She stepped up to the door, listening for the other voice, wanting to make sure it wouldn’t be an unwelcome interruption.

There was a quick barking laugh that she recognized as Alton’s. Clarke’s father didn’t laugh often, but when he did, it was distinctive. She knew Alton wouldn’t mind the interruption, since Clarke’s old boss was one of Alton’s employees.

“I still can’t believe she one-upped me,” Clarke was saying, and she heard the smile in his voice. “I was so sure I’d beat her at her own game.”

Audrey reached out a hand to push open the door.

“You get used to it,” Alton said. “And let’s not forget, she beat me, too. I thought I was damned clever, coaxing you to choose Audrey over Elizabeth by offering you the company. That was supposed to be my checkmate move, damn it.”

Audrey’s hand froze, thinking—hoping—she was mishearing, even as she knew there was no way to misunderstand what she’d just heard. Alton had offered Clarke the company—something Clarke had been fighting for, for years—if he married her.

“In your defense, the company was a good bargaining card,” Clarke said, taking a sip of his cocktail, and Audrey stepped to the side, not wanting to be seen through the open doorway. “Damn impossible to resist…”

Audrey pressed a hand to her mouth just in time to stifle the sob. She leaned against the door, trying to catch her hiccuping breath.

That’s why Clarke was marrying her. Not because he was in love with her, though she’d known that. But she’d believed him when he’d said that he cared about her. That he wanted to spend his life with her. That they were good together.

It was a marriage of convenience. His convenience.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

But Audrey was a crier. She’d always been a crier. While plenty of women had stoically watched The Notebook and Titanic with proud proclamations that they “weren’t criers,” Audrey started blubbering in the opening credits, just knowing what was to come.

Tonight, however, she somehow managed to hold it together. For once, her body listened to her command not to cry. Her wobbling chin stabilized, the ache in her throat eased. The blur of the tears disappeared.

It was as though she shut down, from the inside out.

She calmly returned to the party, playing the part of happy bride even as she studiously avoided the groom.

It didn’t hit her until much later as she lay alone in her bed, staring at the ceiling, her phone stubbornly turned to off, why the tears hadn’t come. There was no point in crying over something that wasn’t real.

Her Prince Charming was never coming. He had never even existed.

Chapter Twenty-Six

SATURDAY, MARCH 28