Not flashy. Not golden or absurd. It was wide, low, and elegant, built of warm stone and glass, with lights glowing in every window. Beyond it, the mountains were shadows against the night sky.
I stared at it and felt suddenly ashamed of my dusty clothes.
Nathan opened my door before the driver could.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he said quietly.
“Then why bring us here?”
“Because you needed somewhere safe to sleep.”
I wanted to believe him.
A woman waited inside the grand entryway. She was in her sixties, with silver hair pulled back in a neat bun and a face that had clearly mastered the art of not reacting.
“Mrs. Alvarez,” Nathan said, “this is Emily Parker. Her children, Noah and Lily.”
Mrs. Alvarez looked at us for exactly one heartbeat too long.
Then her face softened.
“Welcome,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”
I swallowed. “We don’t want to be trouble.”
“Children are not trouble,” she replied. “Hungry adults pretending not to be hungry sometimes are.”
Nathan glanced at me, and I looked away.
Within twenty minutes, Lily was in a bathtub full of bubbles, laughing for the first time that day. Noah stood in the doorway of a guest room, staring at the bed as if it might disappear if he blinked.
“This whole room is for us?” he asked.
“For tonight,” I said.
Mrs. Alvarez had brought clean pajamas, toothbrushes, and a tray with warm milk and sandwiches. I wanted to ask where they had come from so quickly, but rich people seemed to live in a world where needs were answered before they became requests.
When the children finally slept, I stood between their beds and watched their faces in the lamplight.
Noah had one hand tucked under his cheek, still frowning a little even in sleep. Lily clutched a stuffed rabbit Mrs. Alvarez had found somewhere, her lashes resting against her cheeks.
They looked safe.
That was the most dangerous thing about it.
I stepped into the hallway and found Nathan waiting near the staircase, jacket removed, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Without the suit coat, he seemed less untouchable.
“May we talk?” he asked.
I followed him to a small sitting room lined with books. The furniture was expensive but worn in the way real furniture becomes when people actually use it. A chessboard sat near the window. A framed photograph rested on the mantel: Nathan, much younger, standing beside a woman with dark hair and bright eyes.
His mother, I guessed.
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Is she here?”
His face changed.
“She’s in the east wing. She has a private nurse. Some days she knows me. Some days she thinks I’m twenty-three and late for dinner.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded, but the words seemed to pass around him rather than into him.
He took a folder from the desk and placed it on the coffee table between us.
“I asked my attorney to draft an agreement months ago,” he said. “I never used it.”
“Months ago?”
“I knew my family would move eventually.”
I sat slowly. “So I’m not the first woman you thought of asking.”
“No.”
The honesty stung even though it should have reassured me.
He noticed.
“I don’t mean that the way it sounds.”
“How does it sound?”
“Cold.”
“It is cold.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “It is.”
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of air conditioning.
Nathan opened the folder.
“The agreement would give you a private account, monthly support, medical coverage for you and your children, education expenses, and ownership of a house in your name after one year, whether the marriage continues or not.”
I stared at him.
“That’s too much.”
“It is not enough for what I am asking.”
“And what are you asking, exactly?”
He met my eyes.
“Public appearances. A legal marriage. Discretion. You would live here with the children until the board matter is resolved. You would not be expected to share a bedroom with me.”
Heat rose in my face. “Good.”
A hint of amusement crossed his expression, but it vanished quickly.
“You would have your own suite. The children would have rooms near yours. Mrs. Alvarez would help with anything you need.”
“And after the board matter?”
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