When I looked in the mirror, the girl staring back at me looked put together. Beautiful, even. You’d never guess she’d been crying two hours ago, that her brother was dying, that her life was a contract she’d signed under duress. The mirror showed none of that. Mirrors are liars that way.
The knock came just as I was reaching for the door handle, and I opened it to find Sable. Her reaction was immediate and gratifying: her eyes went wide, her mouth formed a small O, and she stood there for a full three seconds in what I can only describe as aesthetic paralysis.
“Well,” she said, once her brain reconnected with her mouth. “Look who’s all dressed up for her husband.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I’m not dressed up for him. I’m going downstairs.”
“Going downstairs.” Sable nodded slowly, her expression achieving new heights of skepticism. “You’re going downstairs. So naturally, you put on a form-fitting red gown, did your hair like you’re attending a premiere, and applied lipstick that could stop traffic.” She tilted her head. “To go downstairs.”
“…Yes.”
“Marlowe.”
“Okay, fine.” I sighed. “The dress is from Rowan. He gave it to me for my birthday. Wearing it makes me feel closer to him. It has absolutely nothing to do with Caelum.”
Sable’s expression softened. The teasing drained away, replaced by understanding. “I see,” she said gently. Then, recovering her smile: “In that case – let me show you around your home.”
“It’s not my home. It’s his home. And we’re only here for four more days.”
“Your husband’s home is your home. Basic matrimonial principle.”
“We’re not married. We signed a document. A document is not a marriage.”
“And yet here you are, in his apartment, wearing a red dress.” She held up her hands before I could protest. “Come on. Tour. Now.”
I followed her out, shaking my head but smiling. Sable had a way of defusing my anger without dismissing it – a skill that, in my limited experience, was approximately as rare as a unicorn with a law degree.
“You’re coming with us when we move, right?” I asked as we walked down a hallway lined with art I didn’t understand. “To the villa?”
“Wherever you go, I go. Think of me as your shadow, except prettier and with better taste in shoes.”
“Thank God,” I said, and meant it. “Because if I’m left alone with that man and his collection of luxury properties, I will lose my mind. He’ll come home and find me talking to the chandeliers.”
“Don’t say that-“
“What, the chandelier thing? Because I’m not entirely joking.”
She laughed, and the sound bounced off the marble walls and made the whole place feel, for one moment, almost human.
We were halfway down the staircase – a sweeping, cinematic staircase, the kind of staircase that demands you descend it with one hand on the railing and an expression of casual elegance – when the front door opened and Caelum walked in.
He was still in the suit from this morning, but something about him had shifted. The controlled energy was still there, the boardroom posture, the chin held at the angle of a man who expected the world to arrange itself around him. But when he looked up and saw me coming down the stairs, all of that – every carefully constructed layer of composure – stuttered.
He stopped walking. Just stopped, mid-stride, one foot slightly ahead of the other, and stared.
I want to be clear: I did not enjoy this. I did not feel a small, petty thrill at the sight of a powerful man frozen in his tracks because of me. That would be immature and vengeful and entirely beneath me.
I enjoyed it enormously.
“Good evening, Mr. Caelum,” Sable said, her voice cutting through whatever trance he’d fallen into.
He blinked. Recovered. The composure reassembled itself, though not quite fast enough to hide the seams. “Evening, Sable. How are you?”
“Fine, sir.”
I said nothing. I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the living room, because I was not going to stand there and make small talk with the man who’d bought me like a property listing, no matter how flattering his momentary brain malfunction had been.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.