Unspoken (The Prose Series Book 1)

by Sofia Tate

  The sound of the doorbell breaks the silence between my father and me.

  I guess I’m about to find out.

  Sinclair opens the door to reveal the Thorne family—Gregory Thorne, one of the hedge fund kings of Manhattan, Meredith Thorne, one of the society queens of the Upper East Side, and following close behind, their only child, Porter.

  I’m stunned by what I see. Though his hair is still floppy, I see no evidence of any pimples. He’s actually…okay looking. Not my type at all, though. He could pass for Chris O’Donnell’s younger brother. But he’s too clean-cut for me. I doubt he could keep up with me. Not like Aiden…

  Do not think about him.

  “Hi, Beatrice.”

  Porter’s voice snaps me back to attention. “Hi, Porter. It’s been a long time.”

  He smiles at me. “I know.” He takes note of my coat and gloves. “Were you on your way out?”

  I nod. “Yeah, but my dad asked me to stay. I have no idea why.”

  “Same here. My parents asked me to come down from Boston for this.”

  We stare at each other, not in an aroused manner, but more as if we’ve just realized something is about to happen unbeknownst to us and we’re both scared to death.

  My mother’s cheery voice wafts over us. “Come, everyone. Let’s go inside, shall we?”

  A wave of chills comes over my entire body.

  A lamb to the slaughter.

  Once inside, Porter and I greet each other’s parents as Sinclair takes my coat and scarf. Drinks are served.

  “Sweetheart, take the loveseat with Porter,” my father insists.

  I exchange confused looks with my former dance partner. Once I sit down, I have to place my hands on my knees to keep them from shaking.

  My father clears his throat. “Beatrice, you are aware that Park isn’t doing well financially with the advent of digital. Our print sales are down dramatically.”

  I tilt my head at him. “I know that, Daddy. I read our financials every quarter. It’s worrying to be sure.”

  “Unfortunately, the old guard is getting too old,” my father continues. “The younger generation just isn’t interested in reading print anymore. We will need to deeply invest in transitioning to a digital platform.”

  I nod. “That makes sense. And I know that it’s my family legacy, but I’m not quite sure what this has to do with me. You said you always wanted Sebastian to join you at the magazine.”

  My father clasps his hands together. “This is true, and at some point, once he gets over his playboy antics, I’m sure he will. But I don’t know when that will happen, and we need the cash now to go digital.”

  “Which is where I come in,” Gregory Thorne chimes in without warning.

  “Well, I’m certainly grateful to you for that, Mr. Thorne. But I’m still confused about why we’re here,” I reply, gesturing to Porter and myself.

  “Beatrice, dear…” my mother starts, then shifts her eyes between Porter and me. “We had an idea that perhaps the two of you could get to know each other better.”

  My mouth drops. She’s kidding, right? This cannot be happening. Porter and I turn our heads toward each other, the shocked look on his face mirroring my own.

  “Dad?” he asks his father for confirmation of his fears.

  Mr. Thorne clears his throat. “Look, son, you’re not getting any younger. And investing in a magazine is a high-risk venture. I have a board of directors to answer to. If the two of you were married, there’s less of a chance that the board will balk at the idea of this partnership.”

  My head begins to spin from the sound of the words…partnership, married.

  I jump to my feet, my legs shaking from the shock. “Are you kidding me? For crying out loud, this is not the nineteenth century! I have my own life. In this century. I’m not going to marry someone for the sake of a fucking business deal!”

  “Beatrice, language!” my mother admonishes me.

  “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. But there’s no way in hell I’m going through with this.” I turn to Porter. “I’m so sorry you were dragged into this. I meant no offense.”

  He shakes his head at me. “Don’t worry. None taken.”

  I yank my purse from the floor and storm back to my room. I slam the door behind me, collapsing onto my bed. I clench my hands, trying to get a grip on myself. My breathing comes so fast that I think I’m going to hyperventilate. I stare across at my bookshelf filled with my Austen and Brontë favorites when it hits me…

  Prose.

  I haven’t read the message yet.

  I quickly grab my bag and rummage through it for my phone. I swipe until I get to the Prose app, opening it as fast as I can. I click on the Message icon, revealing the message from GalwayPlayer.

  Hello, beautiful.

  I’m new here. I was greatly attracted to your prose.

  I would love to be your guide as you explore your desires with me. I will please you until you come so hard that you see stars behind your eyes and beg for mercy. I will worship your soft flesh, making you feel like the most desired woman on the planet. But I will also insist that you submit to me so my own desires are fulfilled. To hear you call me “Sir” and to be able to call you my “good girl”—that is what I want from you, until we are both spent and sated.

  I will start by asking for two things, my good girl. The first - tell me something about yourself that no one knows. The second - tell me something you want that you’re too afraid to ask for.

  Yours,

  GalwayPlayer

  My hands shake as my mouth forms a wide smile. A guide? Someone who could help me figure out what I truly want without revealing my true identity? Yes. This is what I want. What I need.

  But now…how do I put off my family?

  A gentle knock on the door snaps me back. I drop the phone onto my bed, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands. “Come in.”

  My father’s face appears in the doorway, stern and determined. “Beatrice, I understand that you’re a bit blindsided by this.”

  I laugh to myself. “‘A bit?’”

  “We’re not mandating that you marry anyone, but do you think you could just give Porter a chance?”

  Do I have a fucking choice?

  He continues in the face of my silence. “Losing the magazine would be an enormous blow to all of us. I would be fine, but your mother and Sebastian…They don’t know anything else but this life.”

  The guilt card. Well played, Daddy. “Of course. Give me a moment.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you shortly.”

  He gently shuts the door behind him. I step into my en suite bathroom to check my face. I pour myself a glass of water from the tap, letting the cool liquid soothe my throat. I check my face, reapplying my lip gloss. I look myself over once more and grab my purse, heading for the living room. GalwayPlayer is going to have to wait until after lunch.

  As I join my parents and the Thornes, I stop suddenly when I see Porter dressed once again in his coat, pulling on a pair of brown leather gloves.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  My mother rises to her feet from her place on the sofa. “Dear, we thought perhaps you and Porter should have some time to yourselves. We know this proposition may have come as a bit of a shock to you.”

  May have?

  I exhale a deep breath. Porter steps toward me. “We could get some coffee. You probably know where to go around here.”

  I tilt my head at his warm tone and nod. “I do.”

  I turn around to see Sinclair already standing in the hallway, holding my coat, scarf, and gloves. I quietly thank him.

  “I’m ready,” I announce to the group.

  Porter joins me at my side, turning back to address our parents. “We’ll be back soon.”

  “Take your time,” Mrs. Thorne shouts out to us.

  “We’ll see you soon,” Mom adds.

  Porter sighs audibly, while my own teeth clench at the happy tone in their voices.
r />   Sinclair holds the door open for us. Waiting for the elevator, neither Porter nor I exchange a word. The silence is stifling.

  “Let’s go to Nespresso,” I suggest, desperate to make some kind of noise to break up the bundles of nerves in my stomach.

  “That’s fine,” he replies with no hint of emotion.

  Outside my building, I lead us south down Park, then west to Madison and 65th. We enter the café, where the space buzzes with a cacophony of voices, holiday shoppers, and tourists speaking in various accents.

  Once seated, I order a vanilla latte, while Porter orders an espresso. The waitress walks away, and we finally look straight at each other

  “So…”

  “So…”

  “This isn’t awkward,” I observe.

  “Not in the slightest,” he jokes. “What were they thinking? I have my own life that doesn’t revolve around charity balls and cocktail parties.” He stops for a second, realizing what he said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  I shake my head. “I wasn’t insulted. That’s what my life revolves around, and sometimes it feels incredibly claustrophobic.”

  He nods in acknowledgment as our drinks are set down in front of us. “That’s how I felt growing up in that environment. The only good thing about it was you.”

  I stop in mid-sip at his words. “It was? Me?”

  “The last time I saw you was at your debutante ball at the Waldorf. And I asked you to dance.”

  “And you stepped on my feet again. Just like you did when we took those dancing lessons.”

  “I wanted to get your attention.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Because I liked you.”

  My eyes widen in shock. “You did?”

  He looks down at his coffee. “Yeah, but you were so popular, and I was too shy to make a move.”

  I swallow. “Porter, you’re very sweet, but we can’t be together because of a childhood crush. We don’t know anything about each other. Are you even attracted to me?”

  His face goes downcast, eyes on the table. “Yeah,” he mutters under his breath. “I had no idea my parents were going to pull this on me. I didn’t know anything about the partnership. But I’ve always had a crush on you. If I were married to you, I could put up with the balls and parties. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

  Oh, hell. Go gently.

  I reach for his hand. “Porter, look at me.”

  He finally looks up from the table.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. I truly do. I wish I could say the feeling was mutual. You deserve to be with someone who loves you unconditionally and makes you happy.”

  “I agree, but what do we do about our parents?”

  I sigh in desperation. “I have no clue. If we tell them outright we won’t do it, then they’ll just keep nagging us. Maybe we should just play along until they get over this ridiculous idea. Pretend we like each other.”

  His mouth quirks in contemplation. “That could work, I suppose. It’s not like we would encroach on each other’s lives since we live in different cities. We’ll just see each other when it’s necessary.”

  “Exactly. We’ll have to work together on this so our parents buy that we’re into each other.”

  He nods. “I hope we can pull it off.”

  “Me too.”

  Suddenly, the wheels start turning in my head. Who do I know in my circle that would be interested in Park, investing in it, writing for it, editing it, bringing it into this century? I’ll have to ask Marisol what she thinks.

  My other goal is to get to know a man named GalwayPlayer and figure out exactly what I have to do for him to call me his “good girl.”

  5

  Aiden

  “Come on, Mikey, get your ass in the game!”

  From my position as goalie, I watch as the star forward on Dwyer Construction’s amateur soccer team completely misses the opposing goalpost by a yard. He barely managed to get his foot on the ball, falling over himself like a klutz.

  I shake my head and sigh in frustration. I usually look forward to these games, but this is the second time we’re playing Matteo Brothers, and I’m determined to beat their asses. It would diminish the sting of losing to them last time in a 3-0 shutout, most of it being my fault, seeing as I’m the team goalie.

  I give the clock a quick glance, exhaling in relief that it’s almost two minutes until halftime.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a flash of red. Sebastian greets my dad in the bleachers, then sits down in the first row next to him, but what I don’t expect to see is Bea greeting Pop with a hug and a peck on the cheek, then taking a seat between him and Seb. I’d invited Seb to the game, but seeing Buzzy here in a long red wool coat, her long, swanlike neck wrapped in a black-and-white checked scarf…

  A whizzing sound suddenly flies right past my head, the sound of the ropes in the goalpost cradling the ball.

  Cheers erupt from the stands where the Matteo fans sit, as the players begin to whoop and holler for their goal.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who needs to get his ass in the game,” Mikey mutters under his breath as he brushes past me.

  The whistle sounds, marking the end of the first half. Thank fucking God.

  I hustle over to the team bench, grabbing a water bottle and a clean towel, avoiding the angry stares of my teammates. I chug the water, wrapping the towel around my neck as I head over to the stands.

  “You asleep there, son?” Pop teases me.

  “Something like that,” I murmur under my breath, my eyes not leaving Bea because of her demeanor, which has totally thrown me.

  She isn’t holding her head high, no smirk of any kind across her lips; in fact, she is not giving off her usual haughty manner at all. Instead, she looks almost shy, with her shoulders hunched, looking at anyone and anything but me.

  “What’s wrong, Buzzy? Looking for your Uber driver to get you back to civilization?” I prod her to get some iota of recognition from her.

  “No. I’m sorry you missed that kick,” she replies timidly with the shortest of glances in my direction.

  What in the hell?

  I manage to keep my mouth shut and not let it drop open from the shock of her words.

  No snide remarks. No insults. Something is going on.

  “Come on, love. I’ll get you some hot chocolate,” my father offers, stepping closer to Bea and wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he leads her toward the team bench.

  Seb nudges me, joining me to watch them walk away. “Your guess is as good as mine, man.”

  “What the hell is up with her? I gave her an opening and she just ignored it.”

  Seb shrugs his shoulders. “No fucking clue. Dinner last night was subdued, to say the least. Nobody was talking. I almost joked about getting someone pregnant just to get a rise out of my parents, but I kept my mouth shut. And when I asked Mom later, she totally brushed me off and said ‘Ask your father.’ So I did, but he shot me down too. Bea didn’t say a word during the ride over either.”

  My brows narrow in confusion and concern. “Huh. She didn’t even complain about being forced to go all the way out to Queens to see me play in some stupid soccer game?”

  Seb shakes his head silently.

  This isn’t my Buzzy.

  I thought she’d at least have a certain look in her eyes after the message I sent her, as if she were floating on air or even a hint of lust, some crap like that. But it’s as if she’s dead behind those beautiful emerald eyes of hers.

  I catch my dad and Bea heading back over when an idea pops into my head.

  Don’t worry, baby. I’m here for you.

  Holding onto a steaming Styrofoam cup as if her life depended on it, Bea positions herself next to her brother, taking a short sip of liquid.

  “Hey, Buzzy, I was just talking to Seb about him coming out to the worksite to see how the building is coming along, but he can’t make it on Monday. Maybe you
’d be interested? You have a great eye for style and design. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the project.”

  I give Seb a just-play-along-and-don’t-fuck-this-up glare, with Seb nodding in understanding.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a squash game at the club that I can’t get out of,” Seb adds. “Why don’t you go?”

  My heart stops as I wait for her answer.

  Bea gives a quick nod. “Sure. I would enjoy that,” she accepts with a genuine smile.

  She turns back to my father to say something as Seb’s eyes widen in surprise and mouths “thank you” at me.

  “Anytime,” I answer.

  If he only knew the lengths I would go to for his sister to see her smile…

  6

  Bea

  I can’t help but laugh and roll my eyes at the sight of Aiden standing at the entrance of the building site on Monday afternoon, a pink hardhat dangling from his fingers and a knowing smirk plastered across his lips.

  I love how he loves to tease me.

  I shoo away the butterflies in my stomach, wishing he didn’t make me smile so easily. It would make my life much less complicated.

  Shake it off, Bea. Put your game face on.

  “Pink? Really? Isn’t that a bit sexist?”

  “Buzzy, who do you think works here? Members of the Social Register? These are construction guys. Union guys. Teamsters. The term ‘politically correct’ isn’t exactly a part of their daily vernacular.”

  I grin at this realization, something that never would’ve crossed my mind because I wouldn’t have known this on my own. Aiden keeps it real for me, and it doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s almost as if he enjoys spending time with me, teaching me about his world.

  After all these years, after all the insults and barbs, could he really want me? The real me? Well, it’s too late now since it looks like my family has no qualms telling me how I’m going live my life as Mrs. Porter Thorne.

  “Bea?”

  The concern in his voice makes me shiver when I look back at him. His head tilts at me in curiosity. “What’s wrong?”