I never thought about it like that, Clare said. Most people don't. Then something shifted. The temperature in the room didn't change, but something did. Marcus felt it the way you feel a car's engine change pitch before you can explain why.
He looked up. Andrew Whitmore was walking toward their table. Not his father, not Viven. Andrew alone, moving through the restaurant with his hands loose at his sides and his jacket buttoned and his expression carrying something that Marcus could only describe as deliberate, like a man who had made a decision and was committed to it before he took the first step. Marcus didn't say anything.
He just watched. Clare noticed his eyes move and turned around and went completely still. Andrew stopped at the edge of their table. I was taller than Marcus expected. Late 20s, maybe 30.
Good-looking in a way that was more about structure than warmth. Strong jaw, close-cut hair, the kind of physical ease that came from never having to fight for space in a room. But up close, the thing Marcus had clocked from across the restaurant was even more apparent. He didn't look like a man who wanted to be here. Clare, Andrew said.
His voice was even controlled. I'm sorry to interrupt. Andrew, she started. I'm not here to push anything, he said quickly. I just want to say something and then I'll go back to the table and you can do whatever you need to do.
Clare glanced at Marcus. Marcus gave her nothing back. This was hers. She turned to Andrew. Okay.
Andrew took a short breath. I've known about this arrangement my whole life. And I'll be honest with you, I never argued against it because it was easier not to. My father wanted it. Your grandmother wanted it.
And on paper, I understand why. He paused. But I'm standing here right now because I've been sitting at that table for an hour watching you across this restaurant. And you look, he stopped himself, chose the word carefully. You look like someone who's about to do something they'll regret because they're afraid to disappoint people.
Silence. And I don't want to be the thing you regret, Andrew said. I'm a lot of things, Clare. But I'm not willing to be that. Clare opened her mouth, closed it.
Andrews eyes moved briefly to Marcus. Not hostile, not competitive, just acknowledging. The look of one man recognizing that another man had done something that mattered. Then he looked back at Clare. I told my father tonight that if the agreement goes forward, it needs to be because it's what you actually want, not because your grandmother issued an ultimatum.
His jaw tightened slightly. He wasn't happy about that. Andrew, Clare said softly. I didn't know you felt that way. I didn't say it before because he almost smiled.