The certainty in her tone puts me on edge.
I straighten in my seat. “About what?”
She smiles, all red mouth and cool eyes. “That depends. Are you worried about choosing the wrong bride for him…” She pauses just long enough to make my pulse kick. “Or are you worried about what happens if you choose the right one?”
For one stupid second, I have no response.
Because that is not a question a stranger should be asking me. Because it lands far too close to the truth. Because she says it likeshe already knows there’s something between Aleksei and me worth poking at.
I recover quickly. Or at least I hope I do.
“This meeting,” I say evenly, “is about whether you’d be interested in dinner.”
“And is he interested in me?”
There it is again. Another odd question. Not what are the arrangements, not what does he expect, but something more direct. More probing.
I force a professional smile. “Mr. Vasiliev is interested in finding a wife.”
Celeste’s silver eyes hold mine. “That wasn’t my question.”
For a second, the lounge feels colder.
Then she leans back again, graceful and gorgeous and somehow still slightly wrong, like a portrait with the eyes painted a fraction too knowing.
She’s beautiful, yes. Breathtakingly so.
But there’s something under the beauty I can’t quite place. Not enough to disqualify her. Not even enough to name. Just enough to make me pay closer attention.
I check my phone again.
No new messages from Aleksei, but the last one from his driver says they’ve just pulled in.
My pulse kicks. I look up at the woman across from me and force on my most polished, helpful expression, the one I reserve for pretending I’m not slowly unraveling inside.
“He’ll be here any second,” I say. “I arranged a private table upstairs. It’s quiet, discreet, and the staff knows to keep their distance.”
Celeste watches me over the rim of her glass, cool and unreadable.
I keep going because stopping would mean thinking too hard about what I’m saying. “And if things go well…” I swallow once. “There’s also a suite on the same floor.”
The words almost choke me. It takes everything I have to get them out without visibly flinching.
A suite. For them. For him and another woman.
I tell myself this is the job. The money is real. Life-changing. Necessary. This is what I agreed to. This is the timeline. The process. The transaction.
I also tell myself not to imagine Aleksei with his tie off, sleeves rolled up, hands on someone else. My stomach twists anyway.
Celeste’s mouth curves faintly, as if she can taste the effort in my voice. “How thoughtful.”
I stand and smooth my skirt. “Right this way.”
She rises with impossible grace, all silk and perfume and expensive composure, and follows me to the elevator. I avoid looking at our reflections in the mirrored walls. She looks like she belongs in places like this. I look like a woman playing dress-up while carrying around a secret she shouldn’t have.
The elevator opens onto the upper floor with a soft chime. The private dining level is even quieter than downstairs, all low lighting and dark wood and corridors that smell faintly of orchids. I lead her to the table I booked, tucked in the corner beside a window overlooking the rain-slick gardens below.
The suite door is farther down the hall. I hate that I know that. I hate that I arranged it.
