บท 5: Chapter 5
"Avie, your future hubby is here!" Silas hollers from downstairs.
"In a Rolls Royce," Luciano adds.
"In a Rolls Royce!" Silas echoes.
I tuck sheets of my straightened hair behind both earlobes. My eyes dart over my rose-gold dress, form-fitting with sequins and matching chains that lap over my bare shoulders and arms. I hurry out of my room, grabbing my clutch bag on the way out. When I'm close to the last step, Silas appears to offer his hand out with a theatrical flourish.
"Lady Avara," he says in a royal accent.
I snort and take his hand as I hobble to ground level, trying not to slip in these toothpick-thin heels. I thank him quickly, and his response is a gallant bow. Luciano waits by the door, ready to walk me out as Silas tails me from behind.
"Where's my real bodyguard? Where's Michael?"
"He was ceremoniously retired," he says, opening the front door without looking. "Colton convinced dad that he'll take care of it from here." A tincture of disdain in his voice. "I'm sure he wants his daughter-in-law to have the best security money can buy."
I exit the house to see not one but two cars. A Rolls Royce Phantom and a matte black Mercedes Benz AMG behind it. The chauffeur stands with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting next to the open door. Fear rouses panic and they both wreak their havoc within me. I glance back at Silas, who flashes me a heart-warming smile, and Luciano gives me an encouraging nod.
I lift my head a little higher and I turn around to strut down the steps with fraudulent confidence, making my way to the Rolls Royce. The sleek body shell is made from super formed aluminium panels—large, light and streamlined, the gold-plated emblem crowning its bonnet. I slip inside and the driver closes the door behind me. Vance is next to me, outfitted in a bespoke suit, custom-cut, an exquisite combination of royal blue and burgundy. His hair, with rippling quality, has a pristine Ivy League side-parting and a high fade. He has his phone glued to his ear and a MacBook on his lap.
"Just get it done," he says with gritted teeth. He glances at me askance, irritation pinching the corners of his face. "I have to go."
He hangs up. "Avara," he greets icily.
"Vance," I say, trying to smile. "Nice to see you again."
He disregards like me I'm nothing but a speck of dirt under his Italian leather shoes.
The cars move together as a single unit, a smooth cruise to the main road. Vance evades the palpable tension by distracting himself with work affairs whilst I have no choice but to busy myself with the scenery. The interior of the vehicle is the pinnacle of luxury, veneered with dark amber wood. Vance shifts suddenly and at the touch of a button, the privacy division instantly switches from transparent to fully opaque, separating the front and rear cabins.
"Wow," I breathe. "Is the divider crafted from electrochromic glass?"
A flicker of something unexpected dances behind his eyes—an unguarded moment, a spark of curiosity that could easily be missed. But as quickly as it appears, it vanishes, swallowed up by the ironclad mask he wears so well. "Allison has a queue of dates for us, to be on our own, before we start attending public events as a… pair."
I nod warily, unsure of what to say to that.
"You look as if you wish to say something?"
I do, and yet I only submit a stiff head shake in response. I don't see the point of expressing anything more.
***
The vast space opens up to tall walls of granite black, ethereal and elegant in equal measure. The planetarium dome is a filmic experience of the aurora borealis. The northern lights cast their luminescence on silvery tables that face centre and wind around the circular room. Each table gleams under the celestial light, the subtle curves of their polished surfaces catching the brilliance of the northern lights and scattering it in delicate patterns across the room. We are ushered to a reserved table at the epicentre for prime dining, ready with an expensive-looking bottle and an impressive display of entrees.
"Compliments from the chef," the woman says, giving Vance a long, lingering look before she leaves.
He and I sit down opposite each other. I give the holistic cuisine manifest a peruse, offering a litany of high-concept dishes. A waiter wafts by and by Vance's approving nod. He cracks the bottle open and fills each of our glasses with a luscious red. Vance pays me no attention, resting against his chair with one elbow on the arm, his finger thoughtfully rubbing his skin above his upper lip. His eyes focused on his phone. I take my glass, drawing a polite sip—and nearly choking. It's so bitter. I've had medicine that tastes better than this. I put it down, trying to hide my revulsion, but not that it matters. Vance's eyes are on anything but me.
Unable to bear the silence anymore, I say, "Should we… perhaps try to get to know each other?"
"I know everything I need to know about you." The baritone of his voice resounded with scrutiny. "Avara Du Pont," he begins, still not even sparing me a glance. "Twenty-four years old, who graduated top of her class with her bachelors in biomedical engineering. Do not take offense when I say I was quite astounded."
"How did—"
"And a humanitarian, a public figure, who runs her own program of charity and outreach schemes. Who has also hosted a number of soirees in the name of the newly elected Mayor. The princess of politics and a dutiful daughter to her father. And she also has a best friend, Kelsey, was it? The fashionista that owns a boutique, quite ambitious that one."
I reveal my surprise. "I don't know whether to be flattered or creeped out."
He gives me this emotionless, flat stare. "Forgive me, if I wanted to know the person I'm entering a covenant with. I'm not in it for the money. Not everyone involved can say the same."
"Vance Elias Vacheron," I begin with the same condescending tone. "Twenty-eight years old, who graduated from Yale with an MBA. He also sits on the board of directors for the Vacheron foundation, a non-profitable organization. Don't take offense, but when I found that out, it was very astounding. And of course, by marrying me, he will be one step closer to being the crowned CEO of Vacheron Enterprises. And his future fortunes will dwarf the net worth of most small countries." I sit back to cross my one leg over the other. "And Vance Vacheron… well, he has no friends."
He gives me a long, appraising look, as if he's seeing me for the first time. His features return to their usual impenetrable state, carved into a cold, unyielding expression that gives nothing away.
"Public records," I inform. "And Mr Vacheron, it's very presumptuous of you to assume you have any idea as to why I agreed to this. Because you don't."
"Yeah?" He edges closer, dropping his forearms on the verge of the table. "Then correct me. Why did you agree?"
My father's words are a cavernous worm burrowing inside my mind.
I look away momentarily. "I have my reasons, as I'm sure you have yours."
He settles back, a tint of disappointment in his sea-green eyes. "And this is how our little… arrangement is going to work. I don't think I can ever care for someone who was foisted on me. I don't know if you're romantically involved with someone else, and I don't care. But I will not be made a fool of. In due time, we're going to make a vow to each other, real or not. I expect both of us to be faithful to it. I will not be turned into a running joke because you got some boy toy on the side. Understand?"
I inhale a breath, nodding uneasily.
***
A month goes by of unending solo dates and the more time I spend with him… the more I can't wait to get away from him. I can't stand him! His condescending chides, scornful looks and this better-than-thou attitude, which I'm sure he's not even aware of. And somehow it makes it that much worse. However, despite his reservations, my silent loathing, and Allison's counselling. We have successfully sold the image immaculately. We have made it on several front covers of magazines and social media is raving about our hot new fling.
Vance and I are on one of our notorious dates now, walking hand-in-hand through a very public park. Other couples and families decorate the open green field with dogs running free, frisbees thrown high, and kites flown in the air.
"By the way, I have a gathering this weekend," Vance says, Nordic gold hair glowing in the sun, his eyes appearing gem-blue in the light. "A dinner with principal investors, and it would help my cause if I had an ornamental figure beside me."
My brows jump to my hairline. "Arm candy?"
"Call it what you will," he says casually and with a babying, patronizing tone, he adds, "You sit there and look pretty whilst the men talk business."
"As much as I would love to indulge your misogyny, and be around more patriarchal-minded men like yourself. I have a charity gala this weekend."
"Well cancel it, this is more important."
"Profit over people, right? Do you mind thinking about someone other than yourself for just a minute? It's not even about me, it's about the people this fundraiser will help."
His brows collide, his expression bellowing offense. "I—"
His phone buzzes. He grunts and yanks it from the inside of his jacket pocket.
"Vance."
Someone yells at him from the other end of the line. He frowns, then puts the call on speaker.
"You're being watched." Allison. "See the throng of photographers by the bushes?"
I cast a covert look around us. "So you're watching us, too, then?"
"Of course, and you're giving them nothing. You have been dating for over a month and have barely shown any sign of sexual intimacy."
"And we don't plan to," Vance mutters.
"Vance, stop being a pussy and kiss the girl."
My face explodes with heat, my heart galloping into a sprint.
Vance meets my gaze hesitantly, then looks away. "No."
"I wasn't asking. I was entrusted to make sure you sell this, your father's orders. So be the obedient little boy we all know you are and kiss her."
Vance ends the call brusquely and pockets the phone with a sigh. He turns to face me fully, staring at me with the complexity of a problem that needs to be solved.
"Come here," he says softly.
I take a step closer. He seals the gap between us, towering over me. He reaches for me, fingers halting just shy of my face—a moment charged with something illicit, inimical as it is intimate. All his bravado is gone in a blink. And the next thing I know, his lips are on mine and his arms tangle around my body. My hand winds through his hair as the kiss deepens and his grip tightens, something sweet intensifying into something sultry. He pulls away suddenly, as if startled by the intensity of the moment, my own lips still tingling with the lingering sensation of the kiss. His eyes are wide, unfocused, darting around the space as though searching for something familiar in a world that now feels inexplicably altered. His breath comes out in uneven, ragged gasps, as if he's just surfaced from deep water, struggling to regain his bearings.
"We should… we should go."
For a brief moment, everything feels disjointed, like the world has shifted slightly off its axis. To quell the tension, my hand reaches for his but instead, my hand glances off his rigid fingers. The air between us, once charged, now feels heavy, thick with unspoken emotions and questions that neither of us is ready to voice.
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