Chapter 5 A Temporary Agreement

| •Marin• |

I remained where I was. A few minutes later, he came back alone.

He stopped when he saw me. I didn't move. My hand was still resting against my stomach. His eyes instantly dropped, tracking the defensive posture, his gaze missing my abdomen by inches before I lowered my hand and let it fall to my side.

I had learned to read the smallest changes in his face. Now, I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Alfred's cane sounded against the marble. He came toward us, glanced from Weston to me, then sighed.

"Come back inside. Both of you."

We followed him into the sitting room beside the hall. The fire had burned low, leaving the room warm and dim. Alfred took his usual chair and motioned for us to sit. I chose the sofa. Weston sat in the armchair opposite me.

Alfred's attention moved between us.

“There is something the two of you need to settle before tomorrow.”

Weston leaned back. "I'll handle it."

“That is precisely why I want you to settle it today.” Alfred turned to me. "I won't interfere with whatever the two of you agree upon. I only want the terms clear."

"What terms?"

"The ones that determine what happens tomorrow." He held up a hand before Weston could speak. "The announcement has the board asking questions, and investors are watching. Both of you are already at your limit. If you let your marriage become another public battle on top of everything already circulating, everyone connected to this company will have an interest in how it ends." His attention settled on me. "You have every right to protect yourself while this is happening."

"Then what exactly am I supposed to protect myself from?"

“Giving more than you intend to give.” He glanced at Weston. “Whatever you agree to today, make sure you can both live with it tomorrow.”

He rose, leaning on his cane, and walked toward the door. Then he paused.

“Keep the terms between the two of you. Don't let the families write them for you.”

He left. The door closed behind him.

I stared at it. "He has a remarkable ability to make a conversation feel more complicated just before he leaves it."

Weston glanced toward the door. "He thinks leaving people alone with their problems encourages them to solve them."

"And does it?"

"Occasionally."

"That's generous."

The corner of his mouth lifted, then disappeared.

"The company is arranging a press conference for tomorrow morning."

I didn't answer right away. "Tomorrow morning."

"The announcement has been circulating for a full day now. Waiting would leave the story entirely in the hands of people who weren't there."

"And you intend to correct it."

"I intend to give them something they can report without inventing the rest."

"And I suppose I'm part of that statement."

"You're part of the picture."

There was no cruelty in the words. That almost made them worse.

I turned toward the fire. "So that's why you came back."

"I came back because I need your cooperation."

"At least you're saying it plainly."

“I don't see much point in pretending with you anymore.”

I let out a quiet breath. "You need Mrs. Vane beside you."

His attention stayed on me. "The public has known that woman for years. They know how she behaves, how she speaks, where she stands beside me. If she disappears now, this soon after the announcement, people will draw their own conclusions."

I gave a small, humorless smile. "They'll assume the marriage is finished."

"Even worse. They'll assume whatever version makes the most sense to them."

"And you can't afford that."

"Not while the company is already dealing with everything else."

There it was. He didn't need to spell it out. This wasn't about repairing what he'd done to us. It was about preventing his decision from becoming another threat to the company he controlled.

I turned back to him. "You're asking me to help you clean up something you did."

"I know."

The answer carried more weight than an argument would have.

I stood and walked toward the window. The gardens stretched beyond the glass.

"How long?"

Weston didn't answer immediately. "Until the situation settles."

"That isn't a length of time."

"It can't be one yet." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "There's the conference tomorrow. The board. Investors. Public appearances we can't cancel without creating another story. I need this handled, not managed in pieces."

He wasn't asking for one appearance. He wanted the marriage to remain useful until the damage stopped spreading.

"You want me to rebuild the company's image."

"I want you to do what you've always done when you've represented Vane Enterprises. You know the difference between answering a question and feeding it."

He wasn't asking me to smile beside him and disappear. He wanted me involved.

"You've thought about this."

"I've had to."

I studied him. "And if I refuse?"

"The company will find another way."

There was no threat in his voice. He meant it. But I could see the calculation underneath. Another way would cost more. It would take longer. It would leave the marriage looking even more fractured.

He needed me because I was useful.

Being his wife had nothing to do with it.

That thought should have settled the matter. Instead, I remembered the ballroom, the cameras, the way every face had turned toward me. I remembered the humiliation I'd swallowed because there had been nowhere to put it.

If I was going to walk back into that world beside him, I wasn't going to do it as something he could summon whenever Vane Enterprises needed a prettier story.

I returned to the sofa and reached for the folder on the table. Weston's attention followed me.

"I'll do it."

His shoulders eased.

"But there will be conditions."

He settled back into the chair. "I expected that."

I opened the folder. "I'll stand beside you tomorrow. I'll attend the press conference and any public appearances that genuinely matter to the company. I'll help repair the company's image. If the board needs to see a united front, they'll get one. If investors need reassurance, I'll give it. If the company needs Mrs. Vane at an event because my absence would create another problem, I'll be there."

I raised my head.

"But I'm not becoming your permanent solution."

His attention remained on me.

"When this crisis is over, you sign the divorce papers."

The room went quiet.

I continued before he could turn it into another family negotiation.

"No meeting with Grandfather. No discussion with my parents. No board member gets a say. You don't ask me to remain married because the company hasn't recovered enough. You don't come back with another emergency and expect me to extend this."

I placed the pen on the folder.

"You need my help now. I'll give it. But there has to be an end to it."

Weston lowered his eyes to the folder. He didn't answer right away.

I watched him think.

That was the Weston I knew. The man who measured consequences before committing himself to anything.

He raised his head. "You're asking me to give you a fixed point when the situation itself has no fixed point."

"I'm asking you to stop making uncertainty my problem."

His gaze held mine. "That isn't an unreasonable request."

"No. It isn't."

He leaned back. "If the company is still dealing with the consequences when you believe the crisis has ended, who determines that?"

I hadn't expected the question.

"That's your problem."

"It becomes yours if the arrangement depends on it."

"Then we define it properly." I pulled the folder closer. "The crisis ends when the immediate scandal has been contained and the company can function without using the marriage as part of its public defense."

He considered that.

"You've thought about this more than I expected."

"I've spent years learning that vague promises always become reasons to wait."

Something moved behind his eyes. It wasn't anger. Something subtler. He turned his attention back to the folder.

"And once those conditions are met, you expect the divorce to proceed without another negotiation."

"Yes."

He reached for the folder. "I'll agree to that."

I stared at him.

He agreed without much hesitation. He'd already been thinking about what he needed from me before we'd even had this conversation. And that made me uneasy.

"You fought me last night."

His fingers rested on the edge of the folder. "I wasn't prepared to let the marriage end in front of everyone."

"But now you're willing to put an end to it."

"I'm willing to accept the terms you're offering in exchange for what you're giving the company."

I watched him. There was something missing from his answer, something I couldn't reach. His face gave nothing away. He accepted the arrangement with the same careful attention he gave every serious decision.

I should have felt relieved.

Instead, I found myself searching his face for the part he wasn't saying.

I opened the folder again. "I want it written."

His attention moved to the page. "You don't trust my word."

"Trust isn't what brought us here."

He didn't argue.

I wrote the terms carefully. Temporary public cooperation. Company appearances where necessary. The press conference. The responsibility of helping restore the company's image. And, at the end of the crisis, the divorce.

I turned the folder toward him. "Read it."

He did. His eyes moved over every line without hurry. When he finished, he closed the folder.

"This leaves very little room for interpretation."

"That was the intention."

A faint breath left him. "You've learned from me."

"Unfortunately."

This time, the corner of his mouth moved. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was enough to remind me that beneath the CEO, beneath the calculation and the walls he'd built around himself, there was still the man I knew.

He stood. I did the same.

He extended his hand.

I glanced at it. "This is my last agreement with you."

His hand remained between us. "You're certain you want it to be the last?"

The question stayed with me. It carried more weight than it should have.

I met his eyes. "I've given this marriage everything I had."

Something crossed his face before he could hide it. His fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.

"I'm not giving it anything else."

He lowered his gaze to my hand, then back to my face.

"Then I'll respect the terms."

I placed my hand in his. His grip closed around mine, firm and unyielding.

For years, holding his hand had meant choosing us. This time, it meant something different. I was choosing the conditions under which I would finally leave.

I pulled my hand away first.

"The press conference is tomorrow."

"I'll have the details sent to you. You'll have the schedule, the questions we're expecting, and the company's position on what can and cannot be addressed."

I nodded and walked toward the door.

Behind me, his voice stopped me.

"Marin."

I turned. He was still standing beside the table.

"If tomorrow becomes too much, you don't have to let the room dictate what you can endure."

I watched him.

"You're worried about me now?"

His gaze didn't move.

"I'm aware of what I've put you through."

That was all he offered. A plain acknowledgment that he knew what he'd put me through.

I opened the door.

"I'll be there."

I stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind me, and I stood there for a moment, turning over everything he hadn't said.

He'd agreed to every term without a fight. He'd asked if I was certain, like the answer might have mattered to him more than he'd let on. He'd told me to let go of the room if it became too much, as if that mattered to him too.

None of it added up to a man who was only protecting his company.

And I didn't know yet whether that made tomorrow easier or infinitely worse.