Page 50 of Forbidden Grumpy Boss

There’s so much riding on this deal, and it’s all on us—or more specifically, me—to convince the Caldwells we’re a real couple.

I’m not sure I can pull it off.

By the time we land in London, my nerves are shot. The press is already waiting on the tarmac, cameras flashing again as Caleb bounds out of the plane, and we follow behind him. But before the press can swarm us, a sleek black limo pulls up, the doors opening as we approach.

Inside, I’m greeted by the calm, polished face of Emma Caldwell, all sharp edges and assessing eyes. I noticed she looked prettier in the pictures I saw online.

I’d spent the previous night on the flight googling the Caldwells after Silas slept. To say they were conservative would be an understatement. I wasn’t looking forward to a weekend on their grounds.

“Welcome,” she says smoothly, her gaze flicking between Silas and me. “The family’s really excited to meet you both.”

I nod, trying to smile, but my mind is racing. I can’t afford to mess this up. I have to be the perfect fiancée. The loving partner. The one who makes Silas look good.

But as the car pulls away from the airfield, and we head to the Caldwell Estate, I can’t shake the feeling of doubt creeping in.

Can I really do this?

Chapter eighteen

Silas

I hate it here.

That’s the first thought that crosses my mind as I step into the dining room of the Caldwell Estate. The place is too grand, too pristine, with its chandeliers hanging like crystal spiders above a table long enough to seat a small army.

When we arrived, the rest of the Caldwells weren’t around, so we’d spent most of the day in the giant suite Emma had set us up in. Now, everyone’s back, and it’s time for dinner.

“Is it just me, or are the dead people in these portraits staring at us judgmentally?” Leah asks with her hand in mine.

“Right?”

“Always being here must feel like living in a museum.” Her gaze flies across the walls covered in Caldwell portraits. “How do they do it?”

“They’re old money.” I shrug. “This is all they’ve ever known.”

The whole place smells like wealth—leather, polished wood, and old money. Introductions ensue, and I can feel the quiet assessment of their eyes on Leah.

Leah’s playing her part well beside me. She's in this sleek black dress that hugs her figure, subtle but elegant, with her hair pinned back in a way that exposes the delicate curve of her neck. She looks stunning. Too good, actually. It almost makes me forget this entire dinner is an act.

“I trust you had a great rest?” Henry Caldwell barks as Leah and I take our seats.

“It was pleasant.” I nod, settling into my seat.

He’s seated at the head of the table, his eyes sharp despite the frailty of his body. He’s not looking great—pale, skin stretched thin over his bones, but there’s a fire in his gaze that’s hard to miss. Elizabeth, his wife, sits beside him, a hawk in designer clothing, her lips permanently curled into a skeptical smile.

“How are you liking London so far, Leah?” Elizabeth asks, resting her face on her interlocked hands. “Do I have that right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Caldwell.” Leah shifts in her seat. “But I feel like I haven’t really seen enough of the city to make an assessment.”

I hold her hand on the table for all to see, and she squeezes lightly. The show’s begun, and we need to give the performances of our lives. So far, so good; it’s going well.

“Americans and their terrible habit of staying in their country all their lives.” She practically hisses. “You people refuse to see the world, believing the sun rises and sets in your country.”

“Actually, Silas and I met in Rome,” Leah says, a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

“Is that so?” Kane asks, glancing at his mother as if to say,see?

Kane Caldwell, their son and my friend, sits across from me, sharp as a tack in his navy suit. I wonder where his wife, Tamara, is. Even their kids are polished. Hazel, their baby, is in a high chair, and Dylan, the elder one, is already deep in conversation with Caleb, my son, who looks more at ease than I’ve seen him in weeks.

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