08. Wedding night

“Christopher?” My voice slips out in a surprised whisper as I lean on the vanity, watching my husband stop in the middle of the room with his broad shoulders and elegant posture.

Even though he’s at a safe distance in this spacious room, having him here brings a discomfort that tightens my throat — after all, Christopher shouldn’t be here. Not now, not in this house, tonight... and definitely not in this room.

Above us, the delicate chandelier spreads a soft light, but instead of the usual warm and elegant feel of the room, I feel as if this large room had suddenly become smaller.

I’m getting dizzy…

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my mouth dry, clutching the wood of the vanity.

“I should ask you the same.” Christopher slips his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Now, he’s no longer wearing the flawless black suit; he seems ready for bed, hair still wet from the shower. Yet, by his firm posture and narrowed eyes, I know he’s not here for a brief nighttime chat.

“This is my room. Where else should I be?” I retort softly, trying not to show that the place suddenly feels colder with his presence, even if my body is burning.

Why did I drink so much?

“In my room?” It’s not really a question, but I didn’t expect him to be so direct.

“That’s not necessary; I said I don’t plan to be your wife.” I retort again, turning my back on him, hoping that this topic ends. I need it to end. After a tiring day, so many emotional twists, having too much alcohol, and literally coming back to life, I need some time alone — and dealing with Christopher Houghton is not the best way to end the night.

Still, he approaches, and through the big mirror, I can see his enigmatic expression: his thick eyebrows slightly lowered, and his lips curved downwards.

“Interesting you mention that, considering we were interrupted by my little brother when you were about to say why you persisted in this marriage for years to lose interest when the ring is around your finger.” Christopher looks at me curiously. The sparkle in his eyes betrays the confusion I’m making in his mind, but it also shows a veiled resentment.

“So that’s why you came here… you want a reason?” I lower my eyes, looking at the slight mess on the vanity: hairbrushes, hair clips, skin creams... there’s hardly any makeup here. “Why are you here, Christopher?”

“I’m here because I don’t like being interrupted during important business,” he says simply, his eyes fixed on my back, with his arms crossed and a posture worthy of a man born to be an aristocrat.

“Business?” I give a bitter smile, “I see.”

Slowly, I remove the soft, long veil that touched my shoulders and release the clip that held the bangs, letting the discreet waves fall back over my shoulders. With gentle, delicate movements, I release the waves that unravel under my fingers, creating a brown sea over my back.

“Wasn’t that what you meant by a marriage beneficial to everyone?” Christopher moves even closer, and I spy his expression through the mirror.

His eyes, still fixed on my back, seem attentive to the details of the corset’s lacing. I feel the gaze burning on the skin not covered by the fabric, and it leaves my mouth even drier.

“You’re right,” I slowly turn to him, leaning against the vanity, trying not to show how much his presence affects me and warms my skin. “This marriage is a business deal — both for me and for you.”

“So I have something you want.” He stops closer than I thought... just a few more steps, and I can smell his woody cologne again. “What do you want so badly, Charlotte, to have made my life hell these last few years?”

Christopher’s brown eyes analyze mine, which has long been cold, lonely, and empty. I wonder if he can tell that the Charlotte he knew died.

“What makes you think you have what I want?” My voice is a clear provocation that makes him half-smile. “Maybe what I want doesn’t depend on you.”

“Then you could have asked my grandfather to put any other grandson in my place.” He took another step, reducing the already short and uncomfortable distance and finally allowing me to smell him. “You could have married another man, maybe even my little brother... he’s always had a special fondness for you, after all.”

His implication makes me feel sick, bringing on a dizziness as if I were a bit drunk. It seems like the strong drinks I had earlier are taking their toll now.

He steps back, thoughtfully walking around the room, leaving a trail of his perfume behind. I take a deep breath and regret it immediately because I fill my lungs with the smell of Christopher, which intoxicates me.

In the brief silence that settles between us, his steps on the white carpet, even muffled and softened, sound extremely loud.

Having Christopher here, in the spacious, white refuge that I called my room for many years, spreads a chill through my chest and makes my skin shiver.

It’s the first time he has been here in both our lives together. Even when he was forced to share the same space with me while we didn’t move to a new property, we stayed in his old room since he also got rid of his apartment in downtown London because I refused to move there.

“I’m sure Sebastian would love to be in my place in every possible way.” With his back to me, I can only imagine his usual expressionless face. “If you had chosen him first, I’m sure the Earl would have complied with your thoughtless wishes; he always did.”

“Sebastian is also the son of Marshall’s firstborn, your father. According to the rules of the house, if you, as the eldest, were not deemed fit, then naturally, the title would go to him.” I comment, observing Christopher’s broad and, somehow, relaxed back, ignoring the accusatory comment. “Sebastian is the main threat to your position.”

“No, Charlotte, you’re wrong — you’re the threat.”

He turns to me, finally showing me the cold eyes that I remember to be the same ones that passed by me for years and never, never really looked at me.

If he had paid attention, just if he had...

“From the moment my grandfather declared that he would only make me his heir if I married you, naturally taking away my right to impose the whims of a spoiled girl who knows little about the world, you became the threat.”

Christopher doesn’t care to hide the hostility building in his voice. With each word, he finally resembles the man I knew so well during those ten miserable years.

“If I had married Sebastian, maybe you would have lost your position,” I say firmly, and he gives a sarcastic laugh.

“If you hadn’t begged the Earl for this marriage, I wouldn’t be at risk of being considered unfit for the title by refusing to marry a woman I don’t love.”

I taste something bitter in my mouth because I know it’s true.

He walks towards me again, slowly, elegantly, intimidating.

“You brought this on us both, and now you’re acting as if you were forced... like we were in the same position, but you chose this. I didn’t choose.”

I meet his eyes, my face raised to try to appear more intimidating than I really am. In this eye contact, without even blinking, I face the man who, in just a few months, will put the divorce papers on the table and tell me to sign them, just as he did in the past — the man who dedicated himself to making my life miserable.

“Tell me, Charlotte... do you really think I believe what you say?”