Page 31 of Claiming Genevieve

I chuckle. “Is that your experience?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve spent time around Dimitri and Alek, since they’ve been married to Evelyn and Dahlia. Dimitri is—uptight. Cold. Focused. I suppose that’s the side of him I see, and not the one Evelyn sees, since I’ve heard plenty of gossip from her.” She lets out a small laugh, rolling her eyes. “And Alek is—he’s brutal. I know that. Dangerous. Dahlia loves it. I was there the night they met.”

“Really?” I look at her with interest. I know very little about the Yashkov brothers, since I’ve only just come back. Dimitri is more of my concern than Alek, since he’s thepakhan. But I’m fascinated simply by the fact that Genevieve is talking to me more than she has since we met.

Genevieve nods. “At Hush. It’s this super exclusive club. Chris has a membership there, and he let me use it, so I took Dahlia. Alek was there that night, and the moment they saw each other—” Her mouth tilts in a rueful half-smile. “I was never surprised that things went the way they did between them. The moment they met was magnetic. Explosive. I could see it, even if Dahlia couldn’t. She’s always liked those types of men, though. The dangerous, ill-advised kind.”

“And what kind of man do you like,taibhseach?” I let a hint of flirtation into my voice, and Genevieve smirks at me.

“Ones that don’t get in my way. That doesn’t interfere with my plans for my life.”

I frown at her. “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”

She frowns right back. “My career was exciting. Mylifewas exciting. I was fulfilled every day when I went to rehearsal, when I hit another goal, another success on the path that I planned for myself. Reckless, passionate love wasn’t what I was ever looking for.”

“And now?” The question comes out before I can stop it, even as I realize that it’s senseless to ask. It’s not what I’m looking for, either, so why would I even say it? Reckless passion, yes—I’ve always sought that out. Butlove?

I’m not interested in that.

Genevieve opens her mouth as if to answer, but we’re interrupted before she can. At the table next to ours, my father pushes himself to his feet just long enough to lift a glass, tapping a spoon against it to silence the room. The guests all pause and turn toward our tables, and I look over at him, reaching for my glass in expectation of a toast.

“Thank you all for coming here tonight,” my father begins, his voice more raspy than it used to be, a bit weaker. He clears his throat and continues. “While I’m surprised at my son’s choice of bride—” A low hum of laughter passes through the room, and I press my lips together in annoyance. He didn’t push back against the idea of my marrying a ballerina without any connection to the families as much as I had thought, but I suspect that was only because of the timeline that we’re on. If he wasn’t staring down the dark path of his own mortality, I don’t think my engagement to Genevieve would have gone nearly as smoothly. As it is, I think he’s just pleased I’m marrying at all without argument.

“—I’m pleased to welcome Ms. Fournier into our family,” he continues. “I’m sure that they will both carry this family into a new generation and a new era, and I hope you all will be present to celebrate their marriage in just a few short weeks. Time is of the essence for me, unfortunately, and I’m pleased that my son has agreed to not only give me both a daughter-in-law but also ensure that there will be future children to carry on the Gallagher name, so that I can rest easy.” He raises his glass, his gaze drifting to me with a pointed look. “To my son, to his new bride, and to the grandson to come! After all,” he adds jovially, though his gaze never leaves mine, “his inheritance depends on it, aye?”

A happy murmur passes through the room, glasses clinking, but I can feel that Genevieve has gone very still next to me. I can feel a chill worming its way down my spine as my father smiles at me, tilting his glass in my direction as he sinks back into his chair.

Slowly, Genevieve turns toward me, her face as smooth and expressionless as a sheet of ice.

“What the fuck was he talking about?”

12

ROWAN

Genevieve’s gaze rests on me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I can see a hint of accusation entering her eyes, but my own thoughts are spinning.

“I read the contract,” she says coolly, her eyes never leaving mine. “There was nothing in it about children.”

“Of course not.” I run a hand through my hair.

“Of course not.” She echoes the sentiment. “I should have thought about this. You need an heir, right? You came home to inherit so that the Gallagher name wouldn’t die off—surely you wouldn’t let that all go to waste?” The suspicion in her voice is clear now, the same suspicion I heard when she accused me of conspiring with Vincent to run into her ‘accidentally’ at the coffee shop. “So our marriage is ‘temporary’, but it comes with a child? What the fuck, Rowan?—”

“Just—slow down.” I raise my hands up slightly, keeping my voice low and my expression as smooth as possible, so that my father doesn’t pick up on any friction between us if he’s still watching. “I don’t know what all that was about.”

“So you aren’t planning on having a child to inherit after you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know—not withyou.” I shake my head as she looks slightly taken aback. “Oh bloody Christ, Genevieve, don’t take offense to that when you don’t want it either. All I mean is that yes, maybe someday I’d come around to the idea. Hell, maybe one day I’d come around to the idea of marrying some boring socialite that I can see occasionally, have a frigid fuck with, and then have her give me an heir. But I sure as hell don’t want that right now, and so I needed a different solution to pacify my father for the time being, aye? You were that solution. We’ve been over this. But nowhere didchildrencome into that.”

Genevieve eyes me, and I’m not sure she’s buying it. I let out a sharp breath and push my chair back, standing up. “Come with me.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Just come with me. We’re going to go look at the contract. Neither of us recalls anything about children in it, aye? So let’s settle this. Maybe it’s just my father joking around. Wishful thinking.” I hold out my arm so that she can use it to steady herself as she gets up.

Genevieve looks at me for a moment longer, and then takes my arm, rising slowly from her seat. I get her crutch and hand it to her, helping support her as we start to make our way to a side door that will lead out into the rest of the house.

“Where are we going?” she asks as we step out into the hall, the door shutting behind us. The noise of the party fades behind it, and I’m suddenly aware of how close she is to me in this silent, empty hall.

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