Marriage.
Marriage?
A... contractual marriage...
He doesn’t rush, doesn’t dilute it, doesn’t pretend it’s anything other than what it is.
“Structured. Contractual. Exclusive,” he says. “Public-facing.”
I stare at him, searching for the punchline that never comes.
“You would have full financial security,” he continues. “Healthcare access. Housing. Privacy protections.”
I feel hot now. Not flustered...angry.
“You would not be required to feel anything,” he adds. “Only to participate.”
I push my chair back slightly.
Participate?
“And what,” I ask carefully, “do you get?”
“Stability,” he says. “Optics. A Wife. An heir.”
I feel like I have swallowed sand. I take a much bigger sip of wine and ask, "You want me to give you an heir? "
Julian leans back in his chair, as if to get comfortable, settling in for a typical conversation.
"Preferably more than one. Two to three would be ideal; however, with your age, they would have to be conceived closely together."
My hands shake, so I move them to my lap to hide what I feel bubbling up within me.
"So let me get this clear.... You want me to marry you, but I don't have to have any feelings towards you... I just need to be married to you in every sense of the word andparticipatein having children with you?"
A look passes over Julian's face that I cannot read; I am not even sure if he understands what it is. Like, he doesn't like how I am interpreting hisoffer.
I don't wait for an answer, because my anger and pride are warring for center stage in me right now.
“You didn’t invite me to dinner,” I say, voice tight but steady. “You invited me to trick me into feeling safe.”
His gaze sharpens.
“And then,” I continue, heart pounding, “you asked me to sell myself.”
“That’s not how I see it.”
“Of course it isn’t,” I say. “You don’t feel the ground shift when the rules change. You’re the one with all the leverage. With all the control.”
I shake my head, disbelief bleeding into anger.
“I don’t intend to coerce you.”
“You already did,” I say, heat rising now. “You brought up my mother. You mentioned her care to get me here. You made this feel personal.”
“Itispersonal,” he replies.
“No,” I say. “It’s strategic.”
