Chapter 4 4

The dining room table was long enough to land a small plane on. It was set with twelve candelabras, though there were only two place settings: one at the head, and one at the very opposite end, miles away.

Elsie sat at her end. The soup in front of her-some kind of cold cucumber puree-was untouched.

The chair at the head of the table was empty.

Godfrey poured her wine. "Mr. Hunter will be dining in his study tonight. He is feeling... indisposed."

Elsie looked at the empty chair. "Indisposed. Right."

She ate quickly, the silence of the house pressing against her ears. She finished her wine in one gulp.

"Where is the study?" she asked Godfrey.

"The West Wing, Madam. But Mr. Hunter gave strict instructions-"

"I'm his wife," Elsie said, standing up. "I don't follow instructions from the staff. No offense, Godfrey."

"None taken, Madam," Godfrey said, though he looked terrified.

Elsie marched toward the West Wing. The corridors here were darker, the air cooler. She found the double oak doors at the end of the hall. She didn't knock. She was tired of the games. She wanted to know why he was avoiding her after dragging her into this gothic nightmare.

She pushed the door open.

"Hardin, we need to-"

She froze.

Hardin was standing by the window. He wasn't in the wheelchair. He was leaning heavily against the heavy oak desk, his knuckles white as he supported his weight. He held a tumbler of whiskey in his other hand, looking out at the moonlit grounds.

He spun around fast, but the movement made him sway. He gripped the desk tighter to steady himself, his face tightening in what looked like pain.

"Do you not know how to knock?" he snarled, though his voice lacked the booming power of a healthy man.

Elsie paused, processing. He was standing, yes, but he looked like a strong wind would knock him over. "You skipped dinner," she said.

"I wasn't hungry."

"We have a deal," Elsie said, walking into the room. "The deal involves appearances. Eating dinner alone on my first night doesn't look like a happy marriage."

"There is no audience here, Elsie," Hardin said. He took a sip of whiskey. "Just you and me. And I don't like looking at you."

The insult landed like a slap.

"Why?" Elsie asked. "Because I remind you that you're dying?"

"Because you remind me of everything I hate," Hardin said. "Greed. Desperation. You're a gold digger, Elsie. Let's not pretend you're here for my sparkling personality."

"I'm here because I had no choice," Elsie shot back.

"Everyone has a choice. You chose the money." He opened a drawer and pulled out a checkbook. "How much? How much to leave me alone for the rest of the night? Five thousand? Ten?"

Elsie stared at him. "I don't want your money."

"Bullshit," Hardin laughed. It was a cruel sound. "That's all you want. You want the payout. You want to be the tragic Widow Hunter in black Chanel."

He pushed off the desk and walked toward her. His steps were slow, measured, as if he were calculating the energy cost of each one. He stopped inches from her. He smelled of sandalwood and expensive scotch.

"Prove it," he whispered.

"Prove what?"

"Prove you're earning your keep." His eyes dropped to her chest, then back to her face. "If you're really my wife, then perform."

Elsie's face burned. "What are you talking about?"

"Jed said you were boring," Hardin said. He saw the flinch in her eyes and pressed harder. "He said you were a prude. Maybe that's why he cheated. Maybe if you were more... adventurous, he wouldn't have looked elsewhere."

It was a low blow. It was beneath him. But Hardin needed her to hate him. He needed her to run away, to keep her distance, because every time she got close, his heart did something that had nothing to do with failure and everything to do with want.

Elsie's hands clenched into fists. The shame washed over her, hot and stinging. But then, something snapped.

She looked at this arrogant, cruel man. She saw the challenge in his eyes. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to flee.

No.

Elsie raised her chin. A cold smile touched her lips.

"You want a show, Hardin?" she asked softly. "Is that it? You're too sick to do anything but watch?"

Hardin's eyes narrowed. "Careful."

"You want to see if I'm worth the money?" Elsie reached for the top button of her blouse. "Fine."

She undid the first button.

Hardin's breath hitched. He hadn't expected her to call his bluff.

She undid the second button. Her collarbone was exposed, pale and smooth in the dim light.

"Is this what you want?" she asked, stepping closer. She was invading his space now. "Do you want to see what Jed gave up?"

She reached for the third button.

Hardin didn't move. He was frozen, his eyes locked on her fingers. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the gold irises. The air in the room grew thick, charged with a static electricity that made the hair on Elsie's arms stand up.

She wasn't scared anymore. She was furious. And she was powerful.

"Well?" she challenged, her fingers lingering on the fabric. "Are you going to stop me, or are you going to watch your investment?"