Page 52 of The Unplanned Wedding

Brody shrugs. "It’s a working day."

Yep, like me, some of my brothers consider Sunday a working day.

"And I am the patriarch of this family… Still. So, you boys and girls will come when I call." It’s a statement which brooks no argument. Arthur glances around the table, the look on his features implyingmy-word-is-final.

Brody groans. My youngest brother Connor chugs down water from a bottle like it’s going out style. Tyler’s expression is as immovable as ever.

"Felix,"—Arthur nods in my cousin’s direction—"you have something to tell us?"

The noise at the table dies down again.

Felix clears his throat, "I’m trying out for the Marines." He meets his father’s gaze. "I hope to be half as good at it as my father was."

Quentin seems visibly moved. He swallows, then raises his glass in the direction of his son. "To Felix."

"To Felix." Everyone raises their glasses. I toss mine back, and my assistant refills mine without prompting. I throw that back as well, then rise to my feet. I head toward the house where a woman steps out onto the porch. She’s tall, willowy, and wearing a green dress that reaches below her knees. It’s sleeveless, baring her thin white arms. Her dark hair is a waterfall of health that flows down her back. Her eyes are almond shaped, her skin creamy, and so pale, the sun seems to be reflected off of it to bathe her in an ethereal light.

"Knox." She holds out her hand.

"Priscilla." I tuck her arm through mine and guide her over to the table. She slips into the seat on my left. By the time I’m seated, everyone is silent. All eyes are on me and the new arrival.

"Can I do the honors?" Arthur asks.

I yawn. "By all means."

Arthur frowns, then smooths out his expression. "This is Priscilla Whittington, Toren Whittington’s sister. Toren and I agree that the best way to resolve our family feud and join our collective fortunes is through marriage."

"Sure, you did," Brody snorts.

Arthur ignores him. “Tor couldn’t be here, but he was happy for us to go ahead with announcing?—"

"To cut a long story short, Priscilla has agreed to marry me,” I drawl.

Next to me, my assistant draws in a sharp breath. I hear the sound of glass breaking and look up to see Tyler pushing back from the table.

His jaw is hard, and the skin around his mouth is white. Priscilla stiffens. He looks from me to Priscilla, then spins around and leaves. Interesting. So, Tyler and Priscilla have some history? Not my problem. If he had feelings for the woman, he should have spoken up sooner.

Gramps made it a condition of our inheritance that we get married. I don’t give a fuck about my inheritance, but I realized if I agreed to marry Priscilla, it would send a signal to my assistant that there's no future for us. That this chemistry between us is simply me taking advantage of the situation. That I do not foresee a relationship with her. That’ll make me a bastard in her eyes. And I hope that with this proclamation of my would-be-engagement, she realizes she’s better off without me. That she can dobetterthan me.

Arthur gave me a month to find someone of my own to marry. There's still time, but the only woman who’s caught my fancy is my assistant, and that’s not going to change... The logical thing to do would be to marry her... But my instincts tell me if I do that, I’ll be too vulnerable with her. It would mean getting my heart involved in the equation. It would mean sullying her even more than I already have. It would mean exposing her even more to my proclivities, because I can’t be with her and not want tohave my way with her. I'd deprive her of what's left of her innocence and that...is not something I can let myself do.

Quick, someone nominate me for humanitarian of the year. Here I am, planning to annihilate any hope my assistant has of us being together, but I'm doing it forhergood.

I’ve begun to realize that being a Davenport means getting hitched is inevitable. Might as well be to Priscilla, then. It makes no difference to me. If anything, this is better.

Not only will there be no feelings involved, but Arthur will owe me if I do this. He’ll be beholden to me for helping to bury the ol’ Davenport-Whittington hatchet. Something I can use to my advantage.

It’s why I told Arthur about my decision when I called him after dropping my assistant at home.

I raise my glass and glance around the table. "To my upcoming nuptials."

19

June

I stare out the window of my cramped apartment. The twilight casts long shadows as I gaze absently beyond the glass. The skies above are starless and dark, mirroring the gloom that's taken residence in my chest. I am still reeling from that surreal lunch when my boss announced he's getting married. Judging by the reactions of those around the table, no one else expected it, either.

To say I am heartbroken, not to mention embarrassed, is putting it mildly. My mind keeps going back to those times when he spanked me in the conference room and made me come, then how he made me ride his foot anddidn'tallow me to come at the royal reception, and how he called me his toy in the elevator and spanked me again. To be at the receiving end of his full focus was exhilarating.

---