My mother cries in a heap next to the ornate coffee table while our family lawyer stares grimly at the piece of paper in his hand.
Growing up, my parents were always strict on societal rules, heirloom values, and following proper etiquette. I never enjoyed the lessons and nor did I hold belief in any of them. Though, being obedient was in our blood. So instead of getting angry, I submitted to every word they spoke like it was etched into my skin. I was the perfect child.
Therefore, seeing my mother crumble to pieces was shell-shocking. Her expressions were always poised and never betrayed her true feelings. Mother was not a cold person. She just weaponised her speech and actions that outshone the rest of society. Women were jealous of her and daughters were jealous of me.
"M-mother, please." I quietly beg. She only wails further.
"You must sign—"
"N-no. No, no, no!" Mother hollers in her tear-stricken voice. A pale hand swipes at her eyes and there is fury in her ocean blue eyes.
"You will burn this letter and forge a new one." She demands, her blonde curls have escaped her usual neat updo. It automatically made me swipe at my own matching strands to ensure no imperfections.
The lawyer—Arnold, sighs. "I cannot do that."
"M-my husband," she sniffs and I hang off the edge of the seat and expect her to cry again. She doesn't. Inhaling a shaky breath, she continues.
"My husband did not write this." Mother swivels her head in detestation. As the president of numerous charities, she was an expert at making firm decisions and objections.
"You know I have been a close friend to Mr Harrington since our teenhood. Trust me when I say that he entrusted me with this knowledge and document." He raises his grey-haired chin defiantly.
I stare down at my intertwined hands. They were not working hands. Barely marked, clean, and smooth to the touch. Mother continues to argue with Arnold as if she was unleashing decades of frustration into this moment.
I simply watch my lap in thought. This arrangement was not ideal. Growing up, my future was laid out on a red carpet that was being vacuumed every day. Everyone in the vicinity of this city expected that Heather Harrington were to marry a rich, handsome nobleman who spoke three languages, owned a reputable business, and a successor to a flourishing countryside estate.
Not only would they be jealous of my mother and me, everyone would be jealous of him too. We existed in this world to be the fitting image of a nuclear family to never experience struggle. The untouchable Harrington family; born as nobles, blessed by royals, and guided by gods.
"Obviously someone is trying to ruin our family!" She explains with widened eyes.
Arnold finally stands. "That's enough Margaret! Miss Heather will marry Sir Ryker Blackwood by the end of the season."
I blanch and hold in a squeak at the name. Everything about it was wrong. Too much negativity was attached to it and it sounded more like a ghost story than a real person who existed right now.
He fixes on his top hat and waves the piece of offensive paper. "I expect you both to be in my office by tomorrow afternoon to sign this."
When the door closes in a brief slam, my mother is a husk of herself. There's no sobbing. The untarnished lady of Isles Town sits on the carpeted floor in sorrow. The gossip mills would sell over a thousand prints if they were to catch her in this state of mind. And speaking of gossip…the news of my engagement will spread like wildfire once it gets out.
"You will hurt yourself if you stay on the floor any longer." I pipe in.
She shows no indication of taking my hand and has accepted her fate on the floor.
"I will go through with this marriage." I say, despite my lack of trust in the situation.
Mother sniffles. "No…I cannot let you."
"Mother—"
"This must be fixed."
For resignation, I do not respond. Her body rises and she disappears into one of our many rooms. Assumingly to search for information that my father may have left behind.
...
In Harrington fashion, we arrive five minutes early to Arnold's office nestled in a busy strip of the city. Many acquaintances share their condolences as we pass them on our walk in mourning attire to my fate. It will be the second week tomorrow in which we both said goodbye to my father for the last time.
"I'm glad you came to your senses." Arnold greets and his secretary sets down quaint teacups for us both.
"In all sincerity, I will not repeat myself when I say that I was as shocked as you are. For reasons I cannot yet share, trust me as I tell you the union shall be made."
Mother gives Arnold a polite smile. The grumbling in her head is desperate to radiate.
"Miss Heather, please assure me that you respect your father's wishes?" Arnold asks pointedly. His old age shows in his beady eyes that gloss beyond his spectacles as he leaves no patience for any denial.
I mirror Mother's smile. "I will fulfil my duty."
The wet ink bleeds into the paper as we glide on our signatures. I don't dare to speak about the messy scribble above mine that signifies my estranged fiance has also marked his fate with me.
"Did you verify my inquiry?" My mother asks.
Arnold files the paper away and after a beat or two, he nods. "The marriage only needs to last a year."
She does not express any triumph. Mother simply turns to me sternly. "I need you to last a year. Your marriage will be a secret and everyone will assume you are playing charity."
My plucked brows only scrunch slightly. What? She managed to sort something out?
"Whilst you are 'fixing' that pit, I'll secure a match with the Osworth family."
I falter with a smile at my prospects. If marrying Leo Osworth was agreeable to our mold by my mother, then I had to robotically fight for that cause too.
"Good to know. Thank you as always." I responded, minimally delighted that the marriage is not going to be the end of the Harrington good karma.
Arnold clears his throat and his next words are what we are all most worried about:
"You must be careful, Miss Heather. Afterall, Sir Ryker Blackwood is a wolf shifter."