A lie.
I know it is, but her eyes give me nothing. The woman who once wore her emotions openly, who burned and softened and hurt in plain sight, is gone. This version of Sienna Roth is sealed tight.
“Apparently,” she says lightly, folding her hands on the table, “the families organized this little meeting so we could meet before the soirée tomorrow.” She leans forward, a conspiratorial glint that doesn’t reach her eyes, and lets out a soft giggle. “Imagine the scandal if they knew we’ve already met.”
I don’t smile.
Her smile widens when she realizes that.
I study her for a beat, then ask the question that’s been burning a hole through my chest. “Why did you agree to this marriage?”
There it is. The opening. The invitation.
I brace myself for impact—for the anger she’s earned the right to unleash. For accusations. For the questions I deserve. Why did you disappear? Why did you use me? Why did you throw me away like nothing?
She does none of it.
Instead, she laughs again. Easy. Almost amused. “Why not?”
The words land wrong. Too casual. Too clean.
She reaches for her glass, takes another measured sip, then continues like she’s reciting from memory. “The Roths gain expanded access to Eastern European shipping lanes. The Rusnaks gain political insulation stateside. Combined wealth increases leverage. Combined protection reduces vulnerability.”
She ticks them off with her fingers. One. Two. Three.
“Power consolidates,” she finishes. “Everyone wins.”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t believe you.”
Her gaze sharpens—not defensive, not startled. Just…alert.
“That’s unfortunate,” she says calmly. “But it’s not my responsibility to convince you.”
I realize then what unsettles me most. It’s not that she won’t talk about the past. It’s that she doesn’t seem to need to. She doesn’t need closure.
“The soirée is tomorrow,” I say carefully, “and the wedding is ten days after. You’re probably wondering why it’s so rushed, but alliances like this usually are. If you want to change anything, let me know, and I’ll—”
“Nah.” She shakes her head once, dismissive. “It’s fine with me.”
My eyes narrow. “Okay. Do you have any suggestions, or—”
“Whatever the families arrange is fine.” She drains the rest of her wine in one smooth motion and sets the glass down. “My duty is to show up. And I will.”
A pause.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She starts to gather her bag.
“You’re leaving?” The words slip out before I can stop them. It’s barely been twenty minutes.
She tilts her head, studying me. “Is there something else you’d like to discuss?” Her smile curves—polite and empty. “Please let me know. I’m more than willing to indulge.”
Indulge.
The word lands like a slap.
I try again. “Sienna, please. If you’re not okay with the wedding, you can say so. I’ll try to stop it.”
Her brows draw together, not in pain, but irritation. “Don’t project your fears onto me, Sebastian.” Her voice stays calm, precise. “I’m okay with the wedding. But if you want to stop it, you’re welcome to do so.”
