The Bride by Agreement

The morning after the charity gala, Riley woke to find herself alone in the vast Grant mansion. The events of the previous evening felt like a dream – or perhaps a nightmare. She had successfully played the role of the loving wife, charming donors and socialites alike, but the performance had left her emotionally drained.

She found a note on her nightstand, written in Alexander's precise handwriting: "Well done last night. Your performance was flawless. I'll be in London for the next three days on business. The household staff will attend to your needs. - A.G."

Performance. The word stung more than it should have. Riley crumpled the note and tossed it into the wastebasket. This was exactly what she had signed up for, she reminded herself. A business transaction, nothing more.

She spent the morning exploring the mansion more thoroughly. The Grant estate was a monument to old money – oil paintings by masters whose names she recognized from art history classes, Persian rugs worth more than most people's cars, and a wine cellar that could stock a small restaurant. Yet despite its opulence, the house felt hollow, like a beautiful museum where no one actually lived.

In Alexander's study, she found herself drawn to a collection of leather-bound books. Most were business journals and financial reports, but tucked away on a lower shelf, she discovered a worn copy of "Pride and Prejudice." The margins were filled with pencil notes in Alexander's handwriting – thoughtful observations about character development and social commentary that surprised her with their insight.

"Finding anything interesting, Mrs. Grant?"

Riley spun around to find Henry standing in the doorway, carrying a tea service.

"I was just looking," she said, hastily replacing the book. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No need to apologize," Henry said, setting down the tray. "This house has been too quiet for too long. It's good to see someone taking an interest in Mr. Grant's personal belongings."

"He reads literature?" Riley asked, curious despite herself.

Henry's expression softened. "He used to read voraciously as a child. His grandmother – God rest her soul – was a professor of English literature. She's the one who introduced him to the classics." He paused, studying Riley carefully. "Perhaps you might encourage him to return to old habits. He's forgotten how to enjoy the simple pleasures in life."

After Henry left, Riley found herself thinking about the contradiction that was Alexander Grant. The man who had coldly negotiated their marriage contract was the same person who had thoughtfully annotated Jane Austen. Which version was the real Alexander?

She decided to focus on her own work instead of puzzling over her enigmatic husband. Riley had brought her laptop and research materials, and she set up a temporary office in the sunroom overlooking the garden. The natural light was perfect for writing, and she found herself more productive than she had been in months.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Sophie: "How's married life, Mrs. Moneybags?"

Riley smiled despite herself and typed back: "Luxurious and lonely. He's in London. I'm rattling around this mansion like a ghost."

"At least you're a well-dressed ghost with unlimited room service," Sophie replied. "Speaking of which, I need details about last night. The photos are all over social media."

Riley had avoided looking at the coverage of the gala, but curiosity got the better of her. She pulled up the society pages and found dozens of photos of her and Alexander. In every image, they looked like the perfect couple – his hand on her back, her looking up at him with what appeared to be adoration, both of them smiling as if they shared wonderful secrets.

The captions were effusive: "The Grant Power Couple Steals the Show," "Alexander Grant's Mystery Bride Charms High Society," "Love at First Sight: The Whirlwind Romance That Has Everyone Talking."

If only they knew the truth.

Riley's phone rang, interrupting her brooding. The caller ID showed her mother's number.

"Riley! I've been dying to hear about your wedding," her mother's voice was stronger than it had been in weeks. "Tell me everything."

Riley felt her throat tighten. "It was beautiful, Mom. Really beautiful."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be there," her mother said, and Riley could hear the tears in her voice. "I wanted to walk you down the aisle, to meet your new husband."

"The doctors said you needed to rest," Riley said quickly. "We'll have a proper celebration when you're feeling better."

"Tell me about Alexander," her mother pressed. "What's he like? Are you happy?"

Riley stared out at the perfectly manicured garden, searching for words that wouldn't be complete lies. "He's... he's very successful. Intelligent. He takes care of me."

"But do you love him?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. Riley closed her eyes, remembering the warmth of Alexander's hand on hers the night before, the way he had looked at her when she came down the stairs in her gown.

"I'm still figuring that out," she said honestly.

"Well, love grows," her mother said gently. "Your father and I weren't love at first sight either. But we built something beautiful together."

After the call ended, Riley sat in the sunroom as the afternoon light began to fade. She thought about her parents' marriage – how they had supported each other through financial struggles, how her father had worked two jobs to put her through college, how her mother had smiled through chemotherapy treatments with quiet dignity.

That was real love. Real partnership. What she had with Alexander was a carefully constructed facade, and she couldn't let herself forget that.

The next two days passed in a strange routine. Riley wrote in the mornings, explored the city in the afternoons, and dined alone in the enormous dining room each evening. The staff was polite but distant, clearly unsure how to treat this new addition to the household.

On the third evening, she was working late in the sunroom when she heard the front door open. Alexander was back.

Riley saved her work and made her way to the main hall, where she found him speaking quietly with Henry. He looked exhausted, his usually perfect appearance slightly rumpled from travel.

"Welcome home," she said, the words feeling strange in her mouth.

He turned to her, and for a moment, she saw something flicker in his eyes – relief? pleasure? – before his usual mask slipped back into place.

"How was London?" she asked.

"Productive," he said curtly. "I trust you've been comfortable?"

"Very comfortable, thank you."

They stood there in awkward silence, two strangers sharing a house and a name but little else.

"I should let you get some rest," Riley said finally.

"Actually," Alexander said, stopping her as she turned to leave, "we need to discuss our schedule for the next few weeks. There are several events we'll need to attend together."

Riley nodded. "Of course. Should I have Anna coordinate with your assistant?"

"I'll handle it," Alexander said. "But Riley..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully. "Last night at the gala, you handled yourself admirably. I know this situation isn't easy for you."

It was the closest thing to a compliment – or an acknowledgment of her sacrifice – that he had given her. Riley felt a unexpected warmth spread through her chest.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "That means a lot."

For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Riley found herself noticing details she had missed before – the way his dark hair fell across his forehead when he was tired, the small scar above his left eyebrow, the way his shoulders carried the weight of responsibility like a physical burden.

"Well," Alexander said, breaking the spell, "goodnight, Riley."

"Goodnight, Alexander."

As she climbed the stairs to her room, Riley couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. It was subtle – a crack in the wall they had built around their arrangement. She told herself it didn't matter, that she couldn't let herself read too much into a moment of politeness.

But as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling of her beautiful prison, Riley couldn't help but wonder what might happen if that wall came down entirely.