Aiden’s POV
The waiter approached, his steps perfectly asured, trained for service in a restaurant of this caliber. I didn’t look up imdiately, keeping my gaze on Alexia. Her posture had shifted slightly—less defiant, more calculating—as she reached for the nu. I knew what was coming.
She’d expected to be out of her depth here, thrown by the prices and the elaborate descriptions of dishes ant to intimidate the uninitiated. I’d counted on it. I wanted to see her squirm, maybe embarrass herself when she ordered sothing wildly inappropriate or revealed that she had no idea what a tasting nu entailed.
Instead, she surprised .
"What would you recomnd?" she asked the waiter, her tone asured and calm.
I recognized the strategy imdiately. She wasn’t bluffing her way through ignorance; she was playing the part, wielding composure like a weapon.
The waiter hesitated, his confidence faltering for a split second. "Perhaps the duck confit or the wagyu steak—"
"Water," she cut in, her voice sharp. "Just water for now."
"Sparkling or still?"
Her eyes flicked to him with barely disguised impatience. "Sparkling."
The waiter’s hesitation stretched a beat too long before he nodded and turned to . "And for you, sir?"
I didn’t bother with the nu. "The usual."
His bow was perfunctory, his steps retreating efficiently. I turned my attention back to her, catching the edge of her smirk as she leaned back in her chair.
"So," she said, her voice laced with skepticism, "what’s this about? You don’t strike as the kind of guy who takes random strangers to lunch."
"You’re not just anyone," I replied evenly. "You’re my fiancée."
Her exaggerated eye roll was almost comical. "Oh, please. That’s rich—coming from a guy who proposed in the middle of the street like a lunatic."
I didn’t flinch. "You agreed, didn’t you?"
She fidgeted, twisting the napkin in her hands. "Yeah, about that... I’m starting to think this is a really bad idea."
"Then why are you here?" I asked, my tone cold, direct.
The question seed to throw her off, her bravado slipping montarily. For a second, she looked like she might answer honestly, but then her guard snapped back into place.
"Because you told to be here," she shot back. "Don’t act like I ca skipping in because I wanted to."
I studied her for a mont, letting the silence stretch. "I need sothing from you, Alexia. And you need sothing from ."
Her laugh was short, derisive. "Oh, this is going to be good. Let guess—you need a fake wife to keep up appearances or fend off so evil in-laws?"
Close, but not quite.
"Sothing like that," I said, allowing a flicker of a smile to break the surface.
Her sarcasm was imdiate. "You know this sounds insane, right? Marriage? To soone you barely know?"
"I know enough about you," I countered smoothly, keeping my voice steady.
Her gaze narrowed. "And what’s that supposed to an?"
"That you’re stubborn. You hate being told what to do. You’re broke but too proud to admit you need help. And you’ve been backed into a corner, so this is your way out."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. She couldn’t. I was right, and we both knew it.
"Well, congrats, Sherlock," she snapped. "You’ve figured out. Gold star for you."
I ignored her sarcasm, leaning forward slightly. "Here’s the deal: Marry , and I’ll make sure you never have to struggle again."
Her expression turned wary, her voice dropping. "And what do you get out of it?"
The answer hung on the tip of my tongue, but I wasn’t ready to reveal everything just yet. "That’s for to know. All you need to decide is whether or not you’re in."
Her hesitation was brief. She was weighing her options, but there was no real choice here. She needed this, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it.
"Fine," she said finally. "I’ll marry you."
"Good choice," I said, leaning back in my chair.
As the waiter returned, I waited for her to falter. Instead, she delivered her order with a confidence that caught even off guard.
"I’ll have the filet mignon, dium-rare, with the truffle risotto. And pair that with a bottle of Château Margaux 2005."
The waiter’s shock was palpable, but he recovered quickly, casting a questioning glance my way.
"She’s ordering," I said, my voice steady. "Bring it."
As the waiter retreated, I studied her, trying to pinpoint the exact mont she’d learned to navigate a room like this. Her poise, her precision—it wasn’t new to her. For all her bravado, she wasn’t a stranger to this world.
"You know your food," I said, letting a note of curiosity creep into my voice.
Her smile was smug, her tone self-assured. "What can I say? I’m a woman of culture."
Impressive. Not that I’d let her know that.
As the al unfolded, I couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly she adapted. She was no ordinary outsider fumbling her way through a world she didn’t belong to. No, Alexia was playing a ga—a ga she was surprisingly good at.
Perhaps this arrangent wouldn’t be as simple as I’d anticipated.
And perhaps, I thought with a hint of amusent, that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
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