"Do you fancy breakfast in bed?"
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery croissants filled the air. She blinked against the sunlight streaming through the suite's windows, the memory of Adrian's hands on her skin still warm in her bones. He stood at the foot of the bed, crisp in a charcoal sweater, balancing a tray filled with pastries, fruit, and a single peony in a vase. "Do you fancy breakfast in bed?" He said, repeating what she'd just read on his note.
She sat up, sheets pooling at her waist, suddenly aware of her tousled hair. "Since when do you play waiter?"
"Since I realized you're terrible at mornings. How ever did you make it to work before me all these years?" He set the tray beside her, his smirk softening as he poured her coffee — black, two sugars, exactly how she took it.
They talked. Really talked. Adrian described summers at his family's Berkshire estate, riding horses until dusk, his father's voice booming across the fields. Emily shared stories of cramped apartments and her brother Nate teaching her to fix leaky faucets. "You're resourceful," Adrian said, thumb brushing jam from her lip. "Always have been."
Who are you? she wondered, watching him laugh at her impression of his old college rival. This Adrian was disarmed, his edges sanded down. She'd seen him shattered once, after Victoria left. He'd smashed a whiskey glass against his office wall, then quietly asked Emily to book a carpet cleaner. Now, as he fed her a strawberry, she let herself hope.
"Time to go," Eleanor Liam announced over comms linked to every room. "A toast! Marriage isn't a merger, darlings. It's… learning which secrets to burn and which to bury." Her smile couldn't be seen by anyone, but it was eye to ear and genuine. "Choose wisely."
In the limo, the air turned arctic. Adrian's phone buzzed incessantly. Emily stared at her reflection in the tinted window, the peony wilting in her lap. Of course, she thought. The breakfast, the laughter — it had been another calculated act. By the time they reached NYC, his mask was fully restored: jaw steel, eyes frost.
Three Days Later
Emily was knee-deep in merger spreadsheets when the call came.
"Mrs. Sinclair?" A clipped British accent. "This is Beatrice, Mr. Sinclair's mother's housekeeper. She's requested your presence at the townhouse. Both of you. Four o'clock sharp."
Adrian's mother, Margaret Sinclair, was a woman who treated life like a chessboard, every interaction a move, every guest a pawn. Her townhouse smelled of bergamot and old money, ancestral portraits judging visitors from even older walls.
"Finally!" Margaret glided into the parlor, her silk caftan billowing. "I've been neglected. One might think my only child forgot I exist."
Adrian sighed. "Mother, the quarterly reports_"
"Pfah! Reports don't send birthday cards."
Emily bit back a laugh as Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting coming here today. "I've decided you'll stay for dinner," Margaret declared. "Cook's made coq au vin. And Adrian, don't slouch. It's unbecoming."
Dinner was exquisite, cooked to perfection, but that was it. Everything else about the visit was a nightmare for Emily.
Over dessert, Margaret dissected Emily's background with surgical precision. "Carter… not the Boston Carters? No? Pity. But you've got spine. This one—" she jabbed a fork at Adrian, "— needs spine."
But it didn't end there, Margaret tossed a grenade not long after. "I wanted to see if the girl who finally cracked you was real." She turned to Emily. "Turns out you're… lovelier than the tabloids." The pause was calculated. Lovelier than trash, it meant.
Emily forced a smile. "Kind of you."
"Mm. Adrian's last fling had the personality of a doorknob. At least you're… entertaining."
"Mother."
"Oh, relax. I'm teasing." Margaret's laugh was as cruel as she. "Do visit again, Emily. It's fascinating watching you try to impress Adrian." By the time they were done with dinner, Emily felt a hollow shell of herself. She thought, and pondered, and criticized, she felt less a person… a wife, and more a trophy, not the shiny sorts you see people display proudly, but the consolation prize they got just for participating. Was that all she really was to Adrian she thought. Shattered by the fact he didn't even come to her rescue. She'd seen him do it before for Victoria, that's what hurt the most.
In the car, Adrian stared ahead. "She's protective."
She thinks I'm a gold-digging cockroach, Emily thought, tasting bile. But she said, "I survived."
He hesitated, then gripped her hand, too brief to mean anything.
***
Adrian wasn't really the emotional sort, he'd never been that in touch with his heart to let it sway him. It was perfect for business so he was okay with it. That was, of course, until he met Victoria, she was different, the rush she made him feel, the energy and passion with which she did things, all the times she'd been vulnerable with him. He felt part of something real, something normal, something human. Just when he thought he could get used to this life… she was gone. So of late he'd been finding it harder and harder to keep his usual air of stern, tough-as-nail CEO. He felt lost above all else. The last couple months had tested him brutally. From Victoria leaving him at the altar, to experiencing what others would call their first heartbreak and how much better he felt having Emily around. This really pushed Adrian to the brink of hating himself. Just why did emotions have to be so complicated? He was sure he liked Emily, not just as his capable assistant, but as his wife. The woman that helped him save face, catered to his every need… yet he couldn't bring himself to confess this to her, maybe this is why Victoria left? His poor communication? Would Emily do the same?
All these questions with no answers left Adrian seeking guidance, that's why today he would be taking a day off. To visit his best friend, business partner and sworn brother Daniel Grayson.