Page 28 of Craving Oblivion

Alistair’s hand tightened at my waist, and at least fifty sets of eyes were glued on me.

“Such a lovely couple,” I heard Lady Seymour murmur.

“They’ll be the new Meghan and Harry,” someone added.

“Alistair says her foreign blood will strengthen our Eastern fiscal ties,” Alistair’s father said. His voice carried a bit, and the underlying concern permeated both his expression and tone. “But I hope she’s ready to start a family, give up that career nonsense and give us grandbabies. A woman needs her place.”

I stiffened, affronted by his words. “I’m a person, you know,” I said, keeping my voice low, expression neutral. “And I don’t intend to quit working.”

“Father’s pompous,” Alistair said with a charming smile. “He means well but can’t understand why I’d be head-over-heels in love with you when I could have chosen a sweet English girl.”

My gaze slid back to Lindsay. Even she, half American, would be preferred as a Seymour bride. So what had made Alistair seek me out? My stomach sunk as if I’d swallowed lead.

“A nice English girl who planned to pop out kids?” I asked. “When would you tell me I couldn’t work any longer? A year? Two, if you felt generous?”

“Why would you want to work?” Alistair asked. “You have enough money to—”

And there it was. The real reason he’d sprung this brunch on me. He planned to use my money and force me out of my career—just as Jenna had said.

I clenched my fists, grounded by the throb of my burned fingers. “How much did my father offer you?”

Alistair blinked. His mouth tightened but he turned me gently, cupping my shoulder blades. “Is your self-confidence so terrible that you cannot believe I love you?” he murmured. But his blue eyes were calculating behind that soft expression.

“I’m assuming the amount is substantial,” I continued. “Did he tell you about my trust fund, or did you already know about it when you sought me out at that party last year?”

Alistair’s lips tightened. “This is vulgar, Aya. We’re at our engagement party.”

I touched the bracelet once more before straightening my spine. “You never asked me to marry. And for the record, the money is all in a trust that requires my signature as well as my solicitor’s, not Lord Aldringham’s. He cannot touch the money, nor can he offer it to you. I bet he failed to mention that. Just as he failed to mention that I don’t get access to more than half of the money without further stipulations.”

Stipulations I hadn’t bothered to read.

I’d rectify that, soon.

No more allowing others to dictate to me. No more hiding behind old hurts, the humiliation and shame of my past. No more.

My mother’s smiling face flashed into my mind. “You are worth so much more than you give yourself credit for, mon mignon,” she used to whisper. No, I was worth exactly what I allowed myself to be worth. And I needed to show my father what that meant.

As Alistair paled and cut a scathing glance toward my father, I knew I’d guessed correctly. He cared more about my money than me.

“If you’d bothered to ask, I would have explained my financial situation to you,” I told him. “And now, because you tried to force me, the answer is definitely no.”

I spun on my heel and threaded my way out of the restaurant, clutching that stupid tassel as if it were a talisman.

14

Aya

I stepped out onto the street, back straight, chin up, and my legs trembling. I assessed the row of gleaming vehicles at the curb and a distant double-decker bus as my heart continued to race like maracas.

Returning to my flat didn’t seem smart. My father would show up and rage. Still, I had to leave this area before Alistair tried to talk me into his way of thinking.

I’d gone along with it before, not caring enough, but… Jenna’s comments continued to flit through my head. And the malas, my malas, I decided, had ignited some tiny spark inside me. Now a flame had flickered to life. I didn’t wish to be the foreign bride of a British aristocrat as my mother had been.

I clutched my handbag to my chest, feeling a little lightheaded. What a bloody awful time to realize my blunders. Rain dripped down my face and into my eyes. Not a taxi in sight. I turned left and began to walk, in three-inch heels not made for traversing distances. I pulled out my phone, hoping to find a rideshare vehicle nearby that could take me to a hotel where I could regroup.

“Need a lift?”

I turned toward the street to find Lindsay in the back of a charming, mid-century Aston Martin painted a sparkling black, its chrome shined to gleaming. I hesitated.

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