George laughed, slapping his thigh. “Now, that’s a politically correct reply, if I ever heard one.”

Jethro reclined, spreading his arm over the back of the loveseat. “The rumours about death and debts are complete lies. However, some parts are indeed true.”

I didn’t know how he did it, but in a few short sentences, he’d enraptured George and Sylvie.

“Oh, how so?”

“People no longer accept the idea of arranged marriages. They like to think we’re all free to do what we like, when we like, but realistically, we are all still governed by class, income, our family tree.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My family has known the Weavers for six hundred years. We’ve effectively grown up together, crossing paths and healing feuds, and ultimately agreeing to come together to form a strong alliance.”

George frowned. “So you’re saying this so-called Debt Inheritance is what? A marriage contract?”

Jethro shook his head. “Not quite. It’s an agreement of debts between two houses that strive to support each other with payments in different forms throughout the years.”

I blinked stupidly, unable to believe the way Jethro spun three weeks of rumours. It made people seem ridiculous—clutching at straws and jumping onto a witch-hunt they knew nothing about.

He sounded so reasonable, so justifiable.

His speech was too perfect not to be scripted…perhaps by Bonnie.

Bonnie.

Did she tell Jethro to come and collect me, or was she against this development? After all, she’d kicked me out. She was the one who wanted me gone.

“And you, Ms. Weaver. That’s how your family sees this Debt Inheritance, too?” George pinned his baby-blues on me.

“Yes, of course. What else could it be? To think that one family owns another is completely ludicrous. We support one another. Sure, at times there’s some unrest and rivalry, but for the most part, we’re one big happy family.”

Maids arrived with fresh tea and a three-tier cake stand with cucumber sandwiches and éclairs.

George grabbed one, jotting down a few notes. “So really…it’s the age-old ‘mountain out of a mole hill’ kinda thing.”

Jethro crossed his ankles, ignoring the finger food. “Yes. Not that it’s anyone’s business, but our two influential families have always prospered by linking our history. It’s such a shame that after centuries of friendship, it’s come down to Mr. Weaver spreading such terrible lies.”

I sucked in a breath. I wanted to tell the truth but what good would it do? Would it stop the Hawks from breaking countless laws—would it save my life?

Vaughn had told the world, yet even with so much gossip, it was still his word against the Hawks. And they sounded so much more believable than him. A sure way to disband the Twitter posters and bury old Facebook shout-outs under new intrigue.

George swallowed a bite of cucumber sandwich. “Are you happy to be back? After the time away?”

This was it. My turn to lie as spectacularly as Jethro.

Swooning into Jethro’s side, I snuggled against his chest and sighed dramatically. “Oh, yes. Every night we messaged each other. And every night we professed our belonging and knowledge that we wouldn’t let lies come between us.”

Jethro stiffened then slowly wrapped an icy arm around my shoulders.

My body trembled with the need to be hugged—for real. Having the weight of his body cloaking mine did nothing to ease the inconsolable pain inside my heart.

I wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me.

I wanted him to wake up!

But how?

Then suddenly, I knew exactly how. How to get back at him for what he’d done to me. How to announce to Cut that his plan to steal my right to bear children wouldn’t come without consequences.

Placing my hand on Jethro’s chest, I sought out the flat-line and uninterested beat of his heart. “It was agony being apart.” Dropping my voice to a breathy whisper, I said, “I was so homesick for Jethro; I threw up almost every day.”

Jethro’s heart remained steady and unaffected.

Try ignoring this, you monster.

“But it turned out I was throwing up because I was pregnant.”

Jethro's heart screeched to a stop. He went deathly still.

George clapped. “Oh, that’s wonderful! So if the Debt Inheritance is kind of like a marriage contract, then they have to let it take place now that you’re carrying!”

I swallowed my morbid giggle.

You want them to cut off my head?

If only they knew what it meant.

“That’s amazing. I call first dibs on coming to the wedding and baby shower!” Sylvie laughed.

Jethro never looked at me; his gaze remained locked on the other end of the room. He struggled to plant a smile on his face, nodding at the ecstatic interviewers. “Yes…it was quite a surprise. But of course…a welcome one.”

Letting tears spring to my eyes, I murmured, “I was so happy. I couldn’t wait to start our family and create something that was just ours. But…” I played up the hitch in my voice.

Sylvie leaned forward. “What—what happened?”

Jethro tightened his arm around me. “Yes, Nila. What happened?” His voice was whip-sharp.

George passed me his handkerchief. I accepted it, dabbing my dry eyes. “I lost the baby!” I sniffed loudly, making sure I sounded extra pitiful. “The stress of all the rumours made me sick, and I lost the best thing that could’ve ever happened to us.”

George slapped a hand over his mouth, totally forgetting his notepad and pen. “Oh, that’s tragically awful.” Getting up, he came to squat in front of me.

Jethro glowered at him as George took my hand and kissed my knuckles. “It’s okay though…that little one wasn’t meant to be, but you can try again. You can have other babies.” His gaze flashed to Jethro. “Can’t you? You’re both young. It’s only natural to create your own family and make this love story complete.”

“Yes, quite,” Jethro muttered, tugging me away from George’s caressing fingers.

I fought Jethro’s hold, clutching onto George. If Jethro wanted the world to believe we were together and happy then it was his turn to play along with my farce.

Letting a sob free, I wailed, “That’s the problem. Something happened….” I narrowed my eyes at Jethro, letting him see my wrath and hate for what he’d done.

You took away the one weapon I might’ve had to free us.

George clutched my fingers tighter, completely buying my story. “Oh no, not more bad news?”

Imbecile.

Leech.

As lovely as he seemed, I couldn’t stand what he represented. He was there to make my family look like liars and the Hawks to smell like roses. They would tarnish my brother, break my father’s heart even more, and make me seem as if I was a scatter-brained lovesick child completely out of her depth.

I mean to change all that.

“I was told the conception was a miracle. That I have a rare disorder that might mean I’ll never conceive again. The doctor said I might die if I ever carried a child full term, but he knew I wouldn’t give up. It’s my ultimate dream—the one thing I have to have.”

Jethro growled, “Nila, no need to tell the world our—”

“Jethro's father, Bryan Hawk, loves me like a daughter. He arranged for the doctor to give me a contraceptive, completely against my will. He said if I tried to bear the child of my soul-mate, I might die, and he couldn’t have that on his soul!” I let ugly, wet sobs spew forth, hurling myself into the performance.

George went white, his face half enthralled with having a delicious story to tell and half full of heartbroken sorrow. “Oh, you poor thing. You poor, poor—”

Jethro sniffed, physically untangling George’s fingers from mine and pushing him away. Pulling me into his body, he snapped, “It’s been a hard time for all of us.” Standing, he yanked me to my feet.

His eyes shot a warning.

What the hell are you doing?

Anger radiated, but beneath it all was the faintest shadow of horror. Did he believe my tale? How did he feel to know what he’d done when I might’ve been carrying his child?

Does it make you sick? I blazed my own silent message. Does it rip out your insides to think you might’ve killed your own flesh and blood?

Before I could seek answers in his eyes, he looked away.

“I’m sorry, but the interview is over.” Jethro stood to his full height, his suit looking crisp compared to his ruffled exterior.

I’d come into this as a victim, but I’d stolen the show.

I felt redeemed.

They might’ve stolen my plans of pregnancy, but I’d just stolen theirs.

I was no longer the meek little woman. I was the strong barren woman destined to live with a man she adored and never get pregnant. The media would direct their sympathy onto me—they would be kinder to my family, less likely to slander my last name.

And should all my scheming fail and it came time for me to pay the Final Debt, I might have some chance of rallying them to save me.