CHAPTER 7 — Counteroffers

“I need you to understand that I’m not quitting my jobs.”

Celeste was quiet for a second.

Irene was now sitting at her kitchen table with a notebook open in front of her and Mr. Mustard’s tank behind her.

She looked at the conditions she had written down, checking if she missed out on anything or if there’s anything she should add. She knew herself well enough to know that once someone started talking about money, she was more likely to compromise things she shouldn’t.

“I understood you the first time,” Celeste said.

“Good.”

“I’m telling you that Lord Valcieri may have his own conditions.”

“That’s fine. He can have them.”

Celeste paused then said, “I’m sensing a second half to that sentence.”

“He can have them. But, I mean, I don’t have to agree to them.”

That earned Irene a short silence. Then Celeste said, “Fair.”

Irene looked down at her notes.

“Weekdays stay mine. I work mornings at the café and evenings at the convenience store. If he needs me somewhere during work hours, he asks first.”

“I can propose that.”

“And I keep my apartment.”

“You’ve already mentioned that.”

“I’m mentioning it again because I mean it.”

“All right.”

Irene crossed off the first two items.

“Weekends only at the estate. Friday evening through Sunday unless there’s an event we agree on ahead of time.”

“That may be harder.”

“Why?”

“Public obligations do not always happen on weekends.”

“Then we talk about them when they happen.”

Celeste sighed very softly. Not annoyed exactly. More like she had expected this call to take less time.

Irene continued. “No physical contact unless I say yes.”

“That is already part of the proposed agreement.”

“I want it written plainly.”

“It is.”

“Plainly enough that nobody can later say I misunderstood.”

Celeste’s voice changed slightly. “Yes. I can make sure of that.”

Irene sat back.

That was more important than the rest. She had agreed to consider a legal marriage. She had not agreed to become available to a stranger because he was rich enough to make the arrangement look respectable.

“And if I decide I don’t feel safe?”

“We already have termination language.”

“I want something stronger.”

“What do you mean?”

Irene looked at the page again.

“If something happens that makes me think I’m in danger, I want the right to leave immediately and have seventy-two hours before anyone expects me back.”

Celeste did not answer right away.

“No appearances,” Irene added. “No meetings. No contact if I don’t want it.”

“That would need legal review.”

“Then have it reviewed.”

“Ms. Potter.”

“What?”

“That kind of clause is not standard.”

“Neither is getting married for money.”

Celeste exhaled. “I’ll send it to counsel.”

“Thank you.”

There was another pause.

“Anything else?”

Irene looked toward Mr. Mustard. “Yes. My turtle comes with me.”

“Your turtle.”

“Yes.”

“You have a turtle?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember that being in your file.”

“That seems like a failure in the background check.”

Celeste ignored that. “What exactly are you asking?”

“If I’m expected to spend weekends there, he comes too.”

“Irene, I doubt Lord Valcieri has an objection to a turtle.”

“Then it should be easy.”

Celeste made a sound that might have been a laugh if she were a different person. 

“I’ll include it,” she said.

“Good.”

Irene crossed off the last item.

For the first time since the envelope appeared, she felt like she had some control over what happened next.

Celeste spoke again. “And I just received a message from Lord Valcieri.”

“Okay?”

“Lord Valcieri has agreed to meet you before you sign.”

Irene stopped. “When?”

“Thursday evening.”

“That’s two days from now. Where?”

“A private restaurant.”

Of course. A vampire lord was not going to meet her at a diner.

“What do I wear?”

“Whatever makes you comfortable.” Celeste hesitated then added,  “Anything clean, presentable. Nothing formal is required.”

Celeste texted the address less than a minute after they hung up.

Irene opened it, checked the restaurant, then made the mistake of searching Ares Valcieri again.

She had already seen photographs.

Most were formal. Ares getting out of cars, standing beside other vampires at events Irene knew nothing about, or looking directly into cameras with dark glasses covering half his face.

She was about to close the search when a short video caught her attention.

It looked nothing like the others.

The clip had been filmed vertically on someone’s phone and lasted barely a minute. No formal event. No dramatic introduction. Ares was outside somewhere sunny, dressed in black with the collar of his shirt open.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

Irene stopped scrolling.

His eyes were extremely light blue. Not the normal blue she had expected from the photographs. They were pale enough that she understood immediately why he wore tinted glasses outside so often.

His silver hair was messy from the wind instead of perfectly arranged, and his mouth was surprisingly red against his pale skin.

He looked less like the serious man in Celeste’s photograph and more like someone who should have been standing onstage with a guitar.

An expensive guitar, probably.

Irene turned the volume up.

A woman behind the camera was laughing.

“So tell me honestly. Greece now or Greece eighty years ago?”

Ares looked toward whoever was filming him.

“Neither.”

The woman laughed again. “You have to choose.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You asked my preference. I rejected the available options.”

His voice was lower than Irene expected. He sounded calm, and educated without sounding stiff.

The woman behind the camera tried again.

“What was wrong with Greece eighty years ago?”

“Very little. That is why I preferred it then.”

“So you do have an answer.”

Ares looked toward the street behind the camera.

“It was quieter. The coastline was less developed. There were fewer tourists explaining Greek food to Greeks.”

The woman laughed. “And now?”

“Better roads.”

“That’s all modern Greece gets?”

Ares finally smiled.

“Air conditioning.”

Then the video ended.

Irene stared at the frozen image. 

Then she played it again. Not because she cared about Greece. 

The second time, she paid more attention to his voice. The way he answered without rushing. The little pause before he smiled. The fact that he looked completely different when he wasn’t dressed for some formal Coven event.

Celeste’s photograph had made him seem almost unreal.

But he was real. He had opinions about tourism and roads and apparently remembered countries from before Irene’s mother had been born.

And in two days, she was going to sit across from him and discuss becoming his wife.

Irene locked her phone.

“No.”

Mr. Mustard looked up from his tank.

“He’s too attractive.”

The turtle continued floating.

She picked up the phone again.

The video thumbnail was still on the screen.

Irene shut the browser completely this time.

Meeting Ares had felt strange before. Now she was nervous. Which was stupid, because this was supposed to be business. She had negotiated rent, tuition, working hours, physical boundaries, and a safety clause.

She could sit across from an attractive man and discuss a contract.

Her phone buzzed with another message from Celeste confirming Thursday at seven.

Later that night, Irene slept terribly. She couldn't seem to shut her brain off.

She'd dealt with this kind of night before. When her body refused to settle no matter how tired she was, she had one trick left.

She glanced at the closed browser.