She glides rather than walks, dressed in an all-white caftan that flows with her movements, and her blonde hair is effortlessly pulled back into a perfect chignon. She looks even more stunning than she did in the pictures.
"Darling." She presses her hands onto Asher's shoulders before kissing the air on either side of his cheeks.
Asher stiffens next to me, but he doesn't stop his mother. His hand palms my lower back, pulling me closer to him, and I stop myself from flinching, breathing through it and leaning into his touch.
"Mother, I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Grace Morgan. Grace, my mother, Celeste Caine."
Her eyes sweep over me like a scanner, cataloging every detail from my dress to my shoes to the ring on my finger. I feel like a specimen under a microscope.
"Grace." The name sounds foreign in her cultured voice. "How lovely to finally meet you. It’s a shame we weren’t introduced before I read about your engagement in the paper." She says thefiancéewith a touch of disgust, and her lips purse, as if she already knows she doesn't like me and it didn't require meeting me for her to form that opinion.
I put on my most charming smile while extending my hand to shake.
"Lovely to meet you."
She regards me for a moment, as if she's thinking about how to tell me that she can't possibly touch me before she lightly places her hand in mine for a brief shake. Then she looks behind her, to a petite blonde in a fitted pale pink dress who quickly steps forward, spraying her hand with sanitizer.
Am I dirty?Shame wells in the pit of my stomach, but I seal my lips closed.
"I guess congratulations are in order. This all came as a surprise, you know. Asher didn't even tell us he was dating." Somehow, her words make it sound like this is all my fault and her son has nothing to do with it.
Luckily, he doesn't leave me hanging. "Mother," he says coolly. "I wanted to keep Grace to myself for a bit. I'm sure you can understand why."
"Ah, yes. I guess it's quite the spectacle to be a part of this family." She glances over at me again. "The press will pick you apart. Come, let's find my husband. He'll want to meet you."
I don’t have a chance to respond before she spins on her heel, the caftan flowing after her, along with the blonde woman.
"You're doing great," Asher whispers in my ear, squeezing my hand.
I let his affirmation wash over me, and the weight of his hand in mine ground me, filling me with the courage to keep going.
Celeste leads us through a living room that could house my entire apartment, past windows overlooking Central Park. Everything feels staged, like a museum exhibit titled "How the Other Half Lives." I try not to gawk, acting like it's completely normal to be surrounded by this level of wealth, when internally, I'm melting down.
"Leonard, darling, come meet Grace."
The man who emerges from behind a mahogany bar could be Asher in thirty years. He has the same steel-gray eyes, same commanding presence, but he's missing Asher's head of chestnut hair, and there are deeper lines carved into his features. Leonard Caine moves like a predator who's never doubted his place at the top of the food chain. I wonder what it would be like to hold that level of confidence inside me.
"Father." Asher's voice sounds tight, his shoulders turning rigid, like the presence of his father puts him on edge. "This is my fiancée, Grace Morgan."
Leonard's gaze travels over me slowly, eyes cataloging every detail with the precision of a hunter sizing up prey.
"So this is the young lady who's captured my son's attention." His voice carries authority.
"Mr. Caine." I force myself to meet his gaze. "It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for having me."
"Please, call me Leonard." His smile doesn't reach his eyes as he shakes my hand. "After all, you're going to be part of the family."
That sounds like a threat coming from him. Beside me, Asher's posture shifts almost imperceptibly, straighter, more guarded.
"Dinner’s ready," Celeste announces, breaking me out of this not-so pleasant introduction.
Once more, Asher squeezes my hand reassuringly as we follow his mother into a dining room that belongs in Versailles.
The table could seat twenty, but tonight, it's set for seven, with china so delicate I'm afraid to breathe on it. Crystal glasses catch the light from another chandelier, and silverware gleams like weapons arranged for battle.
Leonard sits at the head of the table, Celeste to his right and Asher to his left. Across from me sits a blonde miniature of Celeste next to a brown-haired man in a fitted suit.
"I'm Dove." Mini Celeste gives me a smile that's perfectly practiced. "Asher's sister."
