Chapter 115

Iris

I don’t see Arthur for three days.

But it’s not my fault that I can’t tell him the truth about everything before the party. He’s busy with meetings in another city, I’m busy with Miles, my residency work, and party planning, and even when we do find a rare chance to talk for five minutes on the phone just to say goodnight or catch up on each other’s day, I can’t bring myself to tell him the news when we’re not face-to-face.

So I keep telling myself that I’ll talk to him about it on the day of the party, before everyone arrives. It won’t be ideal, but I can’t wait any longer than that. I’m sure he’ll understand; I did try to tell him multiple times this week, but life just got in the way. It’s not like I wasn’t planning on telling him, or that I wanted to hide the truth.

The morning of the party, I wake up before my alarm even goes off and quickly shower and dress. I’m too nervous and excited to sleep any longer.

After a quick breakfast, more to fuel myself than anything, I get to work deep cleaning the apartment even though I just cleaned yesterday. I dust every surface, clean the windows on both sides, sweep out the fireplace, and even clean inside cupboards and under furniture where I know no one will see.

I can’t take any risks; everything has to be absolutely perfect. This isn’t just any old dinner party—it’s my chance to prove myself to Arthur’s parents, to create some semblance of harmony between our two families, and to hopefully lay the groundwork for when I finally reveal the truth about being a Willford.

Around noon, I drop Miles off at Alice’s for the day—she insisted on watching him so I could focus on my preparations. After that, I head to the upscale grocery store in the city center. My list is extensive: fresh herbs, prime cuts of meat, specialty cheeses, all the ingredients for Leonard’s cocktail, and more.

It’s going to cost a lot of money. Probably way more than any sane person should spend on groceries, and I could get better deals at the little mom-and-pop grocery store that’s just down the street from my apartment.

But I need the food to be exquisite; after all, the last dinner party with Arthur’s parents was pretty much a disaster, and I can’t risk failing again. If I had more money, I’d probably hire a fucking chef to cook everything.

Then again, Leonard and Wendy might take issue even with that. They might claim that a proper housewife should prepare all the meals herself.

Even though I’m not a housewife.

I move through the aisles methodically, checking items off my list as I go. The cart fills quickly with everything I need for tonight’s dinner and more, just to be safe. At the produce section, I carefully select the ripest kiwis, making sure they’re absolutely perfect for Leonard’s drink.

Finally, I wheel my overflowing cart to the checkout line. Salmon, chicken, fresh fruits and vegetables, crackers, artisan cheeses, expensive wines and liqueurs. I even pick up the ingredients to make several different desserts.

The total makes me wince internally, but I remind myself this is an investment in my future with Arthur. In Miles’ future with his extended family.

“That’ll be $487.63,” the cashier, a young woman with a brunette ponytail, says cheerfully.

I hand over my card, already mentally calculating how much I’ll have left for next month’s expenses. It won’t be much, but I can make it work. But then the machine buzzes, and the cashier frowns.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but your card was declined.”

My stomach drops. “That’s impossible.” I know I have the money in my account. My stipend went through yesterday; I checked myself to make sure it was all there. “Can you try again?”

The cashier runs my card again, only to achieve the same result as before. Heat creeps up my neck as the line behind me grows longer, and the woman waiting directly behind me scoffs impatiently. I dig through my purse for another card, but I know it’s futile—my residency stipend is my only real income right now.

“One moment,” I mumble, stepping aside to check my banking app. The balance shows that my stipend went through, but then shows a negative transaction from this morning that removed the entire amount.

That can’t be right.

I quickly dial the payment office at the gallery. After a few rings, a woman answers. I explain the situation to her, and she hesitates. I can hear her keyboard clicking in the background as she searches up my account.

“Ah, I see the issue,” she says in a way more cheery voice than she should. “It looks like your bank mistakenly flagged the transaction and returned it. We’ll have to sort this out with your bank and resend the money.”

“When can I see the funds in my account?” I ask.

“Three to five business days.”

I resist the urge to curse out loud in public. Three to five days? But the party is tonight! I can’t show up empty-handed, can’t serve Arthur’s parents takeout food again, and most certainly can’t make another bad impression when I’m already on such shaky ground with them.

There’s only one option, and I hate that I have no choice but to do this.

With shaking fingers, I dial Caleb’s number.

“Iris?” He answers on the second ring. “Is everything alright?”

“I need help,” I admit, hating every second of this. “My stipend was delayed, and I’m at the grocery store trying to buy everything for tonight’s party, but my card was declined and—”

“How much do you need?” he interrupts without preamble.

I swallow. “It’s a lot… About five hundred dollars. I’ll pay you back as soon as my stipend comes through, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m transferring it now.”

True to his word, my phone buzzes with a notification seconds later. The money is already in my account.

“Caleb, I—”

“It’s what family does,” he says simply. “And don’t you dare try to pay me back. Now go finish your shopping. I’ll see you tonight.”

The guilt sits heavy in my stomach as I return to the register, but the relief of being able to pay overwhelms it. I thank the cashier profusely and hurry out with my groceries, eager to get home and start preparing.

When I reach my apartment building, I’m surprised to see Arthur’s car parked outside. He’s back a little early from his diplomatic trip. My heart lifts at the thought of seeing him, of finally having the chance to tell him everything before the party. I’m nervous, but I know he’ll understand.

But as soon as I step inside, I know something is wrong.

Arthur is standing in my living room, still in his travel clothes, holding his phone. His face is grim, his jaw clenched.

“Arthur?” I set down the grocery bags. “You’re back early. I thought your flight wasn’t until—”

“Why are you taking so much money from Caleb?” he asks, cutting me off. He holds out his phone to reveal a tabloid article with a picture of me in the grocery store.

And the caption underneath reads: “Is it true? Mate of Alpha President calls Caleb Willford, of all people, to wire money for groceries?”