Chapter 8
Elena
It wasn't until the car pulled out of the parking lot that I finally came back to myself, still reeling from those words of his—we're married.
I knew the terms of our contract by heart, and yet I couldn't bring myself to admit our marriage in front of strangers. Perhaps even if I had, no one would have believed that Elias was my husband. I'd seen it plainly on the sales clerk's face—that flash of disbelief. How could a Cinderella in secondhand clothes ever catch the eye of a prince? No doubt they whispered among themselves that I must have used some shameful trick to win his heart.
Elias's mother would probably think the same. She would surely assume I had schemed and connived my way into seducing her son. I was certain she wouldn't approve of me—a commoner, a nobody who'd wandered in from the wrong side of the tracks.
I turned my head toward the window. The sky was darkening, and all of Manhattan blazed with light. The traffic signal turned red, and the car eased to a stop.
Elias glanced over and gently drew me out of my thoughts.
"My parents have a place out on Long Island. They come back to New York now and then for a getaway, but we won't be living there. It's a bit of a drive—you should get some rest."
My mind was too busy rehearsing the coming encounter. My heart hadn't stopped pounding since I'd learned of this visit. Sleep was the last thing on my mind. I had only one thought: don't slip up, and above all, don't embarrass Elias.
I didn't answer him. Instead I asked, "Elias, what do we need to do to look like a real married couple? I've never done anything like this before. I'm truly afraid I'll ruin everything."
He pulled over to the curb and cut the engine. Then he turned toward me, reached out, and once again closed his fingers around my hand.
The sudden gesture startled me, and my whole body went rigid.
"What—what are you doing?" My voice stumbled over the words, my heart leaping into my throat.
"Relax." His voice was soft, coaxing me along little by little. "Elena, we're married. Holding hands, embracing, kissing—these are the things that show we're close. So you'll need to get used to this kind of contact between us, and fast. My mother is an expert at reading people. She'll see through us in an instant. That flush on your face right now, for instance—it's more than enough to make her suspicious."
I froze, and the gravity of it hit me at once.
Before today, Elias and I had met only three times. There was no groundwork of feeling between us at all. And so, in both of those moments when he'd taken my hand, I hadn't been able to control my reactions—the blush, the stammer.
This was bad. I had to prepare myself in advance.
I had to grow accustomed to any physical contact with Elias. This wasn't a matter of emotion—it was a job, one I had to see through flawlessly. Tonight, I told myself, I would be a first-rate actress. I would play a woman deeply, hopelessly in love with Elias—one who would die for him if she had to.
At that thought, I turned my hand and clasped his in return, my voice firm. "Elias, don't worry. I won't ruin this."
He smiled, lifted the back of my hand to his lips, and pressed a light kiss to it. "It's all right. I'll be right there with you."
My heart hammered, and my fingers tightened involuntarily.
Oh, God. What was I supposed to do?
Still, I kept my expression as natural as I could manage. No one could have guessed how wildly my mind was racing.
Two hours later, the car turned into a sprawling estate community. Even now, at night, the grandeur and opulence of the place were unmistakable in the dark.
I had never set foot in a neighborhood like this. I'd heard that the lots here ran an acre or more, that a waterfront estate could fetch as much as a hundred million dollars. There were private beaches with world-class amenities, polo grounds—finance titans and Hollywood stars all made their homes here. I'd never imagined I'd be granted entry to a place like this.
But it also made me truly grasp the gulf between Elias and me. All the more reason to keep an absolutely clear head within this marriage. I couldn't let myself get swept up in it, and I certainly couldn't let myself develop feelings for Elias. For now, at least, I was nothing more than a tool to get him out of a bind.
The car passed through a stretch of oak woods and drove straight up to the wrought-iron gate at the far end, its patterns cut in delicate scrollwork. Once inside, I saw a house built in the Colonial Revival style—cream-white walls beneath a deep green roof, the carved trim along the eaves both elegant and imposing. Glass sunrooms extended from either side of the house, connecting to an outdoor terrace and a pool, where wicker lounge chairs were arranged.
Even though Elias had said his parents only came here on occasion, the grounds and the house were kept in impeccable order—clearly no small expense.
The car came to a stop, and Elias got out first, coming around to my side to open the door for me. I took his arm and drew a deep breath. His other hand settled gently over mine, and the warmth of it steadied me.
"Elena, don't be nervous. I'm here."
I nodded and fell into step beside him toward the house. Before we even reached the door, a figure came flying out to meet us.
"Oh my God—you're finally here!"
"My sister, Sophia," Elias said. "She's studying biomedical engineering at Yale." He turned. "Sophia, this is my wife, Elena. She's an attorney at a Big Law firm."
There wasn't a trace of upper-class arrogance in Sophia. She smiled and looped her arm through mine with an easy familiarity. "Come on, dinner's been ready forever. Any longer and I'll starve to death."
A faint smile curved Elias's lips as he let her tow me toward the sitting room.
There, seated on the sofa, was a woman of poised and graceful bearing. She wore a tailored couture gown, and her flawless makeup made it impossible to guess her age. But I could see Elias's features echoed in the line of her brows and eyes, and I knew at once this had to be his mother, Vivian.
I gathered my courage and introduced myself. "Ms. Vivian, I'm Elena—Elias's wife." The moment the words left my mouth, it struck me that they weren't quite right. Perhaps I should have addressed her differently. "I should be calling you Mother."
Vivian wore a smile, but it wasn't directed at me—it was for Elias.
"Elias, is work going well? You know, you left in such a hurry last time. Your father was quite upset about it."
She ignored me entirely, brushing past me to stand before her son. I lingered awkwardly to one side, like an outsider looking in. I understood: Vivian didn't like me. She was snubbing me outright, arrogantly, to put me in my place.
Sophia gripped my hand hard and shot me a helpless look, as if to tell me that's just how Vivian is—don't take it to heart.
"I had the chef make your favorite, especially for you—"
Vivian couldn't have cared less who I was. She simply moved to pull Elias toward the dining room.
But Elias didn't budge. He stood there, frowning at her.
"Mother. My wife was speaking to you. Did you not hear her?"
