But inside, I'm terrified.
Not of him, exactly. Or maybe that's a lie. Maybe I am afraid of him. Of what he represents, of what marrying him will mean. Of the life those empty eyes promise.
He turns to Aidan, clasps his shoulder briefly. There's something in the gesture. Familiarity, maybe, or obligation. Then those dark eyes sweep the room and land on me.
The breath catches in my throat.
Up close, he's devastating. Not handsome in any conventional sense. His features are too harsh, his jaw too brutal. But there's something magnetic about him, something dangerous that makes every nerve ending I have stand at attention.
He didn't come from a meeting. That much is obvious. His white shirt is wrinkled, only half-tucked into dark slacks that look hastily pulled on. He smells like expensive cologne layered over something else. Something I recognize from clubbing with friends in college.
Booze. He smells of drink.
So,this is what he was doing while we waited. This is why he's late. While Father and I sat in this cold drawing room preparing to sign away my future, William Murphy was off clubbing.
The anger that surges through me is bright and clean and welcome. It burns away the fear, leaving only rage.
"You're late," I say, and I'm proud of how steady my voice sounds.
His eyes narrow slightly. Father stiffens beside me. I can feel his disapproval without looking at him. But I don't care. I hold William's gaze and wait.
For a moment, I think he might ignore me. Might dismiss me the way men like him dismiss women who don't matter. Turn back to Father and Aidan, who conduct business while I stand here decoratively.
But then something shifts in his expression. The emptiness cracks, just slightly, and I see something underneath it. Amusement? Interest? I can't quite name it.
"I hope it wasn't too distressful," he says, and there's an edge to his voice that makes it clear he hopes the exact opposite. "Sitting here for..." He glances at the expensive watch on his wrist. "Twenty minutes, in a warm, comfortable room, with two men keeping you company."
Twenty minutes. He's knocked off at least ten, maybe fifteen. The lie is so blatant it's almost insulting.
The words are hostile. Deliberately so. He's testing me, I realize. Pushing to see how I'll react. To see if I'll back down, apologize, play the good daughter who knows her place.
Father moves beside me. "Mr. Murphy, my daughter didn't mean to..."
"I meant exactly what I said," I cut him off, keeping my eyes locked on William.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Father has gone completely still beside me. The kind of stillness that comes before explosions.
But William? William smiles.
It's not a pleasant smile. It's sharp, dangerous, the kind of expression predators wear right before they strike. But it's real, at least.
He walks toward me, and every instinct I have screams to step back. To put distance between us. But I don't move. Won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat.
He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough that I can smell the cologne and drink clinging to him. Close enough that I can see the shadows under his eyes, the dilated pupils that suggest he's riding something chemical.
Close enough to be a threat.
"It doesn't matter anyway," he says, and his voice is low. Dangerous. "I'm here now."
The words sound like he's saying: I'm here, and you're mine, and nothing else matters.
My pulse thunders in my ears. Every cell in my body is screaming danger. But I lift my chin and meet his eyes with all the defiance I can muster.
"Lucky me," I say, and let the sarcasm drip from every syllable.
His smile widens, just slightly. And for the first time since he walked through that door, something real flickers in those dead eyes.
