"Maeve dear, are you listening? Really, darling, it's terribly rude to drift off when someone's speaking."
Mae often wishes she could develop selective hearing, especially when her mother-in-law launches into one of her exhausting monologues about her emotionally stunted children. Today's episode features Lirael, who is apparently far too wrapped up in—what did Joanna call it?—"numbers and nonsense" at Parrish Tech to properly attend to her maternal obligations.
"Yes, mother." Mae lifts her Earl Grey to her lips, savoring the warmth that does little to thaw the frost creeping up her spine.
Joanna's perfectly manicured hands flutter like agitated birds as she dusts invisible crumbs from her skirt. "It's not as if I'm asking for the moon and stars, you know? Just a simple girls' night—that's what you young people call it these days, isn't it?" She pauses to adjust her designer glasses, a habit she's developed since her latest round of Botox has left her forehead remarkably immobile. "Eli's... well, Eli," she sighs with the weight of maternal martyrdom, "and Theron, my baby boy, he's becoming more and more like his brother. Always about the work, work, work. Can't my children spare a moment for their poor mother?" Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're the only one I can truly talk to, dear..."
And so the litany continues. Lirael needs more feminine pursuits. That ghastly Delphine would ruin Theron's wedding if her precious boy hadn't put his foot down. Eli had blown off her client luncheon again—and wasn't that just typical of him?
Mae nods at all the appropriate moments, the good daughter-in-law performance she's perfected over the past year. Her attention wanders to the pronounced creases between Joanna's eyebrows—the ones that seem to be waging war against her recent cosmetic procedures.
A year ago, when Mae had stepped into the role originally intended for her golden sister Maliah—who was apparently too precious to be relegated to an arranged marriage—Joanna's reception had been decidedly frostier. There had been plenty of snide remarks about getting "the dull sister," accusations that the Chamberlains had deliberately deceived them.
Looking back now, Mae finds herself oddly grateful for this substitute marriage. Eli is hardly husband of the year material—the thought alone might send him into conniptions—and his only motivation for wedding such an "insignificant thing" (his words, not hers) was his grandfather's iron-clad ultimatum: marry a Chamberlain girl or kiss his inheritance goodbye. Because of course these blue-blooded toffs had to settle their debts with marriage contracts, like some Victorian drama.
Still, it isn't the worst arrangement she could have landed in. Eli Parrish: CEO. Heir apparent. Her husband. An absolute tosser—he is many things, but he treats her... well, adequately, she supposes.
Their wedding night had been illuminating. While she'd maintained her mask of serenity, waiting to see what sharp words the notoriously frosty executive would deliver—she'd only ever seen him in the society pages and tabloids before their rushed altar encounter, where he'd made his displeasure at being strong-armed into marriage crystal clear—he'd simply loosened his tie, poured himself a generous measure of whisky, and announced, "Your academic record is thoroughly disappointing."
She'd nearly choked on air. Then he'd launched into a proper critique, rattling off his grievances like he was dictating quarterly reports. He would have preferred Maliah, naturally, with her prestigious degrees and management experience. Mae had just stared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The whisky had made him chatty, and he'd laid out his expectations. She wasn't to expect anything from him, she had no business poking about in his affairs, and she would do precisely as she was told, staying well within her prescribed boundaries.
Just when she'd thought he'd finally toddle off to whatever corner of the mansion he typically haunted, he'd started undressing. She'd croaked out an eloquent "What the bloody hell are you doing?"
Not her finest moment of articulation, but the sentiment had been clear enough.
Eli had smirked then, a cold twist of his lips that did absolutely nothing to diminish his devastating good looks—the prick had been blessed with everything, hadn't he?—before drawling that she was "easy on the eyes, at least." He'd proceeded to silence her protests about not wanting to copulate—because who wouldn't be in the mood after being thoroughly decimated?—with actions that... well.
She isn't proud of how that memory plays out, but she can't deny they have a certain chemistry in that department. If every other aspect of their marriage is arctic at best, their physical compatibility is undeniable. So Mae takes what she can get, because while it isn't her ideal life, she has her own rooms, her own workspace for her arts and pottery, the house to herself most days, and staff to maintain it all. Eli provides for her as a husband should, keeps his nose out of her business, and unknowingly offers her sanctuary from the chaos of the Chamberlain household.
"You're not listening at all," Joanna huffs, the sound remarkably similar to one of her prized Persian cats when denied cream.
Mae offers a sheepish smile. "Sorry, mother, I was thinking about—"
"Eli?" Joanna leans forward, her voice dropping to that practiced whisper she reserves for juicy gossip. Her jade pendant swings forward, catching the afternoon light. "Having a rough patch, are we? I know how difficult he can be, especially now. Poor Vince's health..." She clicks her tongue sympathetically. "You know how protective Eli is of his grandfather."
"Definitely," Mae agrees, grateful for the ready-made excuse. Better to let Joanna fill in the blanks with her own assumptions than—
"Oh!" Joanna's perfectly shaped eyebrows shoot up, though her forehead remains suspiciously smooth. "Oh, Mae darling, that's not it at all, is it?"
Mae blinks. What fresh conclusion is her mother-in-law leaping to now?
"Silvia," Joanna breathes the name like it's a forbidden spell. "Silvia Darleen?"
Mae's fingers still on her teacup. "What about Silvia?"
"Now, now, no need to put on a brave face with me." Joanna reaches across to pat Mae's hand. "My son's former fiancée? Good heavens, I'd never seen Eli so... gentle with anyone before. Such a pity about that ghastly marriage arrangement with your family." She sighs wistfully, lost in some cherished memory before remembering her current audience. "Not that you aren't lovely too, dear, just that—oh, what was I saying? Yes, Silvia's back from Germany."
"Oh," Mae says carefully, her thumb tracing the rim of her cup. "I wasn't aware."
Joanna's face melts into an expression of such blatant pity that Mae has to resist the urge to check if she's suddenly developed a terminal illness. But before her mother-in-law can dispense more emotional daggers disguised as concern, her phone lights up with an incoming call.
The transformation is instantaneous. Joanna's lips twist into a scowl as she barks into her phone, tearing strips off Theron's unfortunate wedding planner—something about table linens being the wrong shade of cream. She pauses mid-tirade to press the phone against her designer blazer. "Sorry, Mae darling, we'll catch up soon? I'm sure it's nothing to fret about, Eli's not like that." With a flutter of expensive perfume and clicking heels, she sweeps out of the house, still verbally eviscerating the poor planner.
Mae remains perched on her seat, one foot tucked beneath her as she watches the sun begin its descent beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse. Suppose this Silvia woman proves to be more than just a ghost from Eli's past—it isn't as if he can simply bin her off, not with Vince's health hanging by a thread. The marriage contract specifies five years minimum, after all.
Her mind, the treacherous thing that it is, wanders to darker possibilities. Would she be expected to accommodate their... rekindled romance?
The thought settles like lead in her stomach, which is rather surprising. She hadn't expected to feel quite so bothered by it all. Eli is hardly Prince Charming—more like the dragon, really—and she has no business getting emotionally tangled with that tyrant.
And yet.
The discomfort lingers, likely due to how this Silvia business threatens to dismantle the careful peace she's constructed over the past year. A peace she'll have to properly investigate, once she's done her homework on the illustrious Ms. Darleen.
The sun finally slips below the horizon, and the automated lights flicker to life around her. Mae's fingers tighten around her cup for the briefest moment before she exhales, releasing the tension that has wound its way through her shoulders.
She deposits her dishes in the sink for tomorrow's staff to sort and pads down the hallway to her room. A hot shower seems in order, something to wash away the residual unpleasantness of the afternoon.
Fresh from her shower and toweling her hair dry, Mae's phone erupts with notifications. She doesn't need three guesses to know it will be her unhinged brother Evander. Or perhaps Maliah, if she's feeling vicious today.
The message glares up at her: You think you can just ignore us? What good are you to this family if you can't even accomplish such a simple task?
Mae's thumbs hover over the keyboard before she types back: Eli's selective about who works for him. For the hundredth time, stop asking me to get jobs for your latest conquests. I have zero influence over him.
She tosses her phone onto the bed and changes into sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. The phone continues its angry buzz, this time with an incoming call. Mae ignores it. Avoidance might be the coward's way out, but it has served Mae rather well thus far. She deliberately doesn't think about the eventual consequences of ghosting various Chamberlain family functions, dodging their endless requests, and saying no to favors they have no business asking of her. Why spoil a perfectly good evening with such dreary thoughts?
Instead, she settles onto the plush sofa in their vast sitting room, armed with a bag of chocolate bites, and switches on the telly to find something mindless enough to fill the silence before she tackles the late dinner Matilda has prepared earlier.
Eli typically works well into the night, so Mae isn't expecting him home. She certainly isn't expecting the silvery laugh that suddenly echoes through their grand foyer—a woman's laugh.
She sits up straighter just as Eli emerges from the hallway, one arm draped around a redhead who is thoroughly flushed and tittering like a schoolgirl. The woman is burrowing into his broad chest, and Eli—Mae notices with a strange twist in her gut—looks more cross than smug about having a gorgeous woman draped all over him.
Another piece of chocolate finds its way to her mouth as she observes them quietly. Eli's storm-grey eyes lock onto her, and she could have sworn he goes rigid for a split second. Her mind wanders back to Joanna's earlier revelation: Silvia Darleen.
Well. That hadn't taken long at all.
She contemplates asking who the woman is, just to see what sort of response she'd get, but Eli is clearly in one of his moods and any answer would likely come wrapped in barbed wire. So she simply offers her practiced smile—the one she knows irritates him because they both know exactly how false it is.
"I'll leave you both alone," she says, gathering her chocolates as she rises from the sofa.
"For what?" he growls, unceremoniously depositing his alleged first love onto the pristine white couch. "And what sort of reaction is that? Your husband brings a stranger home and you just toddle off? Have you no pride?"
The urge to introduce his head to their overpriced Lalique vase is rather strong. So now he's narked because she hadn't made a fuss? And what exactly is pride meant to do for her? Pay her bills? Give her peace of mind?
"And what, you think I brought her here to fuck her?" His footsteps follow her into the kitchen, heavy and heated as his tone. The marble countertops seem to vibrate with his anger.
She allows herself an eye roll, safely hidden from his view. "Does it matter?"
His jaw clenches—she can hear his teeth grinding—and he opens his mouth to deliver what is undoubtedly going to be a scathing retort when Silvia's voice floats in from the sitting room.
"Eli! The pillows are swallowing meee!"
Mae reaches for a plate. "You should probably rescue her before the throw pillows claim another victim." The discomfort in her chest is manifesting in sharper words than she'd intended. Usually she has no trouble keeping her mouth firmly shut.
"Think you're bloody hilarious, don't you?" Eli completely ignores his moonlight maiden's distress calls from the other room.
"Not at all," she answers swiftly without looking back, even as her heart skips a beat at his ominous tone, "want a plate?"
More retching sounds in the quiet house. Eli gives her one hard look before he turns towards Silvia. She takes the moment to pile on helping of fried rice and orange chicken, then takes a cold water bottle from the fridge before making her grand escape to her work room.