Page 12 of Crimson Sin
“It was a long time ago. I barely remember him,” waving a hand dismissively.
“That doesn't make it easier.”
There's genuine sympathy in her voice, and I find myself responding to it despite my better judgment. “No, it doesn't. My mother raised me alone. She was both parents, mentor, and business partner. She taught me everything I know about the company, leadership, and survival.”
“Survival?” she asks, removing her glasses and setting them on the table.
I realize I've revealed a bit more than intended. “Business can be cutthroat. Especially international business. There are always competitors and threats to what you've built.”
She nods, accepting the explanation. “Your mother wanted you to show stability to your business partners by having a wife?”
“There are certain circles where a married man is taken more seriously than a bachelor. Where family connections matter more than individual achievement.”
“And you think I can convincingly play that role?” she asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a skeptical tilt of her head.
“I think you can convincingly play any role you set your mind to.”
She blushes at the compliment, her fingers returning to drum against the table. “You don't really know me.”
“I know enough. I know you're intelligent, determined, and passionate about your work. I know you're brave enough to have this conversation with me despite knowing it's probably not the wisest choice.”
“You think talking to you is unwise?” she gasps in surprise.
I arch a brow. “I think getting involved with me is unwise. But sometimes unwise choices lead to the most interesting outcomes.”
She takes a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you have any siblings?”
“No. My mother wanted more children, but it never happened. She poured all her energy into the business and into preparing me to take over.”
“That must have been lonely.”
“I have cousins. Family friends. But yes, it was lonely at times.”
“So, this really is just business for you?” she muses, her gaze lingering on mine with genuine curiosity.
“Is that what you want it to be?” I question, leaning forward slightly, my eyes never leaving hers.
“I want to understand what I'm agreeing to,” she responds.
“You're agreeing to spend a weekend as my wife. To attend an event, meet some people, and play a role. In exchange, your exhibit gets funded, and you get the recognition you deserve.”
“And after the weekend?”
“After the weekend, we go back to our separate lives,” I say evenly.
“You really think I can make this work? Pretending we're married?”
“I think you'll surprise us both,” I smile.
She lets out a long breath, leaning back against the wrought iron chair. Around us, the museum continues its quiet rhythm as visitors murmur, footsteps echo, and the distant hum of climate control systems fills the air.
“I haven't said yes,” she counters.
“No,” I agree. “But you will.”
She studies me again, then picks up her sandwich and takes another bite. I let her eat in silence, giving her space to settle her mind. She eats it methodically, thinking through each bite. When she finishes, she brushes crumbs off her lap and meets my eyes again.
“If I agree, no physical—” she stops, flustered. “No intimacy.”
