by Marian Tee
Staffan followed the old man, sitting only when the others had taken their seats. He was alone on the couch. Across him, the prince and Saffi’s oldest brother sat beside each other. The younger brother and Saffi’s father took the armrests flanking Staffan’s sides.
In all, it was like the March family against him, a declaration that also meant they considered the prince a part of their family.
Staffan’s eyes became cold, but his voice and smile were perfectly charming as he looked at the prince. “Jeremy Al-Atassi, isn’t it? Or should I call you Your Highness?”
“Whichever you prefer,” the prince responded evenly.
Cold fucking bastard, Staffan thought. If this was Saffi’s first love, then her taste had gotten a lot better by hooking up with him. At least Staffan was human. This one seemed like a fucking statue.
“Mr. Aehrenthal, I’m assuming you know why we’ve invited you here.”
“It was more like a fucking threat to be court-marshaled, but yeah, thanks for the invitation.” Staffan was grimly satisfied to see Silver March stunned at his use of invectives while the prince’s lips silently tightened. Yeah, well, this was the real him and he would not fucking change anything about who he was.
“I apologize if that was how it seemed, but it was imperative we talk to you as soon as possible.”
Somehow, the senator’s still-polite voice grated on his nerves, and Staffan just wanted everything to be over. He didn’t fucking need any of the Marches in his life. They had done enough fucking damage, and he doubted he would ever trust a woman again after the number Saffi had done on him.
But before he could speak, the fucking prince leaned forward, saying in a hard voice, “I’m not the father.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
Everyone except Saffi’s oldest brother reacted to his words.
The senator whitened, Silver’s face went cold, and Jeremy’s fists clenched, the air in the room suddenly alive with tension.
Staffan gazed at the prince challengingly, knowing the smirk on his lips would be grating on the other man’s noble nerves. “Throw the first punch,” he invited softly. “And I’ll be more than glad to fucking give you a taste of my own fist.”
“Unfortunately, that would have to be postponed, however much I look forward to seeing you beaten up myself.” It was the first time for Steel March to speak, his name perfectly apt to describe the way he spoke and gazed at Staffan. There was no compromise, no emotion in his aristocratic-looking face.
“I will get to the point, Mr. Aehrenthal. You will marry my sister tomorrow---”
Staffan jerked in his seat.
“Or your family reads reports about you taking advantage of a nineteen year old.”
“I didn’t even fucking know she was nineteen,” he said tightly.
“You know now, Mr. Aehrenthal, but I doubt it makes a difference to you. The fact of the matter is, you care about your mother and stepfather – and it is perhaps the only positive trait you have. We also both know that over the years, you have worked hard to ensure that your younger brother and sister remain unaffected by your, shall we say, notoriety. But the news of you practically raping a teenager, one whose childhood trauma is fairly well-known in our circles---are you willing to risk that, Mr. Aehrenthal?”
Staffan’s own fists clenched at the threat, knowing how such headlines would affect his family’s lives.
“But that’s not all, Mr. Aehrenthal. We have also taken steps to ensure that your friends’ businesses would not remain unaffected by your transgressions. You are a part of the so-called Pussketeers, are you not?”
The cold disdain in Steel March’s voice hit a raw spot. He sneered, “Yes – and your sister’s pussy was one of those that I fucked.”
The prince accepted his earlier challenge.
He threw a punch at Staffan, who swung his fist back. Their bodies slammed against each other with a loud thud as they crashed on the center table. Its glass surface broke, and the two of them fell to the ground, shards of glass pricking their backs.
Before the March brothers could haul them apart, Jeremy and Staffan managed to throw a few more punches at each other, both their faces snapping to the side at the impact of their blows.
Jeremy’s nose was bleeding, while Staffan’s lip had a painful cut. Bruises circled both their eyes, which were already starting to change color.
Staffan wrenched away from Silver March’s hold. “Why the fuck do you want me to marry your sister when we can’t even be fucking sure I’m the father?” He looked at the prince in contempt. “Don’t think I’m not fucking aware about your fucking desert kingdom. Your daddy’s got you to ditch the commoner for a princess, didn’t he?” He turned to Steel next. “And now your baby sister’s without a daddy for her brat, you want to fucking trap me with a shotgun wedding? You need a fucking face-saving excuse so the senator here wins the election?”
None of the other men spoke.
When Steel spoke, his voice was mild, a cruelly cryptic smile playing on his lips. “You have the most incredible talent of putting one and one together and coming up with the most inventive theories, Mr. Aehrenthal.” The smile disappeared. “But in this case, hypotheses don’t matter. I will spell out the facts for you. In an hour, we can have the story about you taking advantage of an innocent nineteen-year old girl circulating in the media. In an hour, we will cause problems that will affect the businesses of Constantijin Kastein and Rathe Wellesley, both of whom are not American citizens and as such are not a priority of this country.”
“I could sue you for blackmail, you bastard.”
“Of course – but by then, the damage would have been done.”
Staffan said quietly, “You do know that when I marry your sister, I’ll make her life a living hell?”
Steel did not appear affected. “I’ll ask you this question just once. Are you going to marry my sister or not?”
****
The soft knock on her door told Saffi the identity of her visitor even before it opened and Steel came walking in. His face was expressionless, but she knew both her brothers well. One look into his eyes, and her heart lurched.
“You shouldn’t have,” Saffi whispered, weakening at the realization that they had done the unthinkable. She lowered herself on the bed, feeling like all the life had gone out of her.
Her family had forced Staffan’s hand, and he had said…yes.
Staffan Aehrenthal was going to marry her.
“You shouldn’t have waited for me to make a move,” Steel said flatly.
“He needed time, Steel. He loves me. I just needed to find the right time to explain---” Her voice broke. “He’ll just hate me more now.”
“You don’t understand, baby. There is no time left for any of us.” He crouched down, taking her hands in his. “I would never hurt you for the world, Saffi, but this time you have to be stronger. Mother found out.”
He didn’t have to explain anymore. Saffi squeezed his hands, knowing that Steel was doing his best not to show his fears. But he did fear. They all feared.
Thirty minutes later, Saffi took the seat next to Pearl Beaufort’s bed. A smile wreathed her beautiful face upon seeing Saffi. She raised her hand to touch her daughter’s face, and Saffi tried not to react at the sight of the tubes intravenously connected to Pearl’s veins.
Stress was the main reason Pearl had been confined, their mother losing consciousness once she found out Saffi was pregnant from the tabloids and then learning from Saffi herself that Jeremy wasn’t the baby’s father.
“Is it true, what Samuel said?” Pearl asked.
Saffi didn’t force a smile. Her mother would know if she was pretending. Choosing to stick to the truth as closely as possible, Saffi nodded, saying shakily, “He was angry at first. He thought I was trapping him into marriage, but he understands now.”
Pearl sighed. “I didn’t realize how important the election was until all this happened.”
“You know how
Steel is. He’s very protective of us.”
“But to force you two to marry prematurely?” Pearl exclaimed. Her heart monitor beeped loudly, and Saffi glanced at it in alarm, seeing the way Pearl’s heart rate had become erratic at her words.
“Mom, easy now…” She did her best to sound teasing. “We don’t want you to have new wrinkles at my wedding, do we?”
Pearl grumbled, “If I ever get out of this bed soon.”
“That you don’t have to worry about since we’ll have the wedding ceremony here.”
“What?” Pearl sounded shocked, but she also sounded pleased and Saffi knew that they had all done the right thing. The look of happiness on Pearl’s face was more than worth every lie they had uttered – and every threat they had needed to use to get Staffan to marry her.
Saffi stood up, pressing a kiss on Pearl’s forehead. “I love you, Mom.” She would never forgive herself if something happened to Pearl because of her. The doctor had been explicit with his diagnosis. Pearl had a weak heart, and undue stress could easily trigger an attack. She would gladly do anything to ensure that Pearl would get better – and that included losing Staffan’s love.
Because when it came down to it, Saffi could earn Staffan’s love back again. Lives that were lost would remain lost.
Their faces drawn, her brothers immediately came to their feet the moment Saffi quietly closed the door behind her. Pearl’s suite was the most luxurious one in the hospital, with its own receiving area and a spare bedroom.
It was tastefully decorated in pale blue and ivory, but worry had made them all oblivious to the beauty surrounding them.
“Did she take the news well?” Silver demanded.
Saffi nodded. “She’s happy to be part of the wedding tomorrow.”
Closing the distance between them, Steel drew her close in an embrace. “As soon as we are sure Pearl is well, you can divorce Aehrenthal---”
Saffi pulled away with a shake of her head.
Steel’s face became shuttered.
“I know you’re angry at him, but he’s not the one at fault here.” Unconsciously laying a protective hand on her belly – a gesture that was not lost on her brothers – Saffi said haltingly, “He’s the father of my child and I love him. He loves me too, Steel. He does, I promise, and you’ll see it once I make Staffan see the truth.”
Steel’s gaze narrowed on Saffi’s eyes, as if searching for something. As if coming to a decision, Steel said finally, “We’ll see then, Saffi. He wants to meet with you at the clubhouse tonight.”
Chapter Four
The freak’s back!
Twitter: Vania_C
The clubhouse in Saffi’s hometown was bigger than most, and its crowning glory was the massive ballroom – a structure made entirely of thick and completely transparent fiberglass. She used to love the place because it was where her parents celebrated one of their wedding anniversaries, but after the humiliating fiasco she experienced in the hands of Vania Coolidge, the worst of Steel’s long list of ex-girlfriends, all her beautiful memories of the place had vanished.
As Saffi walked past the ballroom, a structure constructed separately from the rest of the clubhouse, she kept her gaze carefully averted. By the time she reached the main hall, Saffi had nowhere else to look but down. Everyone was looking at her, talking about her – and none of them were bothering to pretend they weren’t.
The receptionist of the clubhouse’s restaurant was perfectly bland as she murmured a greeting to Saffi.
Her smile strained, Saffi said haltingly, “Is there a reservation under Mr. Aehrenthal? He’s expecting me.”
The receptionist – Mandy, according to her name plate – blinked at her words.
She suddenly appeared unsure, prompting Saffi to ask awkwardly, “Is there no reservation?”
Mandy responded with a polite smile. “No, Ms. March. Mr. Aehrenthal has already arrived. I’ll lead you to your table.”
The moment they went past the double doors guarded by men in suits, Saffi realized the cause of Mandy’s predicament and her steps faltered before completely coming to a halt. Staffan had taken the best table in the restaurant, a beautiful intimate table for two set atop a red-carpeted platform cordoned off by waist-high wooden balustrades with elegantly carved posts.
He looked as he always did and no doubt always would, sexier than any man alive had a right to be and insanely stylish. His clothes were always a step beyond what was considered fashionable and never the kind that an ordinary man could carry off.
The most heartbreaking thing about the scene in front of her – he was not alone.
It was clear in the smile playing on Staffan’s lips that he was enjoying himself. Those looks under his lashes, the low murmurs, the not-so-accidental brushes of skin as he bent closer to hear what the woman across him was saying – she knew everything about those little signs because once upon a time, Staffan Aehrenthal had used the very same things to seduce her.
Bastardized bitterling.
The words slipped past her lips before Saffi could stop it. Staffan and the unknown woman with him froze at the sound and Saffi made a quick about-face just as they turned to her, but of course it was too late – it was impossible to escape what was about to happen.
“Saffi March?”
Shock temporarily immobilized Saffi at the incredibly familiar voice. Sheer incredulity made her spin around when she recovered, unable to believe what she had heard.
Disconcertment flashed briefly in Vania Coolidge’s face before her dark green eyes hardened with malice. Saffi March might have grown more beautiful over the years, but that did not mean anything. This child woman before her would always be a freak, with her crazy smart mind and eccentric ways.
A catty smile forming on her lips, Vania drawled, “Well, well, well, the prodigal princess has returned.”
Saffi could not find the energy to smile back. Vania looked amazing, her blond hair long and shiny, falling like golden waves against her bare shoulders and back. Her strapless mini-dress was so, well, mini, it could easily pass as a swimsuit without the crotch. She looked, Saffi realized painfully, like the kind of woman that used to attract Staffan’s attention…easily.
“Nothing to say?” Vania let her eyes widen as her mouth formed a fake round ‘oh’ of surprise. “But wait, you did say something, didn’t you?” Her laughter spilled out over the now silent restaurant, with every patron eagerly watching the tableau unfolding before them.
“You are so cute, Saffi. It’s like the past all over again. You still talk to fish, don’t you?”
She could feel Staffan’s gaze narrowing on her and Saffi wondered dizzily if she was going to faint. “I---”
“Poor you,” Vania cut her off with a pitiful shake of her head. “Your therapist must be really bad. You should give my friend a try. He’s very good at handling, umm, special cases like yours.”
Vania started to say something else, but Staffan was suddenly intruding smoothly, “As fascinating as it is to hear about your common history, I’m afraid we’ll need to postpone it.”
Saffi released her pent-up breath as she realized that would be the end to Vania’s attack. There was just no way to say anything else – no way for Vania to get back to insulting Saffi with the way Staffan had so conclusively ended their time together.
Around them, she could still feel the heat of people’s gazes, knew that she was still the most interesting subject to be the cynosure of their looks. After all, old habits died hard, and not staring at people like Saffi, who used to be the butt of every person’s joke in this town, was one of the hardest habits of all to kill.
Staffan was giving the woman in front of him a properly regretful smile. “Thank you for your company, Vania. Perhaps I can make it up with dinner next time?”
Mollified by the invitation, especially after feeling annoyed at being subtly kicked out of the table, Vania returned Staffan Aehrenthal’s smile with a sexy one of her own. Wetting her lips, bending close so tha
t he would know what she was promising, she said huskily, “The receptionist knows my number. I’ll make sure she knows you will be asking for it.” She made no effort to keep her voice down, wanting everyone in the restaurant to know that of all the women here, Staffan Aehrenthal had chosen to be with her.
“I’ll be the envy of every guy here just by having your number.”
The words were said so smoothly and convincingly, Saffi couldn’t stop herself from staring at the two open-mouthed as they continued to flirt in front of her. Perhaps later she would feel hurt, but right now, she couldn’t make herself feel anything. This was not the Staffan Aehrenthal she knew. The rock star she had loved for so long was a foul-mouthed badass sex god who wouldn’t have wasted time on preliminaries. He wouldn’t have lasted more than five minutes without saying ‘fuck’. So why was Staffan acting like this strange polished gentleman, pulling out the chair for Vania as she stood and kissing her on the cheek before she walked away? It was as if he was playing a…
Her heart slammed against her chest.
He was playing a role and it could only be to hurt her. And that could only mean one thing.
Staffan was hurting, too.
Staffan’s cold gaze suddenly shifted to her and she swallowed. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Her voice shook. She had this crazy urge to bawl like a child as she threw her arms around him, but of course she wouldn’t ever get away with that now.
“It obviously wasn’t a problem.” Staffan pulled out a chair for her even as he dismissed her words. An awkward silence grew between them as she gazed at anywhere but him. It hurt to look at Staffan and feel the sting of his hatred, and it hurt even more to know that she could not in all conscience blame him for it.
The silence persisted. Her impetuous nature won out and Saffi blurted, “You know, don’t you?” She didn’t wait for him to ask what she was talking about. She said painfully, “You know who Vania Coolidge is in my life, don’t you?”
