Chapter 4

The following weekend was supposed to be our visit to my parents, the Winstons. A Southern tradition, the newly married couple presenting themselves.

Alexander called from Zurich. An international banking crisis had erupted. He was needed.

"Emilia, I am so sorry. This is... unavoidable." His voice was strained over the satellite line.

"I understand, Alexander. Duty calls."

But a small, cold knot formed in my stomach.

I drove to my family's Virginia estate alone.

My mother's smile was a little too bright. My father's handshake a little too firm.

"He's a busy man, Emilia. A Senator. Important work." My father said, but his eyes held a question.

Was Alexander regretting his impulsive offer? Was I now just an inconvenient reminder of a family scandal he'd tried to contain?

I pushed the thoughts away.

I remembered the wedding day. The chaos, the humiliation.

And Alexander.

Walking towards me, not with pity, but with a strange, fierce protectiveness in his eyes.

His hand, surprisingly warm, closing over mine after I'd whispered, "Yes."

The way his thumb had almost imperceptibly stroked my knuckles as he led me from the chapel, shielding me from the renewed buzz of the crowd.

"I will not see you dishonored, Emilia," he'd murmured, his voice for my ears alone.

No, he wasn't a man to make such a gesture lightly.

But the doubt lingered.

My mother found me on the veranda, a glass of iced tea untouched beside me.

"Are you alright, darling?"

"Just... thinking."

She sighed. "Jackson was always a disappointment. I just hoped..."

"He's not Jackson, Mother."

But was Alexander truly *mine*? Or was I just a responsibility he'd shouldered?

Evening fell. Dinner was a quiet affair.

Afterwards, my father poured me a small glass of bourbon. "To settle your nerves."

I rarely drank, but the smooth, smoky liquid was a welcome warmth. I had another.

Then, headlights swept across the long driveway.

A familiar, ostentatious sports car rumbled to a halt.

Jackson. And Brandy.

My heart sank. What now?

Jackson swaggered onto the veranda, Brandy clinging to his arm like a gaudy vine.

"Well, well. Drinking alone, Emilia?" Jackson's voice was loud, slurring slightly. He was already half-drunk.

Brandy giggled. "Or maybe she's drinking to forget someone she can't have."

My father stepped forward. "Jackson. This is a private evening."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Winston. We're practically family." Jackson smirked. "Or we were. Until Emilia decided to... trade up?" He eyed me, a knowing look in his bloodshot eyes.