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It’s more complicated than that.
“I don’t want to be married to someone I don’t love,” I say. “And I would never bring children into a loveless marriage. Not for all the money in the world. It’s not right.”
“Maybe you’re thinking of it all wrong. Maybe you should focus on all the good you could do with that money. Or the fact that the child would be loved by both parents, cared for the rest of its life in every way imaginable.”
“Would you love it?” I ask. “Knowing that it was nothing more than a component of a contract? Something you bought and paid for?”
He stops for a moment, turning to me, brows furrowed. “Of course I would love my own flesh and blood, Sophie. What kind of question is that?”
We step inside, greeted by a dark hall lined with dim sconces.
“I don’t understand why you can’t just find someone else,” I say. “You must have millions of prospects.”
“Dating is different for me. I can’t just swipe right on an app and meet someone for drinks and hope things will take off organically.”
“But have you ever tried?”
He laughs through his nose. “I’ve never used an app, but I’ve dated in the past.”
“And?”
“Preconceived notions tend to get in the way before any of it has a chance to evolve into something meaningful,” he says. “I realize this arrangement I’m proposing is as unromantic as it is unconventional, but at least I’m being upfront from the start. You know my expectations, what I want and what I need. And you know what you’ll be getting out of it. This way we can both avoid disappointment.”
He leads me to a room with soaring gold-leaf ceilings, a forest green billiards table, a marble chess set, and a wall of books two stories high.
He flicks on the lights. “I’m not buying your heart, Sophie. And I’m certainly not trying to sell you on mine.”
“Kind of seems like you are …”
“That’s only because you don’t know me … yet.” He turns to face me, pausing to drink me in. “Why don’t you stay the rest of the afternoon? Tonight we can have dinner. And after that, I’ll take you to the conservatory. There’s a meteor shower later and the view from up there is second to none.”
While he claims this isn’t about love or forming an everlasting connection, the evening he’s suggesting sounds like a date. I’m seconds from declining his offer when the words get stuck, lodged by curiosity.
“Why do you need a wife and kid anyway?” I ask. “What do you get out of it?”
Without hesitation, he says, “I’m in the process of procuring a rather large business deal and the seller insists on maintaining its family-operated business reputation. He won’t sell it to me unless I settle down. His words.”
“So none of this is because you’re secretly lonely and you want someone to share your life with?”
“Would it make a difference if I were?”
I contemplate my answer. At least he’s being honest—I think. There’s no way to tell when someone’s being real or fake, though I thought I knew the difference once upon a time.
“I guess not,” I say.
“So will you stay for dinner?”
Despite the lump in my throat and the voice in my head reminding me that my mind is already made up and all of this is a giant waste of time … I nod.
“Sure,” I say.
And against my better judgement, I stay.
Seventeen
Trey
Present
A blanket of stars shine through a pristine glass ceiling of the conservatory. I leave the lights off, of course, and take Sophie by the hand, leading her to the center of the room where my staff has prepared an arrangement of tufted floor pillows so we can lie on our backs and take in the spectacular show in the night sky.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I point to the cushions. “I’m going to check on that nightcap.”
I move to the corner of the room, lifting the phone from the receiver and calling down to the kitchen where I’m told our drinks are en route.
We shared a bottle of wine over dinner in the Field Room, a smaller, more intimate setting overlooking the magnolia gardens. For two hours, we discussed neutral topics: favorite vacation spots, film, and literature. Topics like politics and religion were avoided, as in good taste. Given her knowledge of a proper place setting, I got the sense she would flourish in some of the formal settings she’d be required to attend by my side. So far she’s checking all of my boxes and then some.
Our drinks arrive—bourbon for me and vodka soda with a wedge of lime for her.
“Tell me about your family, Sophie.” I hand her the tumbler and take the spot next to her. “What are they like?”
The faint glow of the stars above provides enough light for me to make out her delicate features and catch the glimmer of light in her eyes when she looks at me. All evening, she’s kept her distance—physically—but she’s opening up like a flower, even if she doesn’t realize it. One petal at a time.
