Their eyes met for the briefest moment. Isla searched for some sign of the woman she had held two nights ago, the woman who had sobbed in her arms and whispered "I love you" against her skin. She found nothing. Marianne's expression was pleasant and blank, revealing nothing.
"Excellent work on the Peterson case," Marianne said, her tone appropriate for a professional compliment. "The board was quite impressed."
"Thank you."
"Keep it up." A brief nod, and then Marianne was turning away, rejoining her conversation with Alexandra Vale as if nothing had happened.
It was exactly what they had agreed to. Exactly what was necessary to protect themselves.
And it hurt more than Isla had expected.
She understood the reasons. She knew they couldn't risk drawing attention, especially not with Shaw watching for any sign of inappropriate closeness. She knew that maintaining distance in public was the price they paid for the intimacy they shared in private.
But understanding didn't make it easier to sit at that table and watch Marianne smile at someone else's joke while treating Isla like a stranger.
By the time the auction ended, Isla's jaw ached from the effort of maintaining her own composure. She made her excuses and slipped out through a side exit, heading for the parking garage where she could fall apart in peace.
Marianne found her there ten minutes later.
"Get in." The words were quiet, terse. Marianne was standing beside her car, keys in hand, her face unreadable in the dim light of the parking structure.
Isla got in.
They drove in silence for several blocks, Marianne navigating the city streets with focused attention. Isla stared out the window at the passing lights, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions that was making it hard to breathe.
"You're angry." Marianne's voice was flat.
"I understand why you did it."
"That's not the same as not being angry."
Isla turned to look at her. In the flickering streetlight, Marianne's profile was sharp and tense. "How do you do it? How do you just... turn it off like that? Act like I'm nobody?"
"I don't turn it off. I compartmentalize." Marianne's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "There's a difference."
"It doesn't feel like a difference. It feels like you can walk into a room and pretend I don't exist, while I can barely look at you without wanting to touch you."
"That's exactly why I have to maintain distance." Marianne's voice was strained. "Because if I let myself look at you, if I let myself acknowledge what you mean to me, I won't be able to stop. And Shaw is watching. The board is watching. Everyone is watching."
"So I have to be a stranger to you? In every public moment, for the rest of our lives?"
"For now. Until the audit is complete. Until the pressure eases." Marianne pulled into a side street and stopped the car, turning to face Isla for the first time. "I know it's hard. Don't you think it's hard for me too? Don't you think I wanted to go to you tonight, to touch you, to tell everyone in that room that you're mine?"
"I don't know what you want." The words came out sharper than Isla intended. "Because when we're in public, you act like I'm just another problem you're managing. Another liability on your spreadsheet."
"You're twisting what I?—"
"Am I? Neither is this." Isla gestured at the space between them. "We tell each other we love each other in private, and then in public you won't even make eye contact. We sleep in the same bed and then pretend we barely know each other. I feel like I'm living two separate lives, and I don't know which one is real anymore."
Marianne was silent. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "They're both real. The public performance and the private truth. We just don't get to have them overlap."
"And you're okay with that?"
"No." The word came out sharp, almost angry. "I'm not okay with any of this. Do you think I enjoy treating you like a stranger? Do you think it doesn't kill me to stand in the same room with you and pretend I don't want to touch you?"
Isla was startled by the intensity in Marianne's voice. This was the first crack in her composure all evening.
"Then why?—"
