Louis' POV
I made my way back to the house after a brief but very thinly veiled threat of a conversation with my grandparents, my Grandpa especially.
Looking at it in hindsight, the word brief was almost laughable, there was nothing brief about the whole exchange.
Not in the way Grandpa's pressing gaze bored holes into my temple, or the way he turned his nose and grunted at every word Grandma spoke in joy and support.
Grandma was more receptive and less untrusting. She was genuinely happy. She spoke of being proud of me for finally giving love a chance. As if.
She went on and on, making it very clear that she was rooting for Claire and I, that she was expecting wedding invitations soon.
For a couple who hold social obligations and old world standards in such high regard, I half expected them to press me about her background, her family, her upbringing.
Maybe even object and force me to find someone of better social standing.
That wasn't going to be happening so I'm very relieved they didn't do any of that. That was not a road I was willing to drive down.
Grandma, in particular, seemed to be genuinely pleased with my choice.
And for now, that was enough for me.
Grandpa on the other hand wasn't so vocal. He looked to be somewhat suspicious, he didn't look like he fully trusted me. It was obvious, really.
"If this is some stupid stunt you played to get us off your backs," he had said, his tone low with a hint of threat, "you'll be sorely disappointed by what the consequences would be," he had said before leaving.
I could only gulp down my nerves in response.
A pointed warning, clear and direct, leaving no chance for slip ups and extremely impossible to ignore.
Even now, as I stepped into the house, I couldn't quite shake the tension his words had left behind. They clung to me, tightening around my chest, making it impossible to fully relax.
Because he wasn't bluffing.
He never did.
Then they left just like that.
I couldn't fully be at ease then, this arrangement had to go extremely well. If not, I don't even want to imagine what punishment awaits.
Shutting the door behind me, I trudge carefully into the house, half expecting to find Claire waiting.
I couldn't tell you why I was expecting that, she was not obligated to wait around for me. Especially as I took quite some time outside. She could very much have returned to her room.
It wasn't a part of our agreement. But I found myself wanting to see her, talk to her. Feel her out.
What she thought about my grandparents unexpected visit. I hope she wasn't too spooked. Hopefully she doesn't think I took long because they were convincing me to end things.
Still, my eyes sweep the living room automatically, searching. It was empty.
The curtains sway slightly from the evening breeze, the last stretch of sunlight bleeding through the glass. The space feels lived in, warm… but incomplete, quiet.
That was funny because I liked the quiet, I enjoyed it. But just after barely 48 hours since living here with me, I find myself growing accustomed to her lingering presence in my home, her smell of raspberry fragrance.
This wasn't expected at all but I welcomed the warmth with open hands.
"Claire?" I call out, my voice just echoes through the hallway.
Nothing.
Not even the faintest response.
A flicker of panic rises in me, I move to check her bedroom, leaving repeated knocks on the door frame, no response.
I come back down the staircase, glancing toward the dining area, the kitchen—each space void of her presence.
Where in the world was she?
The soft scrape of the back door pulls my attention.
Betty walks in, her steps unhurried, her harvest basket resting against her hip. Freshly harvested vegetables spill over the top.
I hurriedly make my way towards her. "Have you seen Claire?"
She smiles at me, noting my obvious panic and frustration. She simply sets her basket down on the table and head towards the sink to wash her hands clean of the mud that stained the."You're back early."
I don't respond to that. "Where is Claire?," I ask again, more firmly.
Betty pauses for only a fraction of a second before straightening. "Hmm?"
My patience start to thin out. "Betty, please. Where is she?"
Instead of answering, she tilts her head slightly, studying me in a way that makes something in my chest tighten.
So many thoughts flicker through my mind. Was she scared off, did she leave?
"Calm down, Louis boy. She out back. She said she needed air, to clear her head," she finally responds.
Relief floods through me in waves. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. My tense shoulder finally settling.
Betty just chuckled at my stance, her mouth curbing into a smile. "What would you like for dinner?"
I exhale sharply before responding, "We won't be home for dinner."
That gets her attention.
A slow, knowing smile spreads across her face. It's subtle but unmistakable. I've know. Betty for that long.
I frown. "What now?"
She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she reaches into the basket, lifting out a tomato, inspecting it like it requires her full focus.
"Nothing," she murmurs. Raising her shoulders as if to feign ignorance but I know better.
"Betty." I insisted.
She sighs softly, then sets the tomato down and looks at him properly this time. There's something warm in her gaze. Something almost… fond.
"I'm just happy," she says gently, "you know, that you're finally giving love a chance."
The air shifts. I still.
Love. No. That's not true.
For a brief, disorienting moment, my heart actually stumbles in his chest. As if to declare that I was lying.
Of course, she thinks I'm in love. She doesn't know about the contract, or mine and Claire's agreement. She doesn't know that this would be over in a few weeks.
None of them do. Not Betty. Not Benedict.
They all believe the same thing, that this was real. That Claire is here because I chose her, because I wanted her to be.
But it isn't real. It never was, it was arranged in a quiet office with careful words and stricter terms. A contract drawn with precision. An agreement with a clear purpose—and a definite end.
No emotions. No complications.
And definitely No love.
I immediately feel bad, I had never lied to Betty. I had no reason to. The pile of people I was lying to was increasing by the minute and the guilt eats at me.
I let out a quiet, humorless breath, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. "You're mistaken," he says flatly.
Betty eyes gleamed as she observed me,"That's what you think."
My eyes narrow slightly at her insistence. "Don't read into things that aren't there."
"Hmm."
That noncommittal sound irritates me more. She had no idea what was going on between us.
"She left," Betty adds after a moment, as though she's just remembered.
My breath hitches once more, a deadly pang to my chest. "Left? Where?"
"She said she needed some air. Took the back path."
I let out a sigh of relief. Good, the backyard. I can find her.
I leave immediately, desperate to find her and relieve her of any worries or concerns she might have.
Behind me, Betty lets out in a sing song voice, "Love is a beautiful thing boy, embrace it. Don't lose it before you have it."
Scoffing lightly, I shake my head as I leave. What does she know?.
The evening air hits me the moment I step outside. The backyard stretches ahead, narrow and familiar.
It doesn't take long for me to find Claire. The sun sets in a beautiful streak of amber and orange as I take in her frame that watches in absent wonder.
I don't approach her immediately, I observe her, with her back turned to me. I ponder on what Betty said, her comments getting to me deeper than I'd have liked.
This was an arrangement. From the start, I have a clear goal and it wasn't ending with Love on the line.
I made a deal, a business agreement and I certainly do not build anything on unstable foundations.
So why—Why did it bother me so much?
The way Betty said it. The certainty in her voice. The quiet assumption that Claire matters more than she should.
My jaw tightens. And my resolve hardens.
Claire is part of an arrangement. Nothing more.
I let out a deep breath, dragging a hand through my hair, as I moved to approach her.
This is exactly why lines are drawn.
But something else at the back of my mind warns that the line between contractual obligation and intimate relationships blur really quickly.
And I fear I might be toeing the line.