WHIT-MORE HEIR ENGAGED. THE MYSTERY BRIDE.
It was on the front page of every newspaper in the city by the next morning, beneath a photograph of Alexander bending to kiss a dark-haired woman in a midnight gown.
"I look like I'm being eaten," said Lily, studying the picture over her toast.
"You look radiant," said Mrs. Zara, who had pinned three clippings to the pantry corkboard before breakfast. "They've all written about you. 'A graceful newcomer.' 'A bride of quiet strength.' Dear, you are famous."
"I don't want to be famous."
"Nobody does," said Alexander, entering the dining room with his phone to his ear. He did not look as though he had slept either. "That is why it works."
He ended the call and set the phone on the table. His mouth was a thin line.
"My father," he said.
"Is he angry?"
"No. That would be easier." He sat down across from her. "He wishes us to come to the family estate this weekend. Both of us. He wants to meet you."
Lily's toast stopped halfway to her mouth.
"For how long?"
"A week. Perhaps longer, if my mother has anything to say about it." He rubbed his temple. "It will be difficult. They are not unkind, but they are... observant."
"Observant."
"My father negotiated his way to the top of a shipping empire by reading faces. My mother can see through a lie from across a ballroom. My sister is nineteen and asks questions. My brother will make jokes." He glanced at her. "You'll be fine. You were wonderful last night."
"I kissed you in front of fifty people."
"Yes." A strange silence passed between them. "You were wonderful at that, too."
She put her toast down and stared at the tablecloth, aware of her own pulse.
Mrs. Zara, who had been hovering by the sideboard with a coffee pot and a face of angelic innocence, suddenly discovered an urgent errand in the kitchen.
Lily gathered herself.
"Alexander. There's something you should know." She took a breath. "My name is in the paper now. My face. Anyone who wants to find me can find me."
His expression sharpened. "You mean your stepfamily."
"They will see it. Cecilia reads every paper. She will see me in a gown with a man like you, and she will..." She stopped. "I don't know what she'll do. But she will do something."
"Let her."
"You don't understand. She is not stupid. She takes what she wants and destroys what she cannot take." Her fingers curled around her cup. "I don't want that to come here."
Alexander leaned forward. For a moment, he did not seem like a stranger, or a man on the other side of a contract.
"Lily," he said, "if she comes here, she will find that this house is not like the one she knew."
"You can't promise that."
"I can." His voice was quiet and terribly sure. "And I have men who can make sure of it."
She did not know whether to be comforted or afraid.
Across the city, on a quiet street lined with elms, a woman in a silk robe was sitting at a breakfast table, with a cup of coffee going cold and a newspaper spread out before her. She had been staring at the front page for a very long time.
Her daughters were sitting behind her.
"That's her," said Evelyn faintly. "That's Lily."
"Mother," said Clara, "she's with Alexander."
Cecilia did not answer. Her hand tightened on the newspaper until the paper tore.