Zeraida had assumed signing the formal contract would immediately end all negotiations for the evening. Xaviere Arventine, however, clearly held a conflicting opinion on the matter. An assistant led Zeraida back to the room.
"Sit down," he commanded, gesturing toward the empty chair directly across the table.
She cast a brief glance at the plush leather seat before meeting his steady gaze. "No."
Xaviere slowly raised his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he absorbed her defiance. The two elderly family leaders had already exited the private dining room, deliberately granting their grandchildren space to settle the remaining details of their arrangement.
They probably just feared we would tear each other apart before the ceremony, Zeraida thought, keeping her posture rigid.
"I prefer standing," she added, maintaining her position on the far side of the table.
"You seem needlessly difficult," Xaviere observed, leaning back against his chair with a slow, deliberate movement.
"And you seem needlessly commanding," she countered, crossing her arms over her chest.
A heavy quiet settled over the room as Xaviere evaluated her for several quiet seconds. "Very well. Our families established their contract, so we shall create ours."
That statement caught her attention, causing her to tilt her head slightly in curiosity. "I am listening."
"This union changes nothing regarding my personal life," he began, resting his forearm on the table. "You will maintain your own suite, your own schedule, and whatever freedom you require within reasonable boundaries."
"Reasonable according to whose judgment?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"Mine," he stated flatly.
Zeraida let out a brief, breathless laugh, shaking her head.
Xaviere's expression darkened instantly at her obvious lack of deference.
"That is utterly adorable," she said, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm.
"Miss Winterland--" he warned, his tone dropping into a dangerous register.
"Zeraida," she interrupted cleanly. "If we are entering this legally binding arrangement, listening to you constantly address me as Miss Winterland will prove irritating."
"Then refrain from interrupting me, Zeraida," he replied, clenching his jaw slightly.
She offered a sweet, saccharine smile that failed to reach her eyes. "No promises, Xaviere."
Annoying this man might become the single enjoyable aspect of this disaster, she realized, watching his jaw muscles tighten.
Xaviere stood up from his chair in one fluid motion, instantly asserting his physical presence over the room. He towered over her by several inches, a physical attribute she suspected he routinely utilized to intimidate subordinate executives.
Unfortunately for him, Zeraida had spent three long years navigating environments full of men who believed stature and wealth guaranteed complete obedience.
"I will be entirely direct with you," he said, stepping out from behind the heavy table. "I have zero intention of ever falling in love with you."
Zeraida felt her lighthearted amusement fade, replaced by a cool, defensive composure. The declaration did not hurt her feelings, given they were virtual strangers.
It was the supreme arrogance behind his assumption that bothered her.
She took two steps forward, shortening the physical distance between them until she was looking directly into his face. "And I have zero intention of ever begging for your affection."
A flicker of emotion passed over his guarded eyes before vanishing back into the shadows.
Did I actually manage to surprise him? she wondered, holding her ground without flinching.
"I am fully aware of Evelyn," she continued smoothly, her tone turning completely neutral. "Everyone in high society knows that history. Whatever transpired between the two of you remains entirely your business."
Xaviere's mask remained fixed, yet a sudden stillness settled over his body at the mention of the name.
"I will not ask intrusive questions, and I will not interfere with your memories," she added, keeping her delivery even. "In return, you will remain completely out of my personal affairs."
"I agree," he replied, his voice devoid of warmth.
"My acting career remains entirely under my own control," she specified, listing her demands clearly. "No Arventine executives interfering with my agencies, no purchasing roles to secure my goodwill, and no preventing me from accepting scripts simply because you disapprove of them."
"Provided your career decisions cause no public damage to the corporate name," he countered smoothly.
"Provided your relatives make no attempts to manage my daily routine," she shot back without hesitation.
A brief stillness hung between them as he weighed her counteroffer. "Acceptable terms."
Zeraida finally pulled back the heavy dining chair and sat down, smoothing the fabric of her tailored skirt. "What are your expectations regarding public appearances?"
"We will attend together when officially required," he answered, remaining standing beside the table.
"Meaning?" she prompted, gesturing for him to elaborate.
"High-profile corporate functions, traditional family gatherings, and specific media events where separate arrivals would spark unnecessary public speculation," he clarified.
"So we play the role of a happily married couple for the cameras," she summarized dryly.
"We maintain standard corporate appearances," he corrected, correcting her wording.
"How utterly romantic," she remarked, lacing her fingers together over her lap.
"This transaction has nothing to do with romance," he stated, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
"I certainly noticed," she replied, offering a thin, meaningless smile.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not press the point any further.
"Separate quarters, separate finances, and separate personal lives," Zeraida recapped, ensuring every parameter was clearly defined. "Neither of us attempts to dictate whom the other chooses to associate with."
Xaviere considered her summary carefully before adding his final clause. "And total discretion from media outlets at all times."
"That goes without saying," she agreed, leaning back against the leather cushioning. "I have one final condition of my own."
"State it," he commanded, watching her closely.
"When this arrangement has fulfilled whatever hidden purpose our grandfathers refuse to disclose, we quietly file for divorce," she said firmly.
The quiet inside the private dining suite became absolute, the surrounding soundproofing isolating them from the bustling city outside. Xaviere stared at her for several long seconds, analyzing her expression for any hint of hesitation.
Slowly, he extended his right hand across the center of the wooden table. "Agreed."
Zeraida looked at his outstretched hand before reaching forward to place her palm within his grip. His hand felt cool, broad, and firm against hers, executing a brief, formal handshake.
There was no magical spark passing between them, nor did her heart flutter in her chest. There was no theatrical sensation like the script descriptions she spent years reading during failed auditions.
It was simply two calculating strangers sealing another cold business arrangement in an empty room.
"Then we understand each other completely," Xaviere said, his voice quiet.
"Perfectly," she affirmed, her eyes meeting his without wavering.
She pulled her hand away first, breaking the physical contact to gather her small leather clutch from the table.
I can handle a fake marriage if it protects my mother's legacy, she reasoned, standing up to leave.
Neither of them realized that as the months unfolded, the final clause they had so easily agreed upon would prove to be the most difficult term to enforce.