Chapter 6

The moment feels surreal, like stepping into a story too far-fetched to be real. A lord. Of all the things I expected tonight, that revelation wasn’t one of them. My heart races as the elevator doors close behind us, shutting out the blinding flashes of the cameras. But their lingering presence outside gnaws at me.

“Why are they here?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intended. “What’s the point of inviting the paparazzi?”

Armani turns to me with a practiced smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s all part of the package,” he says smoothly, as if that’s supposed to explain anything.

I step away from his arm, suddenly aware of how close we were. His touch is steady, grounding even, but I can’t let myself be distracted by it. I press my back against the elevator wall, crossing my arms as I glare at him. “What package? Is this some elaborate trick? A social experiment? A reality show to see how far someone will go for money?”

His smile turns into a chuckle, low and rich, like he finds my accusation amusing. “Nothing so crude,” he replies, his tone dripping with ease. “And isn’t fame something you Americans crave? A little flashbulb moment? Your fifteen minutes in the spotlight?”

“Not all of us,” I snap, bristling at the assumption. “Some of us outgrew those kinds of dreams a long time ago. And even if I didn’t, you had cameras trailing you because of me, didn’t you? Not because you want to be in the spotlight but because you need me to be.”

For a moment, he looks taken aback, though it’s fleeting. “You catch on quickly.” His tone softens as his gaze meets mine. “You are the most important part of this picture, after all.”

“Excuse me?” I blink, unsure if I misheard him.

He sighs, leaning back against the elevator wall as if debating how much to say. “Image is everything when you’re in the public eye. I can’t have the world thinking I resorted to—” He stops, choosing his next words carefully. “Let’s just say that not everyone is as understanding about alternative arrangements.”

The elevator dings, signaling our arrival at the top, but I remain frozen in place, staring at him. “If you didn’t want people to know the truth about why we’re here, why the hell would you call attention to us in the first place?”

He steps forward, gesturing for me to follow. “For appearances, of course. Right now, all they see is a Montovian lord dining with a beautiful woman. That’s the story they’ll run with.”

The rich scent of food wafts through the air, making my stomach betray me with a low grumble. I’ve been running on fumes all day, skipping meals to get through work. As much as I want to tell him off for orchestrating this circus, the promise of a hot meal has me hesitating.

“It’s just dinner,” I mutter under my breath. “Nothing wrong with hearing him out. I can still walk away.”

Famous last words.

I follow him into the restaurant, momentarily distracted by the breathtaking view of the city sprawled out beneath us, its lights shimmering like a galaxy.

“Good evening, my lord,” the hostess says, her nervous bow betraying her inexperience with Montovian nobility. “Right this way.”

She leads us to a table near the enormous windows, where rose petals are scattered across a pristine white tablecloth. It’s so over the top I can’t help but roll my eyes, though I say nothing as Armani pulls out my chair for me.

“You really know how to put on a show,” I mutter, sitting down as he takes his seat across from me.

“A show requires an audience,” he replies with a wink.

Before I can fire back, a waiter appears with a bottle of wine. Armani waves him off once the glasses are poured, turning his full attention to me.

“Okay,” I say, lacing my fingers together as I meet his gaze. “Explain.”

He takes a sip of his wine, setting the glass down carefully before speaking. “As I mentioned, I am Lord Armani Armani, heir to the Guardianship of Del Valle. And, depending on how many babies my distant cousins pop out, I’m eleventh—perhaps twelfth—in line for the Montovian throne.”

“Impressive,” I say dryly, though his words carry an undeniable weight.

He leans forward, his tone serious now. “With my title comes a duty—one that requires I have an heir. My son will one day inherit everything from me, including the Guardianship of Del Valle. Yet here I am, with no wife and no child to secure the legacy.”

“Is that what this is about?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. “Legacy?”

“It’s more than that,” he says, his gaze softening. “It’s about ensuring stability—for my family, for the people who rely on me. Marriage…” He pauses, looking for the right words. “Marriage would complicate things. I value my freedom, and I have no desire to be tied to someone for the wrong reasons. But a child… A child is different. A child is purpose.”

"And you thought the best solution was to hire an American surrogate?" I ask, my voice layered with disbelief, trying to wrap my head around his logic.

He regards me with calm confidence, his tone steady, like he’s explaining a simple business decision. “I’ve explored many options, trust me. But yes, a surrogate arrangement allows me to avoid the complications of custody battles and the intricacies of a traditional relationship. As for why I chose America? It offered a level of privacy that was... advantageous for my search.”

“Privacy?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “You mean, this,” I gesture toward the table, “is your version of privacy? With paparazzi camped outside?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, lifting his glass of wine. The low lighting reflects off the rim, casting a shadow across his sharp features. “Let’s say my research phase is officially complete.” His gaze locks onto mine, and despite myself, a strange flutter stirs in my chest.

“You’ve been researching me?”

“As far as I can tell, you’re perfect.” He sets the glass down carefully, his smile warm yet unnervingly calculated. “Physically, you’re an excellent candidate. Your background check was impeccable—”

“Wait.” I sit up straighter, my jaw tightening. “You ran a background check on me? Without my permission?”

He waves off my outrage with an almost dismissive gesture, his voice smooth and unaffected. “Of course. It’s standard in arrangements like this. And might I add, your intelligence and charm are added bonuses. Assuming your genetic profile comes back as ideal, I’m ready to move forward.”

I blink at him, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words. “You talk about this like you’re buying a car,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“I’m simply being thorough,” he replies, leaning back in his chair, unbothered by my reaction. “This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, after all.”

The amount he’s offering looms large in my mind, but so does the absurdity of this conversation. I inhale deeply, centering myself. “Lord Armani—”

“Armani,” he interrupts, his voice softer now.

“Armani,” I repeat reluctantly, feeling the weight of his name on my tongue. “This is... a lot to process. And I still don’t understand why there are photographers outside. If you wanted this to stay private, why invite attention?”

He sets his glass down, his expression shifting from amusement to something more serious. Leaning forward, he takes my hand in his, the unexpected warmth of his touch sending a jolt of something I refuse to name up my arm.

His voice softens, almost disarming. “Because appearances matter more than you know.” His thumb brushes against the side of my hand, a deliberate, calculated move that I try not to react to.

“What does that mean?” I ask, resisting the pull of his touch.

“I’ve already explained why a surrogate is the ideal choice for me,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine, piercing in its intensity. “But the rest of the world doesn’t need to know the details. My son—our son—must be seen as legitimate. Free from the shadow of rumors or speculation. For that to happen, this arrangement needs to appear... traditional.”

I frown, searching his expression for some sign of a joke, but all I see is sincerity. “How, exactly?”

His lips curve into a slow, confident smile that makes my stomach flip. “I want the world to believe we’re in a real relationship, my little owl. That includes marriage. I can’t have my son being born outside of wedlock too, after all.”