Chapter 54

Cecilia

I sank back down into my chair, suddenly exhausted. Arthur sat beside me, pulling me against his chest, and I let myself lean into him, drawing strength from his solid warmth.

"She's going to be okay," he murmured into my hair. "Alice is strong. She'll get through this."

"I know," I whispered. "But god, Arthur. A skull fracture. She could have—" I couldn't finish.

"But she didn't." His arms tightened around me. "She's going to be fine."

I closed my eyes, trying to push away the image of Alice falling, the sound of her head hitting the marble. "This is so fucked up."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "It is."

We sat there in silence for a while, just holding each other.

Then something clicked in my mind—a conversation from earlier, one I'd been too distracted to fully process.

"Arthur," I said quietly, pulling back to look at him. "At the mall. When Sophia ran into your mother."

His expression immediately shuttered, his jaw tightening. "What about it?"

"Sophia mentioned it when she was apologizing. She said she ran into Irene, and they talked for a while. That's why she was late." I paused, watching his reaction. "Did your mother say anything to you about that?"

Arthur was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. "No. She didn't mention seeing Sophia at all."

"Don't you think that's weird?" I pressed. "Your mother runs into your best friend's fiancée, has what sounds like a lengthy conversation, and doesn't tell you?"

"My mother doesn't tell me a lot of things," Arthur said, his voice tight. "Especially lately."

I could hear the bitterness there, the hurt he was trying to hide. I reached up and touched his face, drawing his attention back to me. "What do you think they talked about?"

He let out a slow breath. "Knowing my mother? Probably how inappropriate you are. How I'm throwing away my future. The usual."

"But why Sophia?" I said. "Why pull her aside for that conversation?"

Arthur's eyes sharpened, and I could see him turning it over in his mind. "Because Sophia's malleable," he said slowly. "Because she's the kind of person who wants to please everyone, who can be... influenced."

A chill ran down my spine. "You think your mother was trying to use Sophia against us?"

"I think my mother is desperate," Arthur said flatly. "And desperate people do desperate things."

I felt sick. "Arthur—"

"There's something else," he said, his voice strained. He pulled out his own phone and scrolled through his messages. "My mother called me. I didn't answer, but she left a voicemail." He hesitated, then played it on speaker.

Irene's cultured voice filled the quiet space between us: "Arthur, darling, I hope you're well. I wanted to let you know that your grandma's birthday celebration is scheduled for the fifteenth of next month. The entire family will be there, of course, along with... select friends. I've taken the liberty of extending an invitation to the Hartley family. Madison specifically. Do give me a call when you have a moment. We need to discuss your future."

The message ended, and Arthur and I just stared at each other.

"She invited Madison to your grandmother's party," I said slowly. "Specifically."

"My grandmother doesn't even like the Hartleys," Arthur said, his voice tight. "Their money's too new, their connections too shallow. The only reason she'd agree to invite them is if my mother convinced her it was necessary."

"For what?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"To separate us," Arthur said flatly. "To put me in a room with Madison and her family, with my grandmother watching, and make it clear what kind of match they expect me to make."

I felt anger surge through me, hot and fierce. "Your mother is unbelievable."

"She's desperate," Arthur corrected. "And that makes her dangerous."

"My grandmother," he said quietly. "Margaret Brahmore. That's the party we're talking about."

"Brahmore?" I repeated.

"My mother's maiden name," Arthur explained. "My grandmother married into the Brahmore family—old Boston money. She's... formidable. Makes my mother look soft by comparison."

"Great," I muttered. "So we're walking into a party hosted by a woman who makes Irene look soft, where your mother has specifically arranged for Madison to be there, probably with instructions to make a scene."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "We don't have to go."

"Yes, we do," I said firmly. "Because if we don't, your mother wins. She gets to control the narrative, tell everyone you're too ashamed of me to bring me around your family."

"I don't give a fuck what she tells people," Arthur said.

"But I do." I met his gaze steadily. "I'm not hiding, Arthur. Not from your mother, not from your grandmother, not from Madison or anyone else. If they want to judge me, fine. Let them. But I'm not going to make it easy by staying away."

Something shifted in his expression—pride, maybe, mixed with concern. "My grandmother is going to be brutal, Ceci. She's going to pick apart everything about you—your background, your family, your education, your clothes. She'll smile while she does it, make it sound like polite conversation, but it'll be an interrogation."

"Then I'll survive it," I said simply. "I've survived worse."

"I know you have." He cupped my face in his hands. "But I don't want you to have to. I don't want to put you through that."

"You're not putting me through anything," I said softly. "I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you. And that means dealing with your family, even the parts of it that are..." I trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Toxic?" Arthur supplied. "Manipulative? Emotionally abusive?"

"I was going to say 'challenging,' but yeah, those work too."

He laughed despite himself, the sound low and tired.

I took a deep breath. "Okay. So we have plenty of time to prepare."

"Prepare how?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I'm not walking in there blind. If your mother and grandmother want to play games, then I need to know the rules."

Arthur studied me for a moment, and I could see him weighing something. "There's someone who could help," he said slowly. "Someone who knows my grandmother better than anyone."

"Who?"

"Catherine Ashford," he said. "Carter's mother."

I remembered Catherine from the engagement party—elegant, sharp-eyed, but ultimately kind. She'd been one of the few people there who'd treated me like an actual person instead of an interloper.

"You think she'd be willing to help?" I asked.

"I think she'd be thrilled," Arthur said. "Catherine's never liked my mother's methods. And after what just happened with Sophia and Madison..." He shook his head. "She'll want to make sure you're prepared."

"Then let's ask her," I said. "As soon as we get back to home."