipped my computer in my briefcase.

Off I went to my family’s home on North Astor Street.

Cal, my fiancé, and I moved in together months ago—seemingly piece-by-piece.

Both busy beyond recognition, we struggled with a focus on moving everything at once.

Thus, most of my evening gowns still resided in my childhood closet.

When I arrived back home, I tossed my bag and shoes aside.

“Who is it?” Mum called from the formal living room. It was our housekeeper’s day off.

I called out, “Daphne. I’m just here for a dress!”

My mother was busy with something else and thankfully just responded, “Ah, yes.”

It left me alone to go upstairs and sort through the options on my own.

I’d amassed a collection of dresses fit for a queen in the fall, always on display as Cal’s girlfriend.

But after our engagement was announced over Thanksgiving, my social calendar exploded more.

This week, we had three Christmas parties to attend—thankfully only one was white-tie.

In the new year, I was looking down the nose of multiple engagements a week of varying formality.

Thankfully, when your family owned a high-end department store and you spent sixty hours a week there, you could grab whatever you wanted the minute it showed up.

The personal stylists knew to call me when they got something good.

“It’s Christmas. Go with the red.”

I turned, seeing my mother in peripheral.

“I dunno. I thought black was fine.”

“Oh, no, darling! Impossible! It’s a party! What is it for?”

“This is for the Chicago Democrats,” I said.

“Black is in poor taste. The Lanvin is much better.”

“How did you?—”

“I know everything,” Mum said, satisfied. “I remember when you bought that. It’s beautiful on you.”

“I dunno.” I shook my head and held out the body con gown. “I feel bloated.”

“You’ll look lovely in it. Wear it,” Mum pleaded.

I tossed the Red Lanvin and black Dior down on the bed and stared at them.

“Are you feeling alright?” Mum asked, voice concerned.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Why does everyone keep asking that? Davey was ready to bring me back to Cal’s and tuck me into bed.”

“Because you look knackered. Are you sure you don’t need a nap.”

I let out a long sigh. “Do I need a nap? Yes. Will I get one? No. I have two hours to look perfect. It’s chaos.”

Mum turned me, pulling my chin to hers. She rotated my face one way, then the other. As she examined me down to the pores, I pulled back. “Mum, I am fine .”

“No, you’re not. Are you sick?”

“I’m not. I felt off this morning, but recovered by noon. I didn’t take anything. I think I’m just tired. I wanted to take a nap on my couch at lunch. I promise I will sleep better or something. It might be PMS?”

Mum grimaced. “PMS? You’ve never had PMS.”

“Mother, I absolutely have! I just don’t whine about it. I have terrible cramps?—”

“But are you on your period?”

I shrugged, “I don’t even know. Sometimes I don’t get big periods anymore. The pill helps.”

“And you’ve been taking them reliably?”

“Mostly,” I answered.

Mum left, turning and dipping into the bathroom I shared with my younger sister, Dahlia, in a past life.

Mum emerged. “I will do your hair.. But first? I need you to do something.”

“What?” I asked.

She handed me a pregnancy test. “Take this.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve spent all of my thirties trying to get?—”

“I will do your hair. Just take the test.”

I groaned, lamenting. Holding the test in my hands, I cursed this fate.

These things haunted me—always gleefully laughing in my face.

I flashed back to a time when it was constantly a no.

No matter what science said, my ex always felt it was my fault.

As many times as I’d cried alone in a bathroom afraid to leave it, this felt loaded.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I said. “Fuck it. Let’s just do this.”

I closed my eyes, turned my chin towards the test, then bravely looked.

What faced me first sent a shock down my spine.

Then, I covered my mouth, dumbfounded. A moment before, I was certain I’d be reliving the pain and stress of many past trials, but standing there, it fell away.

I picked up the test, pulling it closer in disbelief.

“I’m… pregnant,” I whispered.

Saying it out loud finally made it real.

But, as happy tears welled in my eyes, reality set in.

This was good news—the news I’d wanted for more than five years—but it was also a bad time.

We should have waited. I should have been better about my pills.

And yet? I didn’t hate it. I only worried about the damage it could do to Cal.

Cal

“Are you sure Daphne wants to spend the day packing bags for needy children?” Jo asked, eyebrow raised.

“Uh… sure,” I said, typing.

“Cal!”

I pulled away from my focus on the screen at her tone. Jo could scare me shitless with her righteous indignation. I needed it.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you really meant to send Daphne out to pack bags—without you.”

“Well, she’s always a good sport,” I said. “Just check with her assistant.”

Jo’s face didn’t change. “If my husband voluntold me without asking for an all-day-long charity event, I’d lose it.”

“She’s the city’s First Lady. It’s what she does,” I said. “She knows the job. Just clear it with her people. She loves kids.”

“I will put it as tentative. Cal, she’s not your goodwill envoy to deploy. She’s the president of a retail holdings company. And while people may expect her to play the good wife, you have to be more mindful.”

I was surprised for the pushback.

“Two months ago, you were saying if we were going to deploy her at all, we needed to soften her image. She ended up being great at charity?—”

“There is a limit, sweetheart,” Jo said.

I snickered. It had been ages since she’d given me such a dressing down. “Okay, I see your point. I just also see that she wants to be distracted. This year is going to be hard for her without David. It’s the first Christmas?—”

“Is it hard for her? Or you? Is it that you might be avoiding some of these things because it is also hard for you?”

Speechless, I sat there aghast at the assumption.

Jo took a deep breath. “Cal, I know you handle things differently. You get down in your feelings and stand around contemplating things—you can be brooding. Meanwhile, Daphne buries herself in work. But, you both need to talk about this. I am not going to be here for the crash.”

I sighed. “You’re not wrong, okay? I will… I will talk to Daph. Put it as tentative for now.”

She nodded, standing and walking to the door.

“And Jo?” I asked.

She turned. “Yes?”

“Thanks for calling me on my bullshit.”

“Anytime,” she agreed.

I looked out the window. It wasn’t the best view I’d had—not by a long shot.

It didn’t compare to the beautiful, expansive one I’d had at Delphine’s.

However, it was well-earned. The city was aglow, trying to make life festive.

It was a beautiful time of year for Chicagoans.

The windows in Delphine’s blew everyone out of the water.

The cultural center would glitter tonight for our annual Christmas gala.

And yet? I wasn’t feeling very jolly. I was missing my friend and helping my fiancée’s family through a difficult season.

Jo poked her head back in. “You should leave, Cal. You still have to get ready. And while you can be a little late, you know your mother will?—”

“Gotcha,” I said. “I will finish up this email and hit the road.”

No one wanted my mother’s ire—much less Daphne.

Things between them were still complicated.

A merger of the Delphines and Markhams was perhaps predictable, but not preferable for Elise Markham—something ironic considering her retail partnership with Delphine’s.

We were still “new”. Daphne’s old- guard family had always annoyed her.

And while Daphne only wanted there to be peace, Mom found any reason to complain. I heeded Jo’s words and headed out.