Page 34 of Claiming Genevieve

I could abandon it all,I think. I could relinquish the responsibility of the inheritance, this family, this heir that I’m being forced to produce so much more quickly than I ever intended to. I never really wanted any of this. I wanted the life I had before, a life of relative ease and freedom, attending to business when necessary while living as I pleased in a place that felt more like home than my family’s estate, than New York ever has.

But there’s no one else to inherit. I have no idea who is named in my father’s will to take it all if I don’t, but it won’t be a Gallagher. That duty, drilled into me since I was small, seemingly took root despite my best efforts, because I don’t feel that I can walk away. Not without a guilt that would suck the joy out of all else I do afterwards.

“Yes,” I say finally, taking a deep breath as I look at her—this woman who has made me lose all sense.

“I agree to your terms.”

13

GENEVIEVE

Wedding planning is a dizzying flurry of activity.

I haven’t seen Rowan in days—not since the night of our engagement party—but he’s been on my mind constantly. He can’tnotbe, since I’m mostly occupied planning a wedding in what must be a world-record shortness of time.

Rowan told me the night that we signed the contract that the wedding would happen quickly, on account of his father’s health. But the added deadline of getting me pregnant has only added urgency. I know Rowan is thinking of the ticking clock, that if I’m not pregnant despite our best efforts by the time his father passes, none of this will matter. He’ll lose his inheritance anyway, and then what?

I slip a summer sundress over my head, criss-crossing the straps in the back and tying them off as I glance in the mirror. The dress is long enough that it hides most of my cast in the front, but I can still see it peeking out from just under the skirt. And, of course, whenever I move, the slits in the side open and show it all off.

I blow out a sharp breath as I look in the mirror. Pretty much every skirt or dress I own, I bought because they show off my legs to their best effect. I’ve always been proud of my legs—always thought they were my best feature. Now I’m paying for that vanity, I guess. There’s no hiding the cast that envelops my leg from foot to mid-calf.

I’m going to be wearing it when I walk—or rather, hobble—down the aisle, for fuck’s sake. Rowan tried to convince his father that we should have a small, private ceremony, in order to spare me that. It was sweet of him—yet another sweet thing from a man who has turned out to be surprisingly thoughtful. It almost makes me want to soften towards him, but I can’t.Especiallynot now that we’re going to be married.

Especially not after the way he kissed me the night of our engagement party.

Unthinking, I reach up and touch my lips, remembering the way it felt. No one has ever kissed me like that before. Like he washungryfor me. Like he’d imagined the kiss a hundred times before it ever happened. I remember how it felt to be in his lap, leaning against his hard chest as his mouth devoured mine, his thick cock pressed against my?—

I shake my head, clearing the fantasy. It will be reality soon enough, but that reality needs to be clinical. Detached. A job.

If I let it be anything else, I’ll be asking for trouble.Rowancould be trouble. He’s infuriating and mischievous and reckless…but he also makes me want things, makes me feel things that I never have before. And very soon, I’m going to be his wife.

I have to keep some distance, or I’ll start believing the fiction we’ve made up.

A knock comes at the door. “Genevieve?” Dahlia calls from outside. “Are you almost ready to go?”

“Just about. You can come in,” I call back, and the door opens, Dahlia stepping inside.

She’s wearing a pretty floral wrap dress that shows off the slight swell of her four-month bump in a way that makes her look like she should be in a catalog for maternity wear. She’s as beautiful as ever, her blonde hair curled and pulled up in a high, bouncy ponytail, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m so excited to go shop for your wedding dress,” she says, sinking onto the edge of the bed as I pull my hair back into a neat bun. After years of ballet, I can’t bring myself to do a messy bun, no matter how stylish it might be. “Evelyn will be here in a few minutes.”

I take one more look at my hair, the light coming in through the window catching on my ring as I smooth a last loose piece into place. I look at the solitaire sparkling on my finger, and my chest tightens.

I never imagined myself engaged. But I definitely never imagined it like this.

Dahlia hands me my crutches, and I follow her slowly out of the bedroom—a ground-floor guest room, thank goodness—and out to the car, where Evelyn is waiting. She’s wearing a white eyelet sundress, her hair loose, sipping a glass of orange juice.

“There’s champagne,” Evelyn says with a laugh. “Even though Dahlia and I can’t have any. I thought you might want some. You only go wedding dress shopping once.”

It’s a sentiment I remember us expressing to Dahlia, trying to cheer her up despite how thoroughly unhappy she was about her marriage at the time. I smile and nod, biting my tongue. I can’t tell either of them that—who knows? I might get married again, one day in the future, though it’s hardly the main thing on my mind right now. Neither of them can know how temporary this is.

I make myself a mimosa, the dry bite of the champagne distracting me from the tempest in my head. I intend to enjoy the day for what it is—a chance to go shopping with my best friends and pick out a beautiful dress, courtesy of the funds Rowan gave me for the event—even if it is all a sham.

And he gave me more than enough. There’s a five-figure sum sitting in an account for me to use, and he told me that he wouldn’t hear an argument to the contrary—although I had no intention of arguing with him.

If I’m going to marry him and have a baby for him, then I don’t have the slightest problem with letting him pay for my wedding dress.

We have a private appointment at the bridal boutique, and the sales associate—a pretty brunette named Maisie—is waiting for us when we arrive. There are more mimosas and champagne, and a little tray of the kind of small sandwiches and cakes that might be served at a tea party. The whole boutique has a very pink, Victorian feel to it, and it’s honestly adorable.

“A client told me about this place,” Evelyn says as we settle in. “It’s new, but I’ve been hearing rave reviews about the service and selection. I thought it might be fun.”

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