Catherine stared out the window as the car sped through the darkening evening. Sean was silent, and his knuckles were white on the wheel. She stole glances at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering what he was thinking.

She bit her lip and tried to focus on the grassy landscape, but she couldn't forget the scene in the Blair living room. Was it true that she and Sean didn't have a marriage certificate? Were they legally married or not? She knew she'd never signed one, but the Blair family was powerful—she was sure they could have gotten a forged document if they wanted to. No official in the local government would dare to argue with a Blair.

​​

She glanced at Sean again, and he caught her looking. He raised his eyebrows, and his mouth turned down into a frown, but he didn't say a word. She sighed and looked away.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"Nothing," she said, turning to look at him. "I just wanted to thank you for defending me in front of your family."

His mouth twitched with amusement, "You're a courageous woman to try to face them alone."

She shrugged, "Your mother called me and insisted I visit. She even sent the car to pick me up. I couldn't refuse."

"You could have, and you should have," he said.

"Maybe," Catherine said. "But I didn't want to be rude. I didn't have the chance to get to know her before we got married, and I think that offended her. And then, I wasn't able to spend any time with her at the wedding. I couldn't refuse to see her now."

Sean's face darkened, "I told her I'd bring you to dinner. She could have gotten to know you then. There was no need for her to bring you there by yourself."

"She's just curious about her new daughter-in-law," she said, surprised that she was defending Vivian.

"Hmph," he said.

"You can't hide me from the world, Sean," she said.

"I can try," he muttered, his eyes darkening.

A chill ran down her spine—his tone was deadly serious. She took a deep breath and continued, "But they're your own family."

"That's true," he said. "But I know what type of people they are."

"I can handle them," she said.

A flash of amusement crossed his face, "Oh, is that what you were doing when I came in? They were tearing you apart."

"They were not," she said indignantly. "They're just defensive of you, and they have every right to be. They don't know me, and they have some misunderstandings about me. Once they get to know me better, they'll warm up to me. I'm sure of it."

Sean laughed, a short sound that sounded like a bark, "You're very naïve."

Catherine closed her eyes in frustration. She knew that Vivian and Iris would never warm up to her—she could turn coal to diamonds, walk on water, and provide Sean with dozens of children, and they'd still hate her. But they could become unlikely allies. If and when she decided to leave Sean, they would probably be thrilled to help her get away.

"Alright, don't be angry," she snapped. "I shouldn't have gone there without telling you. If you hadn't come, who knows how long I would have had to sit there listening to those witches mock me."

"Witches?" Sean asked. "First, you say you understand my mother's behavior, and then you call her a witch? Well, which is it?"

"Whichever you prefer to hear," she said, suddenly exhausted.

He jerked the steering wheel and slammed the brakes, and the car came to a screeching halt on the side of the road. He turned to face her, and his pale blue eyes scanned up and down her face.

"The truth," he said. "I always prefer the truth."

She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and looked down at her lap.

"Look at me," he said.

Reluctantly she lifted her head and met his intense stare, "Okay, I don't think she's a very nice woman, but she's your mother, so I have to try to understand her."

"Okay," he said. "And one more thing, you will never go to my parents' house without my permission."

She stared back at him, defiantly, "Or what?"

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. He jerked the car back onto the road and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The sports car shot forward, pressing her against the leather seat. She gritted her teeth and kept her gaze fixed on the landscape beyond the window. As the grassy landscape flew past, it became apparent they weren't going back to Sean's estate.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I'm taking you out to dinner," he replied. "Are you hungry?"

"A bit," she admitted.

He pulled the car into a parking lot, and a valet in a red jacket rushed forward to open her door and help her out. They passed under an awning into a dimly lit restaurant. The maitre'd smiled and welcomed Sean personally.

"Do you come here a lot?" Catherine asked.

"A fair bit," he answered.

The maitre'd led them into a private room in the back. The décor was masculine—dark wood-paneled walls, hunting trophies, and faded black and white photographs of politicians and nobility on fox hunts and polo matches. The faint smell of cigar smoke hung in the air.

"Mr. Blair, Mr. Dickens is here today," the maitre'd said.

"Oh good," Sean said with a smile. "Show him in."

"Who is Mr. Dickens?" she asked.

"He was the best man at our wedding," Sean said. "Not that you stuck around long enough to meet him. This restaurant is one of his business projects, and we have lunch here often."

"I see," she said, looking at the place setting on the table.

Sean reached for the leather-bound menu and flipped it open with practiced ease. He scanned the items and waved a waiter off. He ordered for both of them: two steaks with mashed potatoes and peas on the side. For himself, he asked for a glass of red wine, and for her, he ordered plain water.

The door opened moments later, and two young men strode in. Both wore broad smiles as if they'd been interrupted in the middle of a joke, but their faces soured when they saw her. The man on the left was a flashy dresser—he wore a summer linen suit with a pink shirt and a bowtie. His blonde hair was combed neatly, and his face was clean-shaven.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Brad Dickens, you may remember me from the wedding."

Catherine frowned at the mockery in his tone. The man standing next to him wore a plain white button-down shirt, slacks, with a serious expression. His darker hair was cropped short, and his dark beard only exaggerated his frown.

"I'm Leydon Fields," he said.

"So Sean, you've finally brought your wife to my humble establishment," Brad joked. "I hope she finds everything to her liking."

"Of course," Catherine said shyly. "I like the décor—it reminds me of a place my father used to take me."

"Oh, that's not enough," Brad said. "Order anything you want on the house."

"Thanks," she said.

Two waitresses appeared carrying chairs and two place settings. They added the chairs, plates, and utensils to the table and disappeared, leaving the four alone.

"So, Catherine," Leydon said. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name. Sean has said so much about, you know."

She smiled back uncertainty, unsure if he was mocking her. His face and voice were calm and serious, but based on Brad's expression, she sensed he was making fun. She wondered how much the two men knew about her failed elopement. Had Sean confided in them, or was his pride too strong?

She sat in silence, watching the men eye her up and down, and she wondered if she met their standards. Was she the kind of woman they saw Sean with? Was she his type? Were they pleased or disappointed with what they saw? She shook her head slightly. Their opinions of her shouldn't matter.

The waiters came and poured Sean his wine and gave her a glass of ice water with lemon. Brad gestured to one of the waiters and whispered something, and then he left the room and came back with another wine glass. He placed the glass in front of her and filled it with the same red wine Sean was drinking. Sean scowled at his friend and snatched the cup away before she could take it.

"Take it away," he ordered the waiter.

"What?" Brad asked. "This is a fine wine—I'm sure Catherine will enjoy it."

"She can't drink wine," Sean said.

Brad and Leydon exchanged a glance, and Catherine felt a blush creep up her cheeks. It sounded like she was pregnant, but that was impossible. A sudden thought struck her—was Sean trying to get her pregnant? Was he waiting for her period to end so he could make love with her? She scowled down at her plate.