Chapter 2

Two ceremonies took place that week.

One was mine and Alexander's. A quiet, dignified affair at a judge's chambers in D.C., attended only by my parents and a few of Alexander's closest, most discreet staff.

The other was Jackson and Brandy's. Flashed across gossip sites from Las Vegas, complete with blurry photos of them outside a neon-lit chapel, Brandy in a dress that left little to the imagination. Tacky.

Alexander's home in Georgetown was old, stately, filled with books and an air of quiet power. It was a world away from the Sterling family's sprawling, often chaotic, Long Island estate.

He was considerate, in his own reserved way.

Separate bedrooms, of course. He assured me he expected nothing, that this was to protect my dignity and the family honor.

I saw him mostly at breakfast, his eyes scanning the morning papers, a crease of concentration between his brows. Sometimes his hand would brush mine reaching for the coffee pot, and I'd feel a strange little jolt.

He was always polite, always correct.

Yet, I noticed the way his jaw tightened when Jackson's name was mentioned on the news, usually in connection with some new foolishness.

A few weeks later, Alexander had to fly to an urgent summit in Brussels.

I returned to the Long Island estate to collect some personal belongings I'd left there in anticipation of my wedding to Jackson.

The gardens were where I'd always found peace. I was reading on a stone bench when I heard their voices.

Jackson and Brandy.

They'd returned.

Jackson stopped short when he saw me. Brandy, however, sauntered forward.

"Well, well, look who's still hanging around," Brandy said, a sneer playing on her lips.

Jackson pushed past her. He actually looked flustered.

"Emilia? What are you doing here?"

I raised an eyebrow. "This is still partly my family's concern, Jackson. And I have things here."

A slow, smug smile spread across his face.

"Oh, I get it," he said, nodding. "You're waiting for me."

I stared at him, speechless.

"It's okay, Emilia," he continued, magnanimously. "I know you're upset. Yesterday – or, well, a few weeks ago – that was a mess. I wasn't thinking straight. Brandy needed me."

Brandy preened, looping her arm through his. She deliberately leaned into him, her hand splaying across his chest.

"He's all mine, sweetie," she cooed, then looked pointedly at my simple dress. "Though I guess you're hoping for leftovers."

Jackson waved a dismissive hand at her, though he was clearly pleased.

"Don't worry, Emilia," he said to me. "I made a mistake with how it all happened. Next time, we'll do our wedding properly. A big one. Just like we planned."

He actually winked.

"And then you can give me a couple of sons. Sterling heirs, you know."

My stomach churned. The sheer, unadulterated arrogance.

Brandy giggled, then pulled at Jackson's collar, exposing a fresh, vivid red mark on his neck.

"He's very good at making heirs, aren't you, baby?" she purred, loud enough for me to hear.

Jackson just grinned, a proud, foolish smirk.