Forty seven

Forty seven
Fallon
The Callahan estate was even more intimidating when you knew you were walking into an ambush.
Okay, maybe ambush was dramatic. But sitting through dinner with our families — pretending everything was perfect — felt a lot like stepping onto a stage without knowing my lines. And this stage? It came with crystal chandeliers, priceless art, and an audience of people who would pick up on any false note.
The house was already bustling when we arrived, the sound of laughter and conversation spilling from the grand dining room. Reid’s hand rested lightly on my back, guiding me inside, and for a brief, fleeting second, it felt… natural.
I hated that.
Because this wasn’t natural. It was calculated. Just another part of the performance.
The Callahans’ staff floated around us in perfectly choreographed movements — collecting coats, offering drinks — and the entire space radiated the kind of wealth that was so ingrained it didn’t even need to be announced. The air smelled like expensive flowers and the kind of food you’d never be able to pronounce correctly on the first try.
“Fallon, darling!”
Evelyn Callahan’s voice rang out, warm and bright, and a second later, she descended on me like I was her long-lost child. She cupped my face in both hands and kissed my cheeks, her diamond bracelets cool against my skin.
“You look absolutely stunning,” she said, eyes sparkling with the kind of enthusiasm that made my stomach clench.
“Thank you,” I replied, plastering on my best smile. “You always throw the most beautiful dinners.”
“Oh, well, we had to make this one special,” Evelyn said, practically glowing. “The merger is such a monumental occasion — and you two are the reason it’s happening.”
My stomach tightened.
“Isn’t that right, Reid?” she added, beaming up at her son.
Reid’s answering smile was smooth and practiced. “We do make a good team.”
It was the first thing he’d said to me all day.
I wanted to kick him.
Dinner was a formal, extravagant affair — silver candlesticks, crystal glasses, enough courses to feed an army. The table was so long it felt like we needed walkie-talkies to communicate. Conversation flowed easily — mostly between our parents — and I kept my polite-laugh-and-smile routine going strong.
But under the table, my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.
Because Daniel Prescott was watching Reid like a hawk, his sharp gaze following every word that left his mouth, waiting for any hint that his company was slipping further out of his grip.
Because Evelyn kept sneaking hopeful glances at my stomach, like she expected me to announce a pregnancy between the salad and the main course.
Because Reid hadn’t looked at me once.
“So, Fallon,” Evelyn said suddenly, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Tell me — how’s married life treating you?”
Every head at the table turned toward me.
I felt Reid’s eyes on me for the first time all night.
And I smiled.
“It’s wonderful,” I said, my voice light and sweet. “Busy, of course, with both our schedules — but we always make time for each other.”
Reid’s hand settled on my knee under the table, warm and grounding. The perfect supportive gesture.
Too bad it was a lie.
As the evening wore on, the conversation shifted — from polite small talk to the one thing everyone really cared about.
The merger.
Numbers, projections, plans — the kind of business-speak I’d grown up around but had never really enjoyed. I let it wash over me, sipping my wine and focusing on keeping my expression neutral.
Until my father’s voice cut through the noise.
“I assume we’ll still have final say on staffing decisions?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.
Reid didn’t even blink. “We’ll take everything into consideration.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m giving,” Reid said smoothly, his face unreadable.
The air grew thick.
My mother reached for her water glass, her knuckles white. Evelyn’s smile faltered just slightly, though she recovered quickly, letting out a tinkling laugh that sounded more forced than usual.
Daniel Prescott’s eyes narrowed.
I reached for my wine again.
After dinner, I slipped out onto the terrace, the cool night air a welcome relief from the heat and pressure inside. The stars were out — clear and sharp against the inky sky — and the distant sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifted through the open doors.
I leaned against the stone railing, letting the quiet wrap around me.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when Reid found me.
“You play the perfect wife,” he said, his voice low.
I didn’t turn. “And you play the perfect husband. We make a good team, remember?”
There was a beat of silence.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
The question caught me off guard.
I turned, searching his face for sarcasm — but found none.
And that was almost worse.
“I’m fine,” I said.
Another lie.
But it was the only answer I could give.
Reid didn’t push. He just stood there, watching me, the air between us humming with unspoken words.
For a second, I thought he might say something real. Something that didn’t belong to the performance.
But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the moment.
He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening. “I should get back inside.”
Of course he should.
He hesitated, like there was more he wanted to say — and then turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the night.
I stayed on the terrace long after he was gone, the weight of all the lies pressing heavier than ever.