Page 9

EMORY

I stare at the Crownhaven gates that night while leaning against my car in the moonlight and regretting my life choices. I’m also putting off ringing the discreetly placed intercom. Hundreds of feet above my head, the branches of the ancient oaks creak in the wind that comes off the water.

I haven’t been through the formal gates of Crownhaven since I was six years old.

Aiden’s family let our school go on a tour.

A tour . The sheer arrogance of it still makes the breath catch in my throat.

I was in public school at the time, not at Hart’s Hill Prep, but I knew about Crownhaven and the Prince family.

The glimpses I got of Crownhaven that day started a guilty, lifelong obsession with the beautiful estate.

It looks like something from a fairy tale, or a movie. I remember the wild roses and the manicured gardens, the wrought-iron lamps lining the paths, and the old stone buildings, full of secrets and history.

Crownhaven has always had me under its spell, and the estate’s magic starts with its gates—a massive and vaguely menacing tangle of wrought iron that extends ten feet above my head, covered in ivy so dense it looks like the plant is a part of the metal.

The crest of the Prince family is visible through the foliage—an angel and a devil locked in combat over a P and the motto of their House— now is the hour .

That motto is on every bottle of bourbon they sell.

As teenagers, we speculated that the crest on the Crownhaven gates was made of solid gold, and Andreas talked a big game about stealing pieces of it, but no one ever dared.

“I do so enjoy being right,” a voice drawls from my left. “And twice in one weekend. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Aiden.

I didn’t even see him appear, but the clang of the smaller side gate tells me how he got out here. I will myself to be pleasant to him, or at least cordial, because all my eggs are in one Aiden-shaped basket.

“How did you know I was here?”

He tips his head, the elegant planes of his face unreadable in the dimness. “I had security on alert for when you arrived.”

“You were so certain I would come?”

His lips flatten briefly. “If your family reacted anything like mine, then yes.”

“They took it well, then?”

“Grandfather’s exact words were over my dead body .” He shoves a hand through his hair in what amounts to a shocking display of emotion for him.

“My father banned me from the house and told me he’d end the marriage one way or another.”

Aiden whistles under his breath. For a second, he almost seems sympathetic .

The moon comes out from behind a cloud, and the divot above his lips is brushed in silver.

His hair is painted in liquid night, his eyes glimmering pools.

His face has sold thousands of bottles of bourbon.

Of course it has. No man has lips like that, or hair like that, or eyes like that.

Even his eyelashes have been painted with a heavy hand.

Too much. He’s way too much. Looking at him too long makes me feel like I’m drowning in deep water or tucked under too-tight sheets. I can’t draw a full breath.

“So you’re saying I’m your only option?” The illusion of kindness shatters with his words.

I cross my arms. “Don’t gloat.”

He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. On most people, that would amount to a mere flash of humor, but for Aiden, this is basically incandescent joy. “I’m so glad you see things my way.”

I grunt. Being at Aiden’s mercy is not my happy place.

He presses the intercom. “Katie. We’re coming in.”

“Yes, sir.”

He mutters something that sounds like “don’t call me sir” before he strides to the car and lets himself in. I sigh and get back behind the wheel. The sedan feels smaller than before.

The gates split open, the angel and devil forced to part from their eternal battle. A gravel drive unfurls, the trees painting stripes of silver moonlight.

As we continue, the bushes around us become thick and wild, like he doesn’t get a gardener out here. Or maybe the poor man or woman got fed up with his moods and left.

We pass the main house, and he points to the right, away from the building.

Odd. I assumed he lived in the massive Gilded Age mansion.

We turn a corner and drive two hundred yards before gas lanterns flicker on, illuminating a house so beautiful, so heart-wrenchingly perfect, that I’m pushing open the car door mere seconds after I shut off the vehicle.

For once, Aiden is silent as he follows me over the stone path. The cobbles are bordered by thick moss, ferns, and roses. It’s only May, but the scent of flowers is heavy in the night air, under the buzzing of night insects.

The grounds open to the ocean on our left, and the house on our right.

The double doors on the front are flanked by massive windows.

The sunrise over the water would be stunning from this house.

It has bright white gables and dark shingles, and when Aiden opens the door, I suck in a little breath without meaning to.

I love it. My heart squeezes at how much I love it.

There’s an open-plan kitchen and a big, squishy couch.

A huge bookcase, arranged by some system I can’t figure out, full of books I itch to touch.

There are plants in the window and art on the walls, and it looks so wonderfully lived in that I want to curl up on the couch and change the locks.

My apartment is a smaller version of this house, though slightly less masculine. My rugs are handwoven like the ones here, and I have just as many books.

He tips his head, and I follow him up the staircase to the landing, where he pushes open a door.

“You’ll sleep here,” he says.

Something clicks inside me as I take in the room.

There’s a four-poster bed and a massive picture window.

I can’t see the ocean from here, but I can hear it rolling and crashing against the cliffs on the edge of the property.

The wood is warm in the bedroom, and the lamps cast a golden glow over everything.

The colors are Hunter colors too, like someone wanted me to be comfortable here—soft greens and rusty browns.

Linen and velvet and squishy cushions filled with down.

It’s the room I’d imagine for myself if I had unlimited funds and space, right down to the built-in bookshelves and the gently sloping roof.

It feels like a hideaway from the rest of the world, the type of place you picture as a kid.

For the first time, I start to hope that marriage to Aiden won’t be as awful as I imagined. At least I’ll have this house.

“Where will you—” My words cut off as I turn. Aiden is in the bathroom adjoining the bedroom, his long fingers working the buttons at his throat. The hard line of his jaw catches the light. He bares an inch of skin as I watch. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed.” Another inch of skin—smooth and unreasonably tan.

“You’re not sleeping here.”

His eyes light with amusement. Another button, his shirt gaping now, displaying a hard stomach and a chest made of peaks and valleys. “Where did you think I would sleep?” He cocks his head.

“In your own house.”

He grins, broad and pleased, and a sick realization crawls through me. Aiden would only smile at my expense. He holds my gaze as he pushes open the door behind him. I spy another bed, this one with a gold coverlet.

“Oh no.” The words choke from my throat.

“Oh yes,” he drawls. “What’s wrong, evil queen? Is this too close for comfort?”

“Of course it is,” I hiss. A shared bathroom. “This is a nightmare.”

Those cut-gem eyes of his gleam. “This is a love match.”

“Only in public.”

He starts to shrug out of his shirt, and I whirl before I can see any more of what promises to be a very nice body. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes so hard that I see stars.

“I can do this,” I whisper to myself. “One year.”

Or more. Oh god, it can’t be more. The clank of a belt hitting the floor makes my stomach jump. Please don’t let it be more.

Aiden gets ready for bed. When I’m sure he’s gone, I bury my face in his pillow and scream.

It smells like him.

Fuck.