Chapter Three Evan Sterling’s POV (Present Time)

The hotel Jacob prepared was one of my regulars and as soon as I stepped in with Jacob’s and my driver following me with my stuff, the concierge who was attending to some other guest immediately dismissed them and hurried my way.

“Mr. Evan! How lovely to have you,” the average-height man said loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the lobby. I nodded.

“Thank you, Adam. How is your lovely family? And little Emma, I believe she must be a big girl now,” I jest. He laughed with his eyes gleaming. I have learned in my dealings with people, especially folks like Adam, that remembering their names and little details they had dropped here and there about their lives or family always goes a long way in making them feel special. After all, they say people never forget the way you make them feel. And I am a strong believer that no one is insignificant to have in your corner.

“I can’t believe you remember Emma! She is not quite a big girl just yet, and I can't wait. Her teenage demands are giving me gray hair.”

“Of course, I remember Emma, and I can just imagine,” I said, striking a conversation with him, as he subtly collected the key to my suite and followed us to the elevator on the sidewall.

By the time we were on the last floor, I now knew young Emma would be graduating middle school the following week. I retrieved my phone from my pocket and asked him what Emma would love for a graduation present, he told me before he realized what I was doing. I ordered the device and asked for it to be delivered to the hotel. He went speechless for about a minute or two before he started to thank me profusely.

“It’s nothing. Thank you, Adam,” I said as he opened the suite with my keycard and handed it over to me.

“I will let the chef know you are around, sir,” he said. I waved dismissively, already calling Jacob.

“So, I am here, what now?”

“Yes!” he said, pumping a fist in the air. I shook my head in fake exasperation, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“You do recall we are no longer in college?”

“We are not dead yet though,” he said, chuckling. “Why don’t you freshen up, and Paul there will wait to bring you to where we are. Make sure you dress casual and no phones or such devices,” he said with a somewhat devilish relish.

“What have I gotten myself into and who-–pray tell—are the ‘we’, Jacob?” I asked, feeling a bit apprehensive.

“You will see,” he said mysteriously and before ending the call added, “hurry up Evan, you are already late!”

“I will be downstairs, waiting sir,” Paul said. I nodded.

“Ben, stay with Paul. I might need to get away if it turns out to be something I would rather not be part of,” I said to my driver. He gave me a polite smile and left. I started to unbutton my shirt to freshen up, then my phone rang again. I lowered my gaze to the phone screen on the bedside table, where I had placed it, silently noting the caller before answering it.

“Yes, Mary Antoinette?” I said in a bland tone.

“Hello, E - Evan. I’m just calling to see how your trip went,” she said from the other end.

“Good,” I said curtly without elaborating. “How are you doing? I hope mother is keeping you company—”

“I’m fine. And yes, you know I love having her here with us… the house would be lonely otherwise—”

“Good—” I said with no change in tone whatsoever, completely ignoring her subtle mention of my constant absence, choosing to focus instead on taking off my clothes and preparing to shower.

Anyone listening in would not have a clue of whom I was talking to, and might even think it was someone I especially don’t like talking to but have to, just to be polite, and they would be right.

“So, are you staying alone in the hotel or with all the other groomsmen? Do you have plans to join the others for the um… bachelor party, or Stag Night or Buck's Night, whatever you guys are calling it?” she asked. I paused with a frown pulling the skin on my forehead.

“Yes, why did you ask?” I replied.

She went all quiet for about a minute then stuttered, “Just… um c - curious.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Ookay, take care, and say hi to Mother. I will see you when I get back,” I said in a rush and cut the line just when she was about to say more. I dropped the phone in front of the bathroom vanity mirror and walked inside the shower stall and began to soap my body.

I probably scrubbed my skin harder than necessary, but by the time I stopped to let the water wash off the soap on my skin, the conversation I just had with … Mary Antoinette replayed in my head.

Even in my thoughts, I could not bring myself to refer to her as my wife. After all these years one would think I should be used to it -- be used to her, but it still feels strange like the day I signed those damn papers.

Perhaps it was because I never thought of her as my wife -– I have no reason to, coupled with the fact that I never consummated the so called marriage, never ate with her on that elegant dining table I was forced to spend a fortune on, in the equally outrageously expensive house I didn’t need. I could not even qualify her as my housemate. Housemates often hang out together and do stuff together, but it was not that way with Mary Antoinette. She was just… there. Perhaps as a house guest?

I recalled at some point I was tempted to be fully committed to her. She was not bad looking, after all, she was quite pretty, but then her father made it a point to remind me I was expected to give an heir. And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.