I press a tooth into my lip to keep from responding. He really hasn't changed at all. Every time we see each other, he always has something awful to say.
Brian doesn't seem to notice my tense expression or my glare as he launches into a monologue about himself. His latest acquisition at Percy Media. The celebrities who attended his party last month. The new yacht he's considering purchasing. The latest addition to his car collection.
Boring, boring, boring.
When the waiter approaches, Brian barely pauses for breath.
"I'll have the ribeye, medium rare, with the truffle mashed potatoes," he says, not bothering to look at the server. Then he gestures toward me. "She'll have the salad with dressing on the side. Watching that figure, right?"
The waiter looks at me, waiting for confirmation.
"Actually," I say, "I'll have the gnocchi with sage butter and a glass of the Barolo."
Brian's smile tightens. "Meredith, sweetheart. You might want to reconsider. Those carbs go straight to your hips."
Heat rises to my cheeks—not from embarrassment, but anger. I open my mouth to respond, but he's already dismissing the waiter and continuing his monologue.
"As I was saying, our merger makes perfect business sense. Percy Media and Ashton Collective? We'll be unstoppable. The power couple. And of course, the board will be much more comfortable with me helping you navigate. Women aren't really built for the cutthroat business world."
My hands clench in my lap. I dig a nail into the back of a finger, loving the distracting pain.
"Of course, you'll need proper training as my wife," he continues, oblivious to my growing rage. "There are certain expectations in our circle, but you already know that. We'll get you a stylist, a nutritionist, personal pilates instructor, basically hire everyone your father should have."
He reaches across the table, reaching for my nonexistent hand. "You'll need to lose a bit of weight. I've already picked out the wedding gown, and it's quite fitted, especially around the waist. And let's be honest, I won't be able to carry you over the threshold at your current size. You understand, of course, don’t you?"
He says this so casually, like it's reasonable. Like he's being helpful.
Something inside me shifts.
All my life, I've been taught to be accommodating because I was an heiress. To shrink myself physically, emotionally, verbally. Never cause a scene. Never pick a fight. Never raise my voice. Lest other people think badly of me. Dad tried to shelter me, but my tutors emphasized that strength in a woman might lead to a scandal, which was something we wanted to avoid, given the nature of our business.
I glance at Cole. His expression is thunderous, eyes locked on Brian like he's calculating exactly how much force it would take to break him. Probably not much.
And suddenly, I wonder … why am I afraid?
What's the worst that could happen if I speak up? That Brian will be offended? That people will stare? If I continue being quiet, sure, I won't make a scene … but at what cost? My peace?
Cole is here. If things go sideways, he'll have my back.
But no, this isn't his battle to fight. I don't need him to protect me from words. I've let people like Brian and Aunt Patricia and Uncle Charles and that idiot Trevor diminish me for too long.
I am not beneath them, and I never will be.
I feel a strange calm settle over me. My hands unclench. My spine straightens. The knot of anxiety in my stomach dissolves, replaced by something hotter, sharper.
Clarity.
Brian is still talking, planning our future together as if it's already decided. "—and the engagement announcement needs to go out by the end of the week. I'm thinking a summer wedding. Give the press time to build excitement?—"
"I'm not marrying you," I say.
Brian laughs, a patronizing chuckle that makes my teeth grind. "That's cute. Now, about the venue. We need something big. Probably need helicopters to fly the guests in. I'm thinking?—"
I laugh loudly, much louder than necessary.
Heads turn at nearby tables. Brian's smile falters.
"What's so funny?"
