When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 27

Amelia

The harsh ringing of my phone dragged me from the depths of dreamless sleep. I groaned, blindly reaching for the offending device before realizing it had stopped. My body felt like it had been hit by a truck—the consequence of a twelve-hour night shift delivering three babies back-to-back. I burrowed deeper into my pillow, determined to squeeze in a few more precious hours of sleep.

A hesitant knock on my door shattered that plan.

"Mrs. Black?" Michael's voice sounded uncertain.

I squinted at the digital clock: 3:17 PM. Shit. I'd barely slept five hours.

"Come in," I mumbled, pulling the comforter up to my chin, suddenly aware of my tank top and messy hair situation.

Michael entered carrying a large designer box like it contained nuclear codes. His usually stoic expression seemed slightly anxious.

"Mrs. Black, I apologize for disturbing your rest, but I was instructed to deliver this to you and remind you about tonight's dinner."

My brain struggled to process his words. "What dinner?"

"The Black family dinner at Mr. George Black's residence," Michael explained, carefully placing the box at the foot of my bed. "You agreed to attend with Mr. Black last week."

Fuck. Between my hospital shifts and processing my grief over Grandfather's death, I'd completely forgotten that commitment.

"Can I just... call in sick?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Michael's expression shifted to something resembling sympathy—a first. "I'm afraid that's impossible. Mr. George Black has already announced your attendance to all family members. It would be... problematic if you didn't appear."

I sighed heavily, pushing myself upright. My hair tumbled around my shoulders in what I was sure resembled a bird's nest.

"Fine. What time are we leaving?"

"In about an hour and a half, Mrs. Black."

After Michael left, I dragged myself out of bed and opened the box. Inside was an emerald green silk dress with a back that dipped scandalously low.

"Seriously? It's just dinner with his family, not the Met Gala," I muttered, running my fingers over the luxurious fabric. The price tag had been removed, but I recognized the designer label—probably worth three months of my hospital salary.

Thirty minutes later, I stood before my mirror, barely recognizing myself. The dress fit perfectly—suspiciously so, as if someone had taken my measurements while I slept. My hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, and I'd applied makeup that emphasized my green eyes. I looked sophisticated and polished—and felt completely out of my element.

When I finally emerged from my room, both Ethan and Michael were waiting in the living room. Their identical expressions of surprise would have been comical if I hadn't been so self-conscious.

Ethan's throat worked visibly before he spoke. "Um, twenty minutes before we leave. The driver is ready."

He approached me with something draped over his arm—a navy cashmere coat. "Manhattan spring nights can be chilly," he said, his voice oddly soft as he helped me slip it on.

I looked down at my feet, wincing at the four-inch heels the stylist had included. "I just finished a twelve-hour shift standing in the delivery room. My feet are already killing me. Can I please wear something else?"

I expected resistance, but instead, he nodded. "We can stop by Fifth Avenue on the way. You can find something appropriate but more comfortable."

The luxury boutique was exactly the type of place I'd normally avoid—all minimalist displays with shoes priced like small cars. Yet here I was, with Ethan Black personally helping me select footwear.

"These seem suitable," he suggested, pointing to a pair of elegant ballet flats with subtle crystal embellishments.

I tried them on, surprised by both their comfort and his consideration. This wasn't the cold, calculating Ethan I'd grown accustomed to. There was something different about him today—something almost... thoughtful?

As we approached the Black family mansion, I couldn't help but gasp. The property was massive, with grounds that seemed to stretch forever. A winding path lined with blooming cherry trees led to the entrance, where clusters of blue hydrangeas created a stunning welcome.

"This place is incredible," I whispered, taking in the historic architecture.

The butler, an older gentleman with impeccable posture, greeted us at the door. "Welcome home, Mr. Black. And this must be Mrs. Black. I'm Mr. Peterson. Mr. George Black is waiting for you in the study."

As we walked through a hallway adorned with art that belonged in museums, Ethan suddenly reached for my hand. I instinctively tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"What are you—"

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "Tonight, our families will be here. We need to pretend to be a real married couple."

His warm breath against my skin sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. Right. This was just another performance in our elaborate charade.

When we entered the study, George rose from behind an antique desk, his eyes crinkling with genuine pleasure at the sight of our joined hands.

"Amelia, welcome to our family home," he said warmly, approaching with a small antique jewelry box. "This is my official welcome gift. Though you and Ethan have been married for some time now, this is our first formal family gathering."

I stared at the ornate box, overwhelmed. "Mr. Black, this is too generous. I can't accept such an expensive gift."

'Especially since we'll be divorced in three months,' I added silently.

"Accept it," Ethan intervened smoothly. "Grandfather's gifts always have special meaning beyond their material value."

Before dinner, Ethan offered to show me around. We wandered into a magnificent greenhouse filled with rare flowers from around the world. The air was heavy with fragrance, and despite myself, I was enchanted.

"It's beautiful," I said, genuinely impressed. "I've never seen some of these varieties before."

Ethan's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "My grandmother loved gardening. Grandfather built this greenhouse for her so she could see flowers even in the coldest winter."

"Your grandmother?" I asked, realizing I knew nothing about her. "Is she...?"

"She was injured in an accident when she was young," Ethan said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

For a brief moment, his usual mask slipped, revealing a vulnerability I'd never seen before. It disappeared so quickly I almost thought I'd imagined it.

He checked his watch. "We should head back. Dinner's about to start, and there are some family members you need to meet."

The grand dining hall buzzed with conversation when we arrived. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over elegantly dressed guests, while staff moved silently among them with champagne.

I was scanning the unfamiliar faces when a familiar female voice cut through the ambient noise. I froze, slowly turning toward the sound.

There, among a group of admiring listeners, was Emily—my half-sister, Margaret's daughter.

Our eyes met across the room, and her saccharine smile did nothing to mask the cold calculation in her gaze.

She tightly gripped the arm of the man beside her, clearly trying to cling to someone wealthy again.