The drive to her apartment is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. It’s only after I drop her off and I’m alone in my car that I finally listen to my mother’s voicemail.
“Benjamin, darling, I just saw the most interesting article online about your engagement. This is quite a surprise, as you can imagine. Your father and I had no idea you were even seeing anyone seriously. And Freya? Please call me when you get this. We need to discuss this… development.”
I delete the message without calling her back.
The thing about my parents is that we don’t really talk. We exchange pleasantries during the obligatory holiday calls, and they send expensive gifts for my birthday that feel more like corporate gestures than personal ones. They moved to California five years ago when my father retired from the bank, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen them since.
It’s not that we had some dramatic falling out. It’s more that we never really had a relationship to begin with. Growing up in theirhouse was like living in a very expensive museum. Beautiful, pristine and completely devoid of warmth.
My parents’ marriage is the perfect example of form over function. They look good together, attend the right events, and say the right things at parties. But behind closed doors, they barely speak to each other. When they do communicate, it is through cutting remarks disguised as polite conversation or silent treatments that could last for days.
I learned early that love, at least the kind my parents claim to have, is really just a business arrangement dressed up in romantic language. A strategic partnership designed to advance careers and maintain social standing.
Which is exactly what I’m doing with Freya.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. I’m sitting in my car outside her building, and suddenly I can’t breathe properly. Everything I swore I’d never become, everything I’ve spent my adult life avoiding. I’ve walked straight into it with my eyes wide open.
I’m using someone I care about for professional gain. I’m staging a relationship for public consumption. I’m turning love into a transaction.
I’m exactly like my parents.
The worst part is that it’s working. Carson’s strategy is brilliant, and I can already see the shift in how people respond to me. Red and Marnie see me as family oriented and trustworthy. My business associates are commenting on how “settled” I seem. Even my own employees are treating me differently, like getting engaged has somehow made me more human.
But it’s all built on a lie, just like my parents’ marriage is. And eventually, lies have a way of destroying everything they touch.
My phone rings again—my mother, persistent as always—and this time I answer.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Benjamin.” Her voice has that carefully modulated tone that means she’s displeased but trying to hide it. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know. I’ve been busy.”
“I imagine you have been. This engagement news is quite unexpected.”
“Is it? I’m thirty-two years old. Most people my age are already married.”
“Most people your age aren’t worth so much money. Marriage changes things for people in our position, darling. There are considerations—prenups, estate planning, public image management.”
Our position. As if we’re some kind of royalty instead of just people with money.
“I’m aware of the considerations.”
“Are you? Freya is lovely, but Benjamin, you must understand how this looks. A sudden engagement to someone nobody knows, someone who doesn’t move in our circles… People will talk.”
“Let them talk.”
“Your father and I think it might be wise to have a conversation with your attorneys before this goes any further. Just to protect everyone’s interests.”
Protect everyone’s interests. Not “congratulations” or “we’re happy for you” or “we can’t wait to meet her.” Just calculations and protections and strategic thinking.
This is what marriage looks like in my family. This is what I’m subjecting Freya to.
“I have to go,” I say abruptly.
“Wait.”
“I’ll call you later.”
