There’s a beat of silence.
Then my father exhales like he’s just won a long game of chess.
“I knew it,” he says. “I told you this marriage would bring exactly what the family needed.”
Something heavy settles in my chest.
“This marriage isn’t just about connections,” I say quietly. “Not anymore.”
Another pause. This one is sharper. “Are you telling me you’re starting to have real feelings for your wife?”
I don’t hesitate. “I already do.”
I expect pushback. Strategy. Warnings.
Instead—he laughs.
Not mocking. Not dismissive. Genuinely pleased.
“Well,” he says, sounding almost relieved, “it’s about damn time.”
I frown. “That’s… not what I expected you to say.”
“You thought I’d be angry?” he asks. “Langston, I pushed for the marriage because you weren’t slowing down. You weren’t settling. I wasn’t sure you ever would.”
I run a hand through my hair. “You were ready to marry me off to achild.”
He laughs again. “You really think that was the plan?”
I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
“Do you honestly believe Sabrina just happened to get the last open seat on that flight out of Chicago?” he asks mildly. “That it was coincidence she arrived when she did? I knew that her sister would call her. That if she was anything like her mother raised her to be that she would go to her. I told the airlines to watch for her name to come across and slide her into the seat I saved.”
My grip tightens on the phone.
“You planned it.”
“Iknewher,” he says. “I met Sabrina years ago. I met her mother, too—before she passed. Strong woman. Smart. Protective. She raised her daughter well.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly.
“I knew Sabrina would be perfect for you,” he continues. “I just needed you to meet her at the right moment.”
“She gave me one year.” I mutter. He starts laughing again. “That’s not funny.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not. Which is why you’d better make her fall in love with you before that year’s up.”
I scoff. “You make it sound easy.”
“You’re a Blackwell,” he says simply. “And you already care. That’s the hard part.”
Before I can respond, my phone beeps—another call coming through.
Jack.
“I’ve got to take this,” I say.
“Go,” my father replies. “And Langston?”
