Chapter Four
Aiden
When Dad informs me about my marriage match at dinner, I bite my tongue. I want to protest, but that would be a waste of breath. Dad's orders are ultimate and binding.
I've learned to be optimistic about every challenge I encounter in this household. I try to find the good side of every displeasing task that comes my way.
The lady I'm expected to marry may be the perfect remedy I need, following my recent breakup. I don't have to love her, since our union is a marriage of convenience, purely contrived for a business purpose.
Besides, my issues with commitment are a factor to contend with. Marrying her will nip my rakish lifestyle in the bud, as my home training won't allow me to cheat while bound to another woman, even if not willingly.
"Who is she?" Beatrice asks, seemingly unaware of this announcement.
I shovel my food into my mouth, barely tasting it, and chew slowly. This is my typical conduct – acting like I'm not there. I only speak when I'm told to speak. I avoid making any noise with my cutlery, lest I attract Beatrice's scornful look.
Being the subject of that look has taught me to be the perfect dinner companion, with impeccable table manners.
Beatrice hates me with passion, and she's made that fact obvious since I was brought into this house.
Lachlan, my stepbrother, shares similar sentiments with his mother. They perceive my presence as a threat to Lachlan's future as the company's successor.
If only they knew about my apathy toward power struggles. I'm grateful for the luxury I enjoy here, but fighting over the inheritance of a man who wouldn't have sought me out if my mom hadn't abandoned me on his property is the last thing on my mind.
"My mom told me she'd be back," I recall, the memory still etched in my mind. But all I saw was her back as she walked away. She never returned. I have no idea if she's dead or missing. It's as if Rosaline Salvatore's memory and existence never existed.
Moreover, Beatrice regards me with contempt. My background makes her deem me unfit to eat off her pet's plates, let alone share meals with her.
I noticed the abhorrence radiating off her the first moment her eyes set on me. I was wearing my worn-out school clothes, which dulled in comparison to her garish and expensive-looking dress.
I had already braced myself for her disdain, judging from her expression. Still, I put on a cheerful facade. Despite the jabs, flak, and insults, I brush them off with an air of indifference.
They're more irritated by the fact that their actions don't dent my happiness. However, that's a half-truth. I hide my hurt deep down, where they can never see it. Only when I'm alone do I cry out loud, waxing nostalgic.
"Hermione Watson Pierce," Dad answers.
"Watson Foundation," Lachlan inquires, drawing his brows together.
My ears perk up at the name, but it doesn't strike a chord.
"She's a brilliant lady with a bright future ahead of her. Why pair her with him?" Beatrice demands, looking baffled. She casts a pointed glance in my direction. "Lachlan would have made a much more suitable match for the lady."
Dad grunts. "My reasons are none of your concern. Their marriage has nothing to do with suitability or compatibility." Dad waves one finger in Lachlan's direction. "Aren't you seeing someone already?"
Lachlan shifts in his seat, his head hanging low. "No," he responds, before adding, "Our relationship isn't serious," when he observes Dad's skepticism. He can't fool Dad; I'm sure the old man has eyes on us everywhere we go, keeping tabs on our lives. Lachlan doesn't have to attempt deceit to win his favor; Dad can easily sniff through the lie.
To be honest, I have no idea why Lachlan is trying so hard. It's no secret that he's the eventual heir of the company, my presence notwithstanding.
The fact that Dad has placed me in a key role within the company's hierarchy doesn't mean he's setting his sights on me over Lachlan, the son he's groomed as his successor for years before I entered the picture.
I snort under my breath. I doubt the old man will bequeath any of his inheritance to me. I'm the good-for-nothing, long-lost son of the Mendes family, who ought to have remained hidden. Lachlan is the golden son, and everyone knows it.
Dad responds to Lachlan's statement with another grunt. He's a man of few words, not cold, but indifferent. I never feel comfortable under his scrutiny. I rarely see him smile. His aura is intimidating and radiates unease.
"You two should get to know each other. Your marriage plans will kick off soon," Dad informs me.
I shift my focus to him, asking, "How soon is that?"
When his eyes connect with mine, I promptly break eye contact. His eyes look hollow, filled with depths that leave shivers in their wake.
"When do you plan to have the marriage held?" I ask, speaking as though it's not my marriage being discussed.
"In a month's time."
"Okay." I nod.
"It's up to you to charm her. Try to gain her affection. It's what you do best," Dad says, gesturing dismissively in my direction. "Perhaps the only thing you're good at," he adds.
I flatten my lips at the direct insult. I hear Lachlan's snicker across the table. I ignore him, tuning out of the ensuing conversation.
When I finish eating, I silently leave, grumbling a halfhearted goodnight to everyone. I don't get a response, not that I anticipated one anyway.
"You don't mean it?" Ray laughs when I tell him about my upcoming nuptials when we meet the following evening.
He's amused that I'll be standing at the altar before he does, given my attitude toward anything long-term and involving commitment.
"Who's the lady?"
"It's Hermione Watson Pierce. I heard she's a prodigy in surgery and all that." There were plenty of praises about her when I looked her up online. Her photos showed a poised woman with piercing green eyes and raven-black hair, her smile radiant and confident. But I'm not naive enough to trust everything the media says. Except the articles written about me – those are accurate.
"Yes, I've heard of her," Ray says, tapping his chin.
I lean forward, curious to hear what he knows. "Any insight into the real woman beyond the screen?"
"She's not normally the type of woman you'd go for." Ray shrugs. "You know how it is with medical students, especially one with her level of excellence at her age." Raymond tilts his jaw meaningfully at me.
I sag back in my chair, holding the waist of my beer bottle. The dim lighting of the restaurant and the hum of conversation around us create a cozy atmosphere, but my mind is elsewhere. "I bet she's an arrogant, narcissistic, and mean woman." A tortured sigh escapes me, and Raymond waves a hand in consolation from across from me.
"My condolences, brother," he says.
"I dread my future now, Raymond. Getting married to Hermione Watson will be a nightmare," I moan aloud, bemoaning my predicament.
"I'm glad our feelings are mutual." A sonorous female voice echoes behind me, sending a shiver down my spine.
I turn to face the owner of the voice as she stands up from her chair, facing me squarely. Our tables are placed side by side, although the seating arrangement keeps our backs turned to each other. Otherwise, I would have noticed her.
My heart skips a beat when our eyes lock. My mouth falls agape as recognition sparks. I'm staring at Hermione Watson Pierce in person, and I just talked badly about her in her presence.
The soft overhead lighting illuminates her features, making her even more breathtaking. I close my mouth, work my jaw, and open it back to apologize, but she speaks before I can.
"It was nice meeting you too, Aiden Mendes," she says, her voice as silky as a siren's. It lures me in, and I drink in its euphony. She smiles, and her eyes sparkle with amusement.
What was I saying about my future with Hermione Watson Pierce? I take my comment back. I earnestly look forward to a marriage with this woman. She's perfection in its physical form.
When she excuses herself to leave, I don't stop staring after her until Ray clears his throat. He looks questioningly at me, a knowing grin across his mouth, when I turn back to face him.
"Mmn?" Ray urges.
"I'm smitten, bro. I think I've fallen in love," I whisper, dreamily conjuring Hermione Watson Pierce's beautiful form in my head.