Chapter 4 The Arrival

At the Hawthorne mansion.

Emma followed Alex's wheelchair through the massive front doors, her single duffel bag in hand, her wedding dress exchanged for a simple blouse and trousers.

"You'll have your own suite," Alex said, his voice distant, formal. The warmth from the chapel was gone. "Harris will show you."

Emma wanted to ask about the kiss. Wanted to know what it meant. But his face was closed, his walls back up.

"Of course," she said.

A butler appeared, Harris, silver-haired, expressionless. "If you'll follow me, Mrs. Hawthorne."

She followed him up a sweeping staircase, acutely aware of Alex's eyes on her back. When she glanced back, he was already wheeling away, disappearing down a corridor.

Her suite was at the end of the hall, a sitting room, a bedroom, a bathroom larger than her entire village house. Fresh flowers sat on every surface.

Emma set her duffel bag on the bed and walked to the window. The grounds stretched for acres, gardens, fountains, a hedge maze in the distance. It was beautiful.

It was a cage. She had just begun to unpack when the door swung open.

The woman who stood in the doorway was striking. Tall, with the same sharp cheekbones as Alex. Her expression was set to murder.

"You must be the replacement," she said.

Emma set down her blouse. "Isabella."

"So you know who I am." Isabella stepped inside, letting the door swing shut. "Then you know I don't approve of this. Any of it."

"I don't need your approval."

Isabella's eyes narrowed. "You think you're clever. Walking in here with your quiet voice and your sad little bag. But I've seen women like you before. Gold-diggers who see a disabled man and think he's an easy target."

Emma studied her. The anger was real, but beneath it, she saw fear. A sister terrified of losing her brother.

"I'm not here for his money," Emma said quietly.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because your family paid my family to take you off the hook."

Isabella blinked. The hostility faltered, just for a moment.

"I don't want to be here," Emma continued. "I don't want to be married to a stranger. I don't want to live in a house where everyone looks at me like I'm a disease. But I signed a contract, and I keep my word."

She picked up her blouse again, resuming her unpacking.

"So you can hate me if you want. You can watch me every day, waiting for me to make a mistake. But I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not going to hurt your brother."

Isabella stared at her for a long moment. Then she laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.

"You sound just like him, you know. That's exactly how Alex talks about this marriage. A transaction. A business arrangement." Her voice cracked. "He's been pushing everyone away for two years. And now he's married to a woman who doesn't even want to be here."

She turned to leave, then paused at the door. "If you hurt him," she said, "I will destroy you."

She was gone before Emma could respond.

***

That night, Emma couldn't sleep.

She lay in her enormous bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the kiss from the chapel. The way his lips had moved against hers. The way his fingers had tangled in her hair. The way he had looked at her after, like she was something unexpected.

She got up at midnight, pulled on a robe, and walked down the hallway.

Alex's suite was at the opposite end. The door was closed. No light shone underneath.

Emma stood there for a long moment, her hand raised to knock. Then she heard it, a sound from inside. A footstep.

A walking footstep. Her heart stopped. She pressed her ear to the door. Another footstep. And another. A steady rhythm, back and forth across the room.

Alex was walking. Emma stepped back, her mind racing. The file said he was paralyzed. The media said he was paralyzed. His wheelchair was his constant companion.

But he was walking. In the middle of the night, behind closed doors, he was walking.

She didn't knock. She returned to her room, closed the door, and sat on her bed for a long time, thinking.

The next morning, she found him in the conservatory. He was in his wheelchair, facing the gardens, a blanket draped across his lap. He didn't turn when she entered.

"You're up early," he said.

"I couldn't sleep." Emma walked to stand beside him. "Alex, I need to ask you something."

He glanced at her, his expression guarded. "What?"

She looked at the blanket covering his lap. At the legs that shouldn't work.

"How long have you been able to walk?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Alex's hands tightened on the arms of his wheelchair. His face went very pale, then very still.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Emma's voice was calm. "Last night. I heard you walking across your room."

He stared at her. She watched him calculate, recalibrate, decide. The mask he wore, the mask of the broken heir cracked. Beneath it, she saw something sharp and utterly dangerous.

"If you tell anyone," he said, his voice soft, "I will destroy you."

Emma didn't flinch. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't care why you're doing it. It's none of my business. We have a contract. One year, and I walk away. What you do with your legs in the meantime is your problem."

Something shifted in his expression. The threat was still there, but beneath it, she saw curiosity, interest.

"You're not afraid of me."

"Should I be?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he reached down and lifted the blanket from his lap. Beneath it, his legs were strong, muscular, completely functional.

"My accident was two years ago," he said quietly. "A car bomb. They never found who planted it. I spent eight months learning to walk again. And while I was gone, the people who wanted me dead took everything. My position, my reputation and allies."

He looked at his hands, then back at her.

"The wheelchair is armor. As long as they think I'm broken, they underestimate me." Emma absorbed this without comment. "And the marriage? Where does that fit?"

"Insurance." His smile was wry. "A wife makes me look stable and normal. Less like a man plotting revenge."

He paused, studying her face. "I didn't expect them to send me someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"Someone who noticed what two years of doctors and nurses never saw." He leaned forward. "Someone dangerous."

Emma felt the word settle into her chest. No one had ever called her dangerous. "Your secret is safe with me," she said. "I signed a contract. That's all this is."

Alex studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "A contract," he agreed. He wheeled toward the lift, then paused. "One more thing."

Emma waited.

"If you're going to live in my house for a year, I need to know what other secrets you're carrying. You saw through my act in less than a day. That kind of perception doesn't come from nowhere."

He turned his head, just enough to see her profile.

"Who are you, Emma?"

Emma smiled. It was not a nice smile. "That's a question for another day, Mr. Hawthorne."