When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 28

Amelia

I hadn't seen Emily since my grandfather's funeral, where she'd stood behind our father like a shadow, not even bothering to fake sympathy.

George rose from his seat at the head of the table, his silver hair catching the light from the crystal chandelier overhead. Despite his age, he carried himself with the confidence of a man who'd conquered Wall Street multiple times over.

"Ethan," he said warmly, "won't you introduce Amelia to the family properly?"

Ethan placed his hand on the small of my back, the gesture both possessive and steadying. "This is Amelia Thompson, my wife."

The simplicity of his introduction startled me. No embellishments, no explanations—just "my wife," as if our three-month contract was the most natural arrangement in the world.

George's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. "Welcome to our home, Amelia. We've been looking forward to meeting you properly."

From across the table, Felix Black—Ethan's cousin and notorious playboy of the family—was staring at me with undisguised interest.

"Ethan," he drawled, his eyes never leaving my face, "your wife is absolutely stunning."

I watched Emily's reaction from the corner of my eye. Her face went ghostly white, and she clutched Felix's arm with such force that her manicured nails dug into the fabric of his expensive suit.

"Jesus, Emily, that hurts," Felix complained, pulling his arm away and shooting her an annoyed look.

I couldn't help but notice how he compared us. The way his eyes flicked between us spoke volumes—measuring Emily's artificial perfection against whatever he saw in me. Emily must have noticed too, because she seemed to shrink into herself, suddenly silent and watchful. She didn't dare look at me directly, as if afraid I might expose her in front of everyone.

"Let me introduce you to everyone," George said, guiding me around the table."This is Daniel, my younger brother. David Black and his wife, Laura. And of course, you've already met my nephew Felix."

George continued, "Ethan's father is currently in London on business, but he's eager to meet you. We'll arrange something when he returns."

"Please don't trouble yourself," I replied politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Throughout the introductions, I noticed that both George and I completely ignored Emily's presence, as if she were invisible. The slight wasn't lost on her—I could practically feel her fury radiating across the table.

As we settled into pre-dinner drinks, I found myself engaged in conversation with George about my job. The words flowed easily, my medical background and years of upper-class social training kicking in automatically.

Emily sat silently fuming, probably realizing that her usual tactics of backstabbing and manipulation wouldn't work here. I caught her eye once and gave her the coldest look I could muster, letting her know exactly where she stood with me. The mixture of contempt and buried pain must have shown in my eyes, because she quickly looked away.

Ethan observed our silent exchange, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. I could tell he was cataloging every interaction, analyzing the obvious tension between Emily and me.

"Dinner is ready," announced an elegant woman entering the room. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a sophisticated chignon, and she carried herself with the grace of someone born to privilege.

Ethan leaned close to me, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "My mother," he explained quietly.

His proximity sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "Don't stand so close," I whispered, trying to control my racing pulse.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small, knowing smile. "Of course," he replied, his voice low and amused.

During dinner, George introduced the woman as Catherine, Ethan's mother. I addressed her respectfully as "Mrs. Black," though her response was noticeably cool. I couldn't help but notice how Emily seemed to perk up at Catherine's frosty attitude toward me, obviously pleased to have someone else on her side.

After the meal, the older family members presented me with welcome gifts. Catherine's offering was a stunning emerald necklace that must have cost a fortune, handed over with perfect grace but distant eyes.

"Shall we have some music?" George suggested as we moved to the grand living room where a jazz quartet had set up. "Ethan, why don't you and Amelia start us off?"

Panic flashed through me. Dancing was definitely not my strong suit, but before I could protest, Ethan had taken my hand and led me to the center of the room.

"Follow my lead," he murmured, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. "One-two-three, one-two-three..."

I tried my best, but my movements were stiff and uncertain. I was acutely aware of every misstep, every awkward turn.

As we passed by Emily, I heard her whisper to Felix, "She dances like a wooden doll." Her words were quiet enough for most to miss, but deliberately loud enough for me to hear.

When the dance ended, George approached us. "Why don't you two stay here tonight? It's getting late, and we have plenty of room."

"Thank you, Grandfather, but we prefer our own apartment," Ethan declined smoothly. "Michael is waiting to drive us back."

In the privacy of the limousine heading back to Manhattan, Ethan broke the silence. "Your dancing hasn't improved at all, has it?" His eyes held that scrutinizing look again.

My frustration from the evening—seeing Emily, enduring Catherine's coldness, being put on display—finally boiled over. "Instead of criticizing my dancing, maybe you should be concerned about Emily's nasty attitude!"

Ethan's expression shifted to surprise, then interest. "I saw the tension. What's the story there?"

"No," I lied. "But believe me, if we were judging combat skills instead of dance moves, I’d make her cry."

His eyes lit up with unexpected delight. "Really? I'd like to see these combat skills sometime."

"Anytime," I retorted, chin raised defiantly even as my stomach knotted with uncertainty.

Did I really just challenge a guy who’s two heads taller than me to a sparring match? Nice move, Amelia. Really clever.