Elah's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  “That’s a two-way street, dear. You won’t be disrespected, and neither will I. I also won’t be talked down to or condescended to.”

  “Fair enough. And I’m glad we established this little understanding now. The judge is here.”

  Not a minute after he finished speaking, the door opened and in walked Judge Hines, one of the city’s superior court judges and a cordial, if not close, friend of her father’s. Charlotte had met him numerous times, and he’d always said civil ceremonies were his favorite part of the job. At least one person would get to enjoy this. She looked over the judge’s shoulder and saw her father behind him, noticed that he seemed to have recovered a bit. In quick strides, she walked over to him and when she stopped, she grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes, but while his posture had straightened and that deathly pallor had faded into a healthier brown, his eyes were still dazed, and, to her surprise, determined.

  She’d seen that look before, knew that once he got it, there was no going back. She’d have to see this through. Marry a stranger. A stranger who hated her father.

  “Lottie,” Judge Hines called, and she dropped her father’s hand and turned to him. “This is…unusual. When Mr. Avakian asked me to conduct his wedding, he didn’t mention it was to you.”

  “Umm, an oversight I’m sure. And thank you for your time, Your Honor.”

  “Of course. I have the license.”

  He handed her the papers, and as she read them, Elah walked toward the group and stood next to her, his imposing physical presence making it difficult for her to concentrate.

  After a moment, she said, “Everything looks in order.”

  “Great. Then sign here. And here.”

  Lottie complied, a slight tremble in her fingers.

  “And, Mr. Avakian, sign here and here.”

  She handed him the documents, and he signed, no tremble in his fingers at all, and then handed the forms to the judge.

  “We usually do vows, but Mr. Avakian didn’t think that was necessary. Still, we have to say a little something, so Lottie, do you want to be married to Elah?”

  “Yes,” she said on a wisp of a whisper, quickly, before she could change her mind.

  “Elah, do you want to be married to Lottie?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice as even as it always seemed.

  “Great!” Judge Hines exclaimed, and then he gave the papers a cursory glance and looked up. “Congratulations.”

  It was official. She was now Mrs. Elah Avakian.

  Holy crap, she thought, dread, tinged with the barest touch of anticipation, filling her.

  Chapter Three

  Elah thanked the judge and had Amanda show the man out, leaving him alone with Trufant. And his new wife. In less than an afternoon, he’d gone from bachelor seeking revenge to married man well on his way to getting it.

  He looked at the councilman, who still seemed shell-shocked, and then glanced over at his new bride, who seemed, all things considered, fine. Her face was placid, devoid of emotion, and her posture, which had been a little deflated, had rebounded and she stood straight and true. She held on tight to her father’s hand, her desire to lend him support clear. It was revolting. Not that she attempted to comfort her father, but that she even needed to. Parents were supposed to take care of their children, not the other way around. Just another example of the spinelessness and dishonor that defined the councilman.

  Never one to pass up an opportunity, Elah called to her, getting her father’s attention as well.

  “Charlotte.”

  She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

  “One last thing.” He walked toward her, retrieving the box he’d stuck in his pocket.

  Her gaze fixed on the object, and her face hardened.

  “That’s not really necessary, is it?”

  He smiled and extended his hand. “Absolutely.”

  She gulped and reached out. He retrieved the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger, watching her father turn ashen as he did. This was the first time Elah had actually seen the ring; he’d sent Amanda and told her to get the nicest one in the store. And this had to be it, huge, four carats, he’d guess, with a thick platinum band. Charlotte stared at it like it was radioactive, and he wasn’t so blind that he couldn’t acknowledge that maybe the ring wasn’t a fit. The type of woman who would appreciate this ring was flashy, hard, the opposite of the respectful, somewhat reticent Charlotte. It didn’t matter, though. The ring was just a totem, a reminder to the councilman, and it was something the other man couldn’t ignore or forget.

  “Councilman, I’ll take good care of her.” He petted the back of Charlotte’s hand after he’d slipped the ring on her finger. “Now leave.”

  The words were hard-edged.

  “Come on, Daddy. Let’s go.” She sounded exhausted. It seemed the whirlwind day had taken some of the energy from her. Understandable, he supposed.

  “No, Charlotte. You stay. We’ll grab dinner. I’m sure your father can make his own way.”

  “But—”

  “It’s okay, Lottie. I’ll get home,” the councilman said, the first time he’d spoken in what seemed like forever.

  Charlotte looked dubious, but after a moment, nodded. She fished her car keys out of her pocket and handed them to her father. And then she caught the man in a fierce embrace, her father seeming to take strength from the contact.

  “I’ll call you later,” she said.

  He nodded and left. Elah and Charlotte were alone again, and when she looked at him, her eyes burning with rage, it hit him what he’d done, what this meant.

  They were married.

  He’d never planned to get married, knew that he didn’t have whatever it took to keep a woman happy, knew he didn’t want to try. And this didn’t change things, not really, but the moment still felt weightier than he’d anticipated.

  “I hope you’re happy.” She practically spat the words, her voice brimming with the venom that burned in her eyes.

  “Not particularly, no. But it’s a start.”

  If possible, her eyes burned with even greater scorn.

  “Look, I don’t know what misguided beliefs are driving you, but my father’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve—”

  “Don’t tell me what he deserves.” It was his turn to burn with rage. “I could never give him what he deserves, but remember this. I gave him something he didn’t give others: a chance—it could be so much worse. He could be rotting in jail, a fate he’s wholly earned, so don’t think to lecture me about what he deserves.”

  “So I’m to believe you’re avenging some terrible wrong, that this crusade is one of righteousness?”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts and between that action and the heaving breath she took, he noticed how nicely they filled the simple white blouse she wore, his anger momentarily taking a backseat. The motion was no doubt rooted in anger, but it still drew attention to her feminine shape. Through sheer force of will, he managed to keep his gaze from snagging there, exploring more thoroughly.

  “I don’t care what you believe, Charlotte,” he said, regaining control. “All I care about is making sure the councilman finally accounts for his transgressions.”

  “My name is Lottie. And what is his transgression, specifically, against you?”

  He flinched, certain he’d given away too much. He had his reasons; they were personal and would stay that way.

  “I like Charlotte.”

  She flashed him a tight smile. “I don’t care what you like,” she said, mimicking his voice. “And don’t think I’m letting this go.”

  He shrugged. “What you do is your prerogative. But know that I have my reasons, and know that I won’t be dissuaded, not by you. Not by anyone.”

  He held her gaze until he was sure she understood how deadly serious he was. After a moment, he headed toward the door before looking back at her.

  “As I said, I’m hungry. Are you coming?”

  He almost laughe
d at the riotous expression that passed over her face and expected her to say something, but to his surprise, she followed without protest.

  “Good-bye, Amanda. Please have Hart call me,” Elah called over his shoulder as he headed toward the elevator.

  “Yes, sir,” Amanda responded. “Have a lovely evening.”

  Elah gestured toward the elevator and had Charlotte enter before him. She remained quiet on the way down and as they walked to his car and got in. A part of him wanted to probe her thoughts, found himself intrigued by the fortitude she’d shown so far. But he let her be, figuring a few minutes to compose herself would be welcome. He pulled into the valet area at a local restaurant, ironically enough, the very one where he’d first spied her with her father. The valet opened the door and helped her out, and he walked around the car and joined her. As they entered, the maître d’ nodded and indicated their table.

  “Right this way, Mr. Avakian,” he said, his tone crisp and professional. “A table for two?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well, sir. Ma’am.”

  The man visibly perked up when he looked closely at Charlotte.

  “Ms. Trufant?” He smiled brightly, the crisp professionalism in his voice replaced with warm affection. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

  “Aaron, it’s great to see you as well.” She also smiled warmly and shook the man’s extended hand. “How are things working out?”

  “Oh, wonderfully, and all thanks to you! I really appreciate your help, ma’am.”

  The man was practically glowing with affection now, and Charlotte also appeared genuinely happy.

  “I just gave you a little nudge. You did the rest.”

  He beamed. “Enjoy your meal, and please, let me know if you need anything, anything at all,” he said as he led them to a secluded table at the back of the restaurant.

  “Friend of yours?” Elah asked after they’d been seated.

  “No. A client.”

  “Explain,” he said.

  She scowled at him and then began. “It’s what I do, well, a part of what I do at the community center. My father…” She trailed off. “I’ve done community outreach for a number of years and as a part of that, I’ve helped people who need assistance finding resources. Over time, I realized I had a knack for connecting people with jobs that they would be good at or enjoy. Aaron, for instance, had a passion for food, thought he might like to be a chef. We worked together for a while and he realized that he hated cooking but loved customer service, so he started at a smaller restaurant as a trainee and worked his way up.”

  “How touching.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t understand helping someone for nothing in return.”

  “Pure altruism?” he said, the question clear in his tone.

  “Yeah.”

  “You might as well tell me that aliens, Santa Claus, and unicorns exist. There’s no such thing. Nobody does something for nothing. It’s just a matter of whether they choose to acknowledge what they’re getting out of the deal.”

  That response caught her attention, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of annoyance and interest. The expression made her face come alive, gave her an appeal that must have been muted earlier by the stress of the day.

  “So the donation to the hospital, the others there have been rumors of over the years aren’t altruistic?”

  “Not remotely. It’s good publicity.”

  “Ahh.” She leaned forward, a smile that said she’d caught him on her face. “But they’re supposed to be anonymous. No good pub for an anonymous donation.”

  She had a point, but he brushed it aside.

  “That’s purely semantics. Some people know, and those who do are, perhaps, less likely to be swayed by other, less flattering perceptions of me and my company.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but their waiter appeared.

  “The usual, sir?” he said without preamble, Elah’s dislike of niceties having long been noted.

  “Yes. What will you have, Charlotte?”

  She looked at the waiter. “Filet, medium, with green beans, please?”

  As the waiter nodded and walked away, Elah laughed.

  “What?” she asked, confusion marring her face.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been researching me.”

  “Why?” Her brows knitted.

  “We ordered the same thing.”

  Her rich, smooth laughter sounded, and Elah joined her.

  After the laughter faded, she said, “So those less flattering perceptions? They don’t bother you?”

  “Not in the slightest. People are cowards, and those who whisper in the shadows are still happy enough to take my money, so why should I care?”

  “You don’t see the irony here?” she asked.

  He inclined his head.

  “You’re doing the same thing to my father, giving credence to whispers and innuendo when you, of all people, should know better.”

  “You’re missing one key point. People whisper about me, but it’s all based on rumor, gossip. Your father, on the other hand…” He tried to keep his tone light, his expression even, but the slight sobering of the light in her eyes said he’d failed. Miserably. But he continued, “Even if you ignore the things people don’t dare speak about out loud, everything that they do whisper about him is true. Whether you chose to believe it or not. Now, we were having what I thought was a pleasant meal. Let’s not ruin it.”

  The stubborn upturn of her chin, the way her full lips pressed into a tight line, and that glint in her eye all marked her desire to argue, but she eventually bit out, “Fine. What do you do?”

  “Real estate, mostly. Some green energy development, recycling, reforestation.”

  “Is that lucrative?”

  “It can be.”

  “Ah, yes. Government grants and contracts.”

  “You disapprove?”

  “Not at all; better the government fund these projects than some corporation.”

  “Probably, but I’m solely self-funded and don’t take anything from any investor, government or otherwise. I devote a portion of the real estate profits to research and development. The government dollars are nice, but I prefer the lack of oversight.”

  He lobbed the words—and the suggestion inherent in them—at her, curious as to how she’d respond. But she did nothing, said nothing that gave any hint as to what she may have thought, which Elah found simultaneously intriguing and frustrating, two emotions that he was coming to associate very closely with her. The waiter returned and deposited identical plates in front of them, and they shared another tentative smile before beginning their meals.

  “You’re of Armenian descent, correct?” she said.

  He leaned back and quirked a brow at her.

  “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Your name gives it away.”

  “I’m impressed. Most non-Armenians wouldn’t recognize it.”

  “Just something I picked up over the years. There’s a small community near where I grew up.” In my father’s district went unsaid, and he let it lie.

  “I know. My father moved here when he was a teenager.”

  “Both your parents are Armenian?”

  “No. My mother was a local.”

  “Was?”

  “She’s gone. My father, too.” He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push.

  “Are you enjoying your dinner?” he asked.

  “Always, this is one of my favorite places in the city. A little out of my everyday budget, but a nice treat.”

  “The councilman gives you a budget? I got the impression that you were the apple of his eye.”

  “I don’t know that I would phrase it that way, and more importantly, I am an adult, Mr. Avakian. I take care of myself, so—despite my father’s completely understandable and natural affection for his only child, yes—I do have a budget.”

  She cut into her filet with ferocity; clearly he’d touched
something sensitive.

  “Elah,” he said, and she looked up sharply, her face a picture of displeasure.

  “My name is Elah. Not Mr. Avakian.”

  The look on her face said she wanted to call him a few choice things that were not his given name, but she took a bite of green beans instead.

  “What exactly did you do for your father?”

  She chewed and swallowed, took a sip of her water, apparently using the time to compose herself.

  “Not much actually. I worked at the campaign offices almost full-time after college, but the work at the center is more satisfying and more in line with what I want to do, so I’ve moved away from the campaign stuff, though I help out when they’re shorthanded or if he needs me for something specific.”

  “And can you tell me about your work at this center and explain why it’s more satisfying?”

  “It’s not important, and you probably wouldn’t understand.”

  The irritation that had the vein at his temple pulsing was an unwelcome visitor. He’d found her unexpectedly interesting so far, wanted to know more about her, but her unwillingness to share was an annoyance, one he wasn’t too keen on letting pass without comment.

  “You’d be surprised at what I understand.” Then he lightened his tone, wanting to encourage her. “I assume it has something to do with the connecting-people work you mentioned.”

  She gripped her fork and then sighed. “Yes. My dad and his staff are more than equipped to handle his office, and my role was more ceremonial toward the end, so I wanted to do something else. Funny, really,” she laughed, “that I’m essentially going to do for you what I did for him.”

  He didn’t see the humor but didn’t ask her to explain.

  “And you plan to continue with this work at the center?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That’s fine, but you will not be working with your father, not anymore.”

  That rebellious expression returned. “It wasn’t enough to force me into this sham marriage; you want to control where I work as well?”

  “Not at all. You can work where you want, but not with him. Never with him.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said sarcastically. “Anything else I can’t do, or shall you decide on a case-by-case basis?”