The Marriage Contract

by Rose Wulf

  Her skirt had barely fallen back into place when he heard a familiar voice on the other side of the shed. “Hey, Batson, you back here?”

  Shit.

  Lia’s face flushed scarlet. It made him want to kiss her. Instead, he handed her the purse, tucked himself in, and settled for a peck on the cheek. He didn’t trust himself with more.

  “Your place, after dinner,” he murmured before stepping back. He winked for the hell of it and turned toward the voice. “Yeah, stalker, what do you want?” He rounded the corner, managing to cut his colleague off with a scarce few seconds to spare.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ophelia nearly leaped out of her skin when Alice threw her arms around Ophelia’s shoulders.

  “I’ve got a date!” Alice exclaimed excitedly, apparently oblivious to Ophelia’s startled reaction. Or she’d brushed it off as ordinary surprise.

  Ophelia willed her face to an acceptable shade of pink, if any, and extricated herself from her friend’s grasp. “From your tone, I guess that’s a good thing?”

  “Of course, it is,” Alice replied, adjusting the purse on her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Glancing around to make sure Kipp wasn’t close enough to overhear her, Ophelia said, “It’s nothing against Kipp. I’m just wondering if you’re ready. It’s only been a week…”

  Alice sighed as if she were dealing with a child. “Ophelia,” she said, “I know you don’t really have experience with these things, so trust me on this. I’ve done the pre-stages.” She lifted a hand and began ticking off her fingers. “I cried, I vented. I ate my feelings. I drank.” She planted her hands on her hips. “He’s not worth some long mourning period or, God forbid, letting myself shy away from the chance of happiness.”

  “That’s true,” Ophelia agreed.

  “Besides,” Alice continued. “It’s important to get back on the horse right away, isn’t it?”

  Ophelia blanched. “I don’t think this is where that analogy applies.”

  Alice smirked, her brown eyes glinting in the mid-afternoon sunlight. “Oh, it absolutely applies.” She stepped up and slung her arm around Ophelia’s shoulders again, swinging them around to face the bulk of the party. Mostly men, probably mostly Batson’s coworkers. “You know what I see?”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Ophelia replied, knowing any response was pointless.

  “Opportunity.” She poked Ophelia in the bicep. “Not all of those men can possibly be spoken for. You should get in there, mingle. Practice your flirting skills. See if you can score a dinner date.”

  It was particularly hard not to laugh at the suggestion considering the ache that still lingered between her legs. If Alice had any idea… She’d be so proud of me. Aloud, Ophelia said, “I’m really not here to pick anyone up.” She leaned into Alice, adding, “If anything, I came out here to help you pick someone up.”

  Alice laughed, released her, and said, “I do appreciate that.” She paused a moment, started toward the drink table, and casually asked, “While we’re on the subject, though, any word from Keith? He was cute.”

  Ophelia froze. She couldn’t have controlled her reaction if she’d tried. With everything that’d happened, she’d forgotten she hadn’t told Alice any variation. How was she supposed to explain this?

  Alice looked over her shoulder, noticing Ophelia’s stillness. “You okay?”

  “Ah,” Ophelia started, “yeah, I’m … fine.” She drew a breath and stepped closer to her friend in order to talk quietly while Alice helped herself to some lemonade. “Listen, Keith’s very much out of the question, okay? If I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.”

  The statement, of course, caught Alice off-guard. She straightened, cup in hand, and cocked a hip. “That’s a story. What happened?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did he try something? Do I need an alibi?”

  Ophelia laughed at the question. “I love you, crazy,” she said honestly. “It wasn’t like that.” Her momentary amusement faded and she shifted her weight. “He just… The short version is he ended up driving me home one day and he stepped out of line.” Remembering a piece of what she’d told Kipp, she added, “Batson was actually in the driveway when it happened, so he helped chase him off. But it was uncomfortable and I don’t ever want to see him again.”

  Alice frowned behind her drink. “You’re going to tell me the long version later,” she said firmly. “But I’ll accept that for now. Keith’s out. If I see him in a bar, I’ll dump a drink on his head.”

  Ophelia grinned with quiet laughter. Alice was a lot of things, and chief among them was a great friend.

  Someone she didn’t know called everyone’s attention, asking them to gather together for a toast to the “birthday boy,” so Ophelia and Alice made their way into the mix of mostly strangers.

  Alice tilted her head in close and whispered, “Seriously, though, I hear your neighbor’s single. You could use a reliable guy, and bonus, he’s got a killer death glare.”

  That he does. “I thought your verdict was still out on Batson?” Ophelia returned quietly.

  “He stood up for you,” Alice replied. “And he has good taste in friends. My opinion’s gone up.” She winked and straightened as the earlier speaker lifted his voice once more.

  Ophelia smiled, possibly a little wider than was justified, as she semi-listened to the man’s compliments and teasing commentary. Her gaze danced over the people in front of her until she found the head of messy brown hair she was searching for. For just a moment, his attention had been elsewhere, but like a magnet, his stare shifted to hers and lingered. Her body heated, as much from the memory of what they’d done not half an hour earlier as from the heat in his eyes.

  She didn’t know if she’d ever believe she’d gone along with something so scandalous.

  Several people around her laughed and Batson looked away, shooting a short glare up to the man responsible for the jeer.

  Then again, they’d been married for nearly ten years. It was about time they did something outrageous.

  ****

  Ophelia left the party earlier than most, largely because she really didn’t know most of the people and partly because it would be odd for her to wait to leave with him just because they were neighbors. To her way of thinking, anyway. She was in a good mood—right up until she saw her grandmother’s Buick waiting at the curb in front of her house. The weightless smile in her spirit vanished and she had to fight the impulse to keep driving and childishly pretend she wasn’t herself—that she didn’t live there, that she didn’t know the older woman already watching her approach.

  Why is she here? There was no doubt in Ophelia’s mind her grandmother wasn’t there to apologize. It hadn’t quite been a week. If her grandmother had been working to break the arrangement between the Flynn and Crosse families for the past ten years, the last six days wouldn’t have changed her mind.

  She cut the engine once her SUV was properly in her driveway. Batson was on the other side of town and would be for two or three more hours at least. Alice was there, too, though for how much longer, Ophelia had no idea. Alice wasn’t actually an option for escape, anyway. Regardless, no one would be bailing her out of whatever was coming.

  Gods, give me strength.

  Ophelia stepped from her car, one hand tight on the strap of her purse. She’d barely locked the SUV before she felt the stirring of air behind her.

  “You’ve been gone a while,” Yvette said.

  A rush of air almost like a disbelieving laugh escaped her and Ophelia turned. “I was busy. Not that it’s any of your business.” She swallowed around a lump in her throat and asked, “Have you come to apologize?” Of course, the answer was no, but she wanted to make a point. To remind her grandmother, or perhaps reaffirm for her, she had no intention to budge on the subject.

  “I have nothing more to apologize for,” Yvette replied. She glanced to the side, toward Batson’s empty half of the driveway, before meeting Ophelia’s gaze again. “But we do have
more to discuss.”

  Ophelia slipped her purse onto her shoulder to keep from fidgeting. “No, we don’t. You made your position clear. It’s on you if you can’t accept mine.” She turned, not knowing what else to say, and took a step in the direction of her door. Away from her grandmother.

  “Ophelia,” Yvette said. “I’ve given you nearly a week to think about things. If you’re honest with yourself, you know you’re not happy.”

  “Goodbye, Grandma,” Ophelia returned over her shoulder. She would not give her Elder the satisfaction of even a partial, circumstantial agreement. Not when they could clearly never agree on the solution.

  A sharp wind tore across Ophelia’s path, cutting her off and pushing against her. Not strong enough to move her backward, but enough to keep her in place. At least as long as she didn’t challenge it. The sudden zephyr startled Ophelia and pulled the breath from her lungs momentarily.

  Yvette moved up behind her and spun her around by the shoulder. “You are the last Flynn,” she said firmly. “Our pureblooded line will die with you if you don’t come to your senses, Ophelia. I’ve tried rationally discussing this with your father. I’ve tried creating opportunities for you to come to these realizations on your own. You’re going to force my hand if you don’t start taking this seriously.”

  Ophelia stepped out of her grandmother’s reach. “You accuse Dad of treating my life like a business arrangement,” she said shortly, “but all you talk about is elemental politics. Neither one of you gives a damn about my happiness!”

  “The freedom I want for you is happiness,” Yvette argued. “You’re just afraid because you’ve never known it.” She smiled, as if explaining something to a young child. “You’ll understand once you experience it yourself, Ophelia.”

  “Maybe it was for you,” Ophelia said. “But what I need is different. Because I’m not you, Grandma.” She squared her shoulders. “Now go away. You’re not invited.”

  She got only a couple of feet before Yvette asked a question that froze her in place.

  “Don’t you want to know why you were forced into the marriage?”

  Yes.

  That had been the question at the forefront of Ophelia’s mind for nine years, eleven months and thirteen days.

  Yvette had to know that. The question had to be a trap. Bait to lure Ophelia into a conversation—or a situation—she in no way wanted to be part of. Rationally, Ophelia knew all of that. But the opportunity, however slim, to finally get that life mystery answered was too good to pass up. Getting answers wasn’t any kind of commitment. If she thought about it, she owed it to herself to take the chance.

  It was that decision which led to Ophelia sitting on the unfurnished floor of the small house her grandmother had previously purchased—and used as the setting to introduce her to Keith. This time, at least, Keith was absent. Furniture, or at least carpeting, would have been nice. But she’d survive.

  “Okay, we’re sufficiently alone,” Ophelia said as her grandmother settled into the portable chair she’d conveniently had in her trunk. She held up her phone, tapping the screen. “Phone off, just like you asked. No interruptions.”

  As soon as she’d given in to her curiosity, Yvette had thrown a series of conditions at her. Surely knowing Ophelia wouldn’t back down with the answer so close. Yvette wanted to talk somewhere truly private—no chance of Batson, or anyone else, walking in on them. She’d insisted, unequivocally, on taking her car. Both of them. With the compromising promise that they would go directly there and come directly back. Then she’d insisted Ophelia turn off her phone. Again, to avoid interruption.

  Each new condition was a bright, burning red flag of warning in Ophelia’s mind.

  But she was about to learn why her parents had arranged for—and insisted on—the marriage between her and Batson.

  She had to know.

  “You’ve heard that your father and Jake Crosse were old business associates, right?” Yvette asked after setting her clutch in her lap.

  “Of course,” Ophelia replied. “That’s how they met.” As she’d heard it, they were working together when Jake was dating Irena. He’d brought his girlfriend to a business dinner and somehow, it’d come out that Irena was a salamander and Jonas Flynn was a sylph. But business was business to her father, and Irena wasn’t part of it anyway, so there hadn’t been an issue.

  “That much is true,” Yvette said. “And despite her nature, Irena proved to have a shrewd instinct for business after she and Crosse were married.”

  Ophelia frowned. How did it always so quickly descend to language like this? She almost wondered if her grandmother were making up for lost time, since she hadn’t always been so blatant in her hatred before this came to light. But she bit her tongue this time. If the history lesson was pertinent, she would endure the crudity.

  “Jonas loved your mother,” Yvette continued, “but we all knew it was a miracle when she became pregnant. A miracle that couldn’t be counted on twice. Meaning that child—you—would be the sole Flynn heir.”

  It was true her mother had been sickly for a long time. Ophelia had heard more than once that she’d been thought infertile. This wasn’t the first time she’d been told her birth was a miracle. “I’ve heard all that before, Grandma,” Ophelia said. “What’s the point?” If her grandmother’s real purpose in breaking the marriage was because her precious “sole heir” was married to a salamander, Ophelia would lose her mind.

  Yvette didn’t directly answer her question. “Are you aware that half-breeds, historically, have never produced non-human offspring?”

  The question gave Ophelia pause. “I guess I never gave it thought,” she said slowly.

  “Most purebloods wouldn’t touch a mongrel,” Yvette started, “but some beings of mixed blood, who retain their ancestral abilities, have mated with individuals who were only half. So far as we’ve ever heard, half-human beings produce human children. If they reproduce at all.”

  Heart beginning to beat loudly, uncomfortably, in her chest, Ophelia quietly said, “Okay … why is this relevant?” Except she already had a guess. And she didn’t like it.

  “Put simply,” Yvette said, “your entire union is a secret biracial experiment.”

  That term again. “Batson said you used that phrase before,” Ophelia replied. “What does it mean?”

  Yvette sighed, her expression both pained and saddened. “Since the Crosses were also newly pregnant, and of course the child would be a mutt, Irena approached your father with a proposition. An absurd, preposterous, proposition.”

  Ophelia clenched her teeth at mutt but refrained from commenting on the insult. “You’re dancing around the point, still.”

  “We are pureblood sylphs,” Yvette said proudly. As if Ophelia didn’t know. “But the Flynn name would die with you, one way or another. Irena, for what it’s worth, is also a pureblood. While her son would not be, with the introduction of human blood, they decided to see if it were possible to breed a magical being from the union of a pureblood and a half-blood.” Yvette’s mouth lifted with a disgusted sneer. “What’s worse, as if that feat wouldn’t be remarkable enough, they hoped to be the first to prove cross-racial breeding was possible. Even with mongrels.”

  Ophelia felt her heart, and her stomach, fall to the floor by her folded knees.

  “Whispers of children from different races have popped up over the centuries, of course,” Yvette continued. “But none have ever shown to have abilities from both. Nothing provable. Always before, every claim has been met with a child sporting only attributes of one side or the other. They’re ostracized from the community, as they should be. Once upon a time, such detestable unions were punishable by execution.”

  “Execution?” Ophelia repeated with breathless incredulity.

  “It’s an old standard that’s been long forgotten,” Yvette said dismissively. “The point, sweetheart, is that you’ve been forced into possibly the most shameful situation imaginable. Jonas and Irena decid
ed, before either of you were born, that your entire lives would be dedicated to the singular purpose of a pseudo-natural genetic experiment. They negotiated terms, wrote out draft after draft of contracts until they arrived at the one you signed. They spun the idea into some fanciful fairytale for your poor mother who only wanted to see you taken care of.”

  “But…” Ophelia whispered, speaking before she actually knew what to say. Did she believe her grandmother? “But that’s … crazy.” She swallowed hard. “If that is the case, why isn’t there anything in the contract about conceiving?”

  Yvette shrugged slightly. “I think originally there was,” she said. “From what I understand, they ultimately removed anything that specific because they wanted to minimize the psychological pressure.”

  Ophelia shook her head. “No,” she said. “No way. My marriage is more than just … a breeding test.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not,” Yvette replied. Sympathy settled on her face. “I’m sorry, Ophelia. I’ve tried for years to talk your father out of this. Both sides left certain clauses in their portions of the negotiations, allowing them to void the arrangement at any point. I begged him to use one. But he seems to think the notoriety that might come with the success of this experiment outweighs the trauma you’re enduring.”

  Tears sprang up behind Ophelia’s eyes. She had to admit, on some level, she did believe what her grandmother was saying. Perhaps she’d already wondered something like this, since the first time she’d heard the term biracial experiment. In hindsight, that was pretty self-explanatory, wasn’t it? And how had her father reacted when she’d tried asking him about it directly?

  He’d shut her down. Firmly.

  “Neither of you were to know,” Yvette said. “That much, at least, you can’t hold against the creature you’re tied to. But now that you do know, Ophelia, don’t you see how important it is to escape?”

  Her chest hurt. It ached, like a fresh wound, and made it hard to breathe.