Page 8 of The Unwanted Wife

"Your presence helps keep peace between my grandsons and I value that. It makes you family." Arthur straightens his spine. "There are no secrets from you."

I cross my arms across my chest. "You concede you manipulated events so I landed at the bakery of my best friend’s little sister?"

"Oh, were you acquainted with the owner of the bakery?" His eyes are wide with innocence. In fact, the surprise on his features is almost believable. Almost.

"If you expect me to believe you didn’t know about the relationship between me and the woman running the bakery, then you’re mistaken."

"So, there is a relationship between the two of you?" The old man’s eyes sparkle.

"There is nothing between us," I bite out.

"But there could be something in the future. After all, you did ask her to marry you?"

I glower at him. "How do you know that?’

He widens his smile. "A lucky guess?"

When I continue to stare at him, he sighs. "It was a logical conclusion, given how upset you seem, how you reacted to having met the owner of the bakery, and that I had thrown down the gauntlet of you getting married before you could confirm your position as the CEO. Also,"—he raises his hand—"I swear, I had no idea you were acquaintances."

"I’ve met her three times." On the first two occasions, I accompanied Ben home between our deployments. I merely saw her as my best friend’s kid-sister and nothing more. The third time was when she turned eighteen, and she kissed me. And everything changed.

"That’s more than enough time to know if she’s the woman of your dreams." Arthur nods.

"She’s not—" I begin, but with Arthur’s keen gaze on me, I swallow my words.

"The bakery is a good investment," he offers.

"What do you know about bakeries?" I narrow my gaze on him.

"It was Greta’s dream to run a bakery, but it was something she wanted me to be involved with, with her. I always thought it would be something we’d do together when we retired."

"You wanted to run a bakery with you wife when you retired?" Knox gapes at him.

"Indeed. I thought it would be a great way to spend time with my wife, but then Greta passed before I could find a way to slow down. Time"—he glances around the table—" has a way of getting away from you. One moment, you’re getting married; the next, you’re burying your wife. Then, you find you’re estranged from your own children." He turns to me. "You have to believe me when I say, I only want what’s best for you. I want you to have everything I didn’t. Besides, as long as the owner of the bakery isn’t a Whittington or a Madison—though the former is preferable to the latter—and I’m assuming she isn’t either, you have my blessings."

"Not that I asked for it," I scoff. "Also, who’re these Whittingtons and Madisons?"

"Only our mortal enemies."

“But you hate the Madisons more than the Whittingtons?”

“If there were degrees of hate, then yes.” He glares around the table. "As long as I’m alive, there’ll never be a Whittington or a Madison spouse for a Davenport, mark my words."

As if sensing the change in mood, Tiny rises from the floor. With a final bump of his head against my hip, he lumbers over to Arthur. He pushes his big head into Arthur’s shoulder. G-Pa’s features soften. He seems to shake off his anger and pats the mutt’s head. With a sigh, Tiny plants his butt on the floor, but keeps his face pressed against Arthur’s upper arm.

The old man’s repentant about his past and wants to make amends for his transgressions. And I do appreciate the sentiment.

I’m cognizant that he wants the best for us. Only, he wants to maneuver us along and ensure each of us have tied the knot. The reason I’m happy to comply is because I actually want her with me. And this is the perfect opportunity to coerce her into marrying me in return for saving her business. This way, I can ensure she’s by my side where I can watch over her.

Once we have wed, nothing stops Arthur from confirming me as the CEO. Then, I can use my position to steer the future of this company. I’ll use my power to teach the Davenports a lesson for turning away my mother when she was pregnant and refusing to recognize her child. They may have paid her, but nothing can take away the hurt and anger that drove her to an early grave. Arthur might want to repair the damage he caused, but it’s too little, too late. Only taking over the leadership role in the company, and then breaking down Arthur’s life’s work, will suffice. Bringing down the Davenport name is the only way my mother will be avenged.

I push away the prickle of discomfort that trickles down my spine and wave my cigar in Arthur’s direction. "I don’t appreciate the way you’ve finagled me into this arrangement, but fine."

"Fine?" He lowers his chin to his chest. "Care to elaborate?"

I blow out a breath. "Fine, I’ll go through with the wedding."

4

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