You're a Smith now

CHRISTOPHER

The glass doors of Smith-Vance Holdings slid open, and the lobby of the skyscraper fell into a practised, rhythmic hush. This was the debut—the first time the world saw the "unified front" that had cost two empires a fortune and one very long night to construct.

"Congratulations, Mr. Smith, Mr. Vance!" The head of security beamed, bowing slightly as we passed the mahogany desk.

"Wishing you a lifetime of happiness, sirs," a receptionist chimed in, her eyes darting to the matching gold bands.

"Thank you. Get the Sterling files to my office," he clipped out.

"Thank you, Janet. The flowers in the lobby are a lovely touch. Though, perhaps a bit much for a funeral, don't you think?"

The receptionist’s smile faltered, but I was already stepping into the private executive elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing us in a box of brushed steel and suffocating silence.

"A funeral, Christopher? Really?" he hissed, his voice echoing in the small space. "You couldn't manage five minutes of 'blushing groom' for the people who pay your dividends?"

I leaned back against the railing, crossing my arms. "I thought you said we were being efficient, Xavier. Faking a soulmate connection is a waste of billable hours. Besides," I reached out, my finger tracing the edge of his perfectly straight tie, "the staff already knows you have the emotional range of a spreadsheet. Why confuse them now?"

Xavier grabbed my hand, pinning it against the elevator wall. His face was inches from mine, his eyes dark with that same predatory hunger from the night before.

"Six months," he reminded me, his breath hot against my lips. "If you sabotage the optics of this merger before the ink is dry, I will make sure those six months are the most miserable of your life."

"Is that a threat, husband?" I whispered. "Because it sounds an awful lot like a promise of more... personal attention."

The digital floor indicator ticked upward in a rhythmic, agonizing pulse until a sharp ding shattered the heavy silence. Xavier released my wrist instantly, his hand dropping to his side as he stepped out.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith. Mr. Vance," his assistant, Marcus, said, barely looking up from his tablet. He held out two black coffees.

"The board is in the conference room. Your father is already on the line from London."

"Thank you, Marcus," Xavier replied.

"Christopher and I will be in shortly. We have a few... marital details to finalize first."

I took my cup, the heat of the ceramic seeping through my palms. "Marital details," I repeated, my voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm as we entered the shared glass office. "Is that what we're calling the divorce timeline now? Or are we talking about who gets the west wing of the penthouse?"

Xavier shut the door behind us. He turned to face me, leaning against the mahogany desk that had seen a much different side of him only hours ago.

"We’re talking about the fact that for the next six months, you are a Smith in name and a partner in practice," he said, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee. "Which means when we walk into that boardroom, you don't undermine my authority. You don't make 'funeral' jokes. And you certainly don't look at me like you’re trying to remember the taste of my skin."

I set my coffee down on a stack of merger files and walked toward him, stopping until my chest was inches from his. "And how am I supposed to look at you, Xavier? Like a business partner? Because I’ve got to tell you, the shareholders might notice if I start looking at you with the same cold, calculating indifference you use on everyone else."

"It’s going to be a long six months if you expect me to forget what happened in the penthouse because we’re in a building with your name on it."

Xavier’s eyes darkened, the "Smith" mask flickering for a fraction of a second. "Then don't forget," he whispered. "Just make sure you save the memory for when the doors are locked."

---

The penthouse was quiet. The city lights blurred through the glass, but inside, the air was thick and heavy.

Xavier had tossed his jacket onto a chair and yanked his tie loose, his hair slightly mushed from a day of running his hands through it in frustration.

I leaned against the kitchen island, watching him. "So," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Day one of the six-month sentence is officially over. Did the world end? Or did we actually pull off the 'happy couple' act?"

Xavier didn’t turn around. "The stocks are up. People believe us. That’s all that matters."

"Is it?" I walked over, my bare feet silent on the cold hardwood. I stopped a few feet behind him. "Because you looked like you wanted to strangle me in that elevator. Or maybe you just wanted to finish what we started in the office."

"You don't make it easy, Christopher. You spend the whole day poking at me, testing how much I can take before I snap in front of our fathers."

"Maybe I like seeing you snap," I challenged, stepping into his space. "It’s the only time you actually seem human."

Xavier’s hand shot out, grabbing my waist and pulling me flush against him. The heat from his body was a physical shock after a day of icy stares. "You want human?" he rasped, his eyes dark and focused entirely on my mouth. "Because right now, I don't feel like a businessman. I feel like a man who’s been stuck in a suit all day thinking about how much I hate you and how much I want you back against that door."

I reached up, my fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. "Then stop talking about the business, Xavier. The doors are locked. There’s no one left to impress."

He didn't wait. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine, his breath shaking. "Six months," he whispered. "It’s going to be a very long six months if you keep doing this to me."