[A/N: A huge thank you to the kind reviewers who don't mind my attempt at the oldest trope in the books. Hopefully this chapter will answer some of the questions you have.]
2.
CC brought her knees up to her chest and rested her head against the wall, glancing out of the bay window in her bedroom. She'd neglected to turn on the lights anywhere in her penthouse, so only the stars and the moon gave any illumination to CC's troubled face. Her apartment was silent, save Chester's soft breathing and the ice cubes in her glass.
Her husband. What a joke of a word, devoid of any meaning to her. The word clearly meant a lot more to some of the other people in the Sheffield home—Fran, Maxwell, even the kids. And Niles, of course. Niles, whose face had remained slightly bemused but otherwise blank, as though someone had recently told him some information that he found vaguely puzzling but was otherwise indifferent to. She'd had no idea how to process that, but in her defense, she didn't know how to process much of anything since she'd abandoned her pie.
The homemade pie with the homemade whipped cream. It had looked so appetizing. Why hadn't Thanksgiving ended right there?
She swirled the vodka in her glass, more comforted by the feel of it in her hand than actually drinking it. Resting the heavy bottom of the glass against her collarbone, tapping her pointer finger against the glass, she considered the rest of the afternoon as though it had been a slightly interesting television show she'd watched: sliding around Niles to grab her coat, scooping up Chester and escorting Andrew back outside, distractedly asking Andrew what he was doing there, barely listening as he'd explained his father's business concerns and CC's own mother's urgings, finally and weakly accepting his request for lunch the next day, gratefully finding her car keys in her pocket, driving back home.
This wasn't some long-lost returned love, not some regretted betrothal to her high school sweetheart. She'd first met Andrew 18 years ago, when she herself had been 17 and eagerly looking into colleges. It had been her father, not her mother, who had invited her into his office and sat her down and spoken to her like an adult for the first time in her life. It had been this, more than any of his placating justifications and logical reasoning, that had convinced her to agree with him before fully understanding what she was agreeing to.
Not unheard of were arranged marriages in CC's social strata—though they weren't called arranged marriages, of course. Such an antiquated word choice. Nevertheless, that's what it was, essentially—a marriage brokered between his father and hers, strictly for business and financial reasons. Even at 17, a marriage and a family hadn't been her concern or dream: she had her eyes on a bigger prize. First college, then MBA, then CFO of Babcock, Inc. So if she had to marry this Andy kid to solidify the profit margin and ensure fiscal stability for the rest of the century, and impress her father with her steadfast commitment and dedication to the family company, what could it hurt?
Funny how that question came up years later, though CC still wasn't keen to try to answer it. Agreeing to her father's proposal—business proposal, that is—had ensured that the unhappy rumblings about college she'd heard from her mother were instantly silenced. The day after her 18th birthday, she had slipped on a white satin gown and met Andrew Wilcox for only the third time. After a few fed lines, he was her husband.
A few months had passed, she'd gone off to Bryn Mawr, and as the years passed, she had conveniently forgotten that she'd ever been married. Relationships had reminded her of the fact that she was legally spoken for, especially if they'd appeared to grow serious, but nothing had lasted beyond several months and it never became an issue.
Inadvertently, Niles flashed into CC's mind, his brow slightly furled. Had he looked like that after Andrew's announcement, or did CC misremember and add concern where there was none?
She sighed and wished she'd paid more attention to Andrew's explanation of why he'd shown up on Thanksgiving, of all days. How had he even known to look for her at the Sheffield's? Perhaps her husband knew her better than she thought. She laughed at this and sipped her drink.
A strange and sudden urge to call Niles and find out if his face had crumpled a bit in confusion, concern, hurt (?) that afternoon hit her. She let this notion sit in her mind for a while before she saw the clock and figured he was probably asleep after all the work he'd done that day.
Niles was not, in fact, asleep, although his entire body ached with exhaustion. He had already attempted to fall asleep twice and knew it would not come easy tonight.
After Fran's family had gone home, Max, Fran, and the children had remained in the living room and discussed almost nothing else but CC's surprise husband. Niles had listened in, idly gathering dishes and piling them on the minibar. By Fran's fourth "Are you sure you didn't know she was married, Max?" Niles had exited to the glorious silence of the kitchen, completely forgetting the dessert dishes.
He'd occupied himself by scrubbing the roasting dish and cleaning the counters. The entire kitchen gleamed but Niles still pretended to be busy when Fran came in, knowing she wanted to gossip about it with him.
Surprisingly, she'd shown a conscientiousness Niles hadn't known she'd possessed and had simply asked if he was all right before telling him she was going to watch a movie in the living room with the kids and that she was there if he needed any help.
Niles wondered what he'd looked like when Andrew had introduced himself as CC's husband. He had a feeling that Fran, after her jaw had dropped, had snapped her head to look at him. He remembered only shock, but a distant kind of shock, as one who heard that a little-known relative had unexpectedly passed away.
The shock had grown more pronounced as Niles considered what happened after. CC scooped up Chester and left the house, her husband—her husband—in tow. Niles wondered what she was doing; he wouldn't quite allow himself to consider using "they." Still, he resigned himself to the small comfort that CC hadn't actually greeted Andrew in any way: no touches, embraces, kisses. In fact, she had looked more shocked than anyone else in the house.
His thought loop settled back into its origins and he wondered, for the twentieth time, why Andrew had returned—for he'd presumably been away and hadn't been living with CC this entire time—and what he wanted from CC.
Niles settled back against his pillows and laced his hands together behind his head. For a fleeting, bizarre moment, Niles wanted to hop out of bed, grab the keys, and go to CC's penthouse, demanding answers. It was after midnight, yes, but for some reason, he thought CC might still be awake.
Still, he had no right to do so. He had no right to so much: he couldn't feel offended that CC had never told him she was married; he was not allowed to go see her without a pretense besides wanting an explanation; and he had no claim on any sort of actual relationship with the blonde socialite. The mysterious husband in the crisp Armani suit and the well-styled hair did.
Niles sighed and rolled over onto his stomach. He would stake a claim into his right to sleep, determined, but it, too, would prove to be another thing out of Niles's control.
With a rush of cold air, CC entered the Plaza Hotel. Unfurling her red cashmere scarf, she made her way towards the Palm Court. Andrew stood, smiling amiably, and at his cheerful friendliness, CC's stomach sank again. She wondered if it would take up permanent residence in her feet.
"Good afternoon, CC," Andrew greeted.
"Hello, Andrew," CC said, stiffer than she would have liked. A server materialized and took her coat and scarf, sliding out a chair for her. CC sat down and Andrew followed suit. She immediately wished they'd gone to an establishment with larger tables. The setting was undeniably intimate.
"First, let me apologize for showing up unannounced at your…business partner's, correct?" Andrew guessed.
"Yes," CC asserted. "How did you know I'd be there?"
"Your mother suggested it," Andrew explained. "I tried your penthouse first."
CC nodded. Her mother. Of course. None of this would end well, she suddenly realized. "Andrew, pardon my bluntness, but why are you here?"
Andrew opened his mouth to explain but paused as another server produced water and a basket of bread. CC declined anything else to drink and then looked at Andrew expectantly. "Well, it would appear that my father is approaching retirement and this complicates a few things for our…agreement."
CC smirked at him. "Such as?"
A third server arrived and CC ordered the prawn salad. She glanced at the ostentatious decoration of the Court as Andrew ordered. Her eyes traveled back to his face as he resumed his explanation.
"Our arrangement still remains lucrative for both sides, of course, but Father is rather worried about the…longevity of such a proposal," Andrew explained.
"Spit it out, hubby," CC said.
Andrew sighed. To his credit, he appeared as reluctant to say what CC dreaded to hear. "A meeting has been suggested to iron out some new details."
CC raised her eyebrows. "New details? Wasn't the-the contract all I had to agree to?"
"I'm not sure. We were 18, CC. I can't imagine we inspected the document too closely," Andrew replied, sipping his water.
CC took a piece of bread from the basket and tore it into small pieces. The open, airy court felt oppressive. "When is the meeting happening?"
"I'm not sure. My father only suggested it recently," Andrew said carefully.
CC rolled her eyes. "My mother sent you to surprise me on Thanksgiving. When's the meeting?"
Andrew sighed. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" CC repeated, the remaining hunk of bread falling harmlessly to her plate. "Your side must be pretty concerned."
"There was some push from your side, too," Andrew said, a hint of irritation coloring his tone.
"All right. What happens if I don't attend the meeting?" CC asked, an urge to rebel replacing her suffocation and providing blessed relief.
"Then you probably get no say in the outcome," Andrew replied with a shrug.
CC neglected to reply that she'd likely have no say in the outcome regardless. Her mother hadn't been involved before, and it concerned her that BB suddenly was now.
Her salad arrived shortly after, and she ate gratefully, not particularly hungry but eager to focus her attention on something else.
"CC, I know none of this is ideal," Andrew said, setting his fork down. "It's not ideal for you and it especially isn't for me. But I don't want you to feel as though I'm not on your side."
CC pushed aside a slivered almond and avoided looking at him. She reminded herself to try to be gracious. "Thank you."
He smiled at her, and she at him, and the rest of the lunch passed somewhat more pleasantly.
Pulling her scarf up to cover the bottom half of her face, CC left the Plaza and began walking down 5th Avenue. She had taken a taxi but didn't yet feel like climbing back into a heavy, musty exterior. She hadn't made it down one block, however, until someone spotted her—or rather, two someones.
"Speaking of heavy and musty," CC remarked as Nanny Fine and Niles stopped in front of her. Both eyed her with interest but, CC suspected, very different kinds of interest.
"Hiya, Miss Babcock!" Fran exclaimed, her voice escaping as a large cloud of vapor.
"Hello, hello," CC replied casually. "There isn't a Loehmann's anywhere around here, Nanny Fine. What are you doing here?"
"It's Black Friday!" Fran said excitedly. "We're shoppin' for deals." She struggled to hold up the numerous bags draped over her arms.
"Hanukkah shopping early?" CC guessed.
"Oh, yeah. I got this for Maxwell," Fran answered, holding up the smallest of all her bags. "The rest are for me."
"Of course," CC replied with a smile. She turned to Niles. "Don't tell me you actually opened your wallet to buy anything?"
"I can only imagine what happened the last time a man opened his wallet for you," Niles quipped back.
CC considered shooting back that in fact, her husband had just opened his wallet to pay for a hundred-dollar lunch…but CC found herself not wanting to use Andrew to wound Niles. Her eyes widened slightly at this revelation. She wondered what it meant.
"What about you, Miss Babcock? I don't see any shopping bags," Fran said in the easy way she had with small talk.
"I don't need to wait for discounted shopping days," CC replied haughtily. "I was having lunch with…" The sentence tapered off, unfinished, but by the looks on both of their faces, CC guessed that Fran and Niles had figured it out.
"Ya husband?" Fran couldn't resist blurting out. Niles and CC both flinched but neither noticed that the other had.
"With Andrew, yes," CC clarified. Her eyes flitted to Niles and for a quick moment, she saw something in his eyes that squeezed her heart to half its usual size. Right then, she wanted to take Niles's arm and pull him away from Fran, take him aside and explain quickly but thoroughly what the truth was—but what was the truth, aside from the facts of her business agreement marriage to Andrew? Why did she want Niles to understand? What was the look in his eyes?
Fran, in another moment of unprecedented empathy, looked from Niles to CC and changed the subject rapidly. "Miss Babcock, you left your purse at the house."
She turned to the nanny. "What? Oh, yes. I'll stop by tomorrow after—I'll stop by tomorrow and get it."
"I bet Niles could bring it by later today—" Fran began optimistically.
"No!" they cried quickly in unison and then wondered why the other was so vehement.
"No, it's fine," CC recovered smoothly. "I'm sure those old bones need a rest after yesterday."
"Ah, Babcock, don't talk about yourself like that," Niles returned in stride. CC smiled slightly and sent Fran and Niles off, hailing and getting a cab in quick succession.