Page 40 of Arranged with Twins
At the edge of the dance floor, Mother watches us with the calculating stare of someone evaluating a performance. Her smile remains fixed for the benefit of other guests, but I catch the satisfaction in her expression. To her, we’re playing our roles perfectly, giving the crowd exactly the romantic display she orchestrated.
If only she knew how much of this conversation was real.
The waltz ends, and couples begin dispersing toward the refreshment tables and conversational clusters. Leo keeps his hand at my waist longer than strictly necessary, brushing his thumb against the silk of my dress in a gesture that could be accidental but feels deliberate.
“Sienna, darling.” Mother’s voice cuts through the moment as she approaches with champagne flutes balanced on a silver tray. “You simply must try the vintage Dom Pérignon. It’s the same one we served at your engagement party.”
She presses a crystal glass into my hand with the expectation of immediate compliance. The champagne fizzes gently, releasing the crisp scent that once would have been appealing but now makes my stomach clench with warning.
“I’m not drinking tonight.” I set the glass on a nearby table without taking a sip. “I’ve had too much stress lately, and alcohol won’t help.”
Her smile tightens around the edges. It must be time for another dose of Botox. “Nonsense. A little champagne is exactly what you need to relax. People are watching, and abstaining sends the wrong message about celebration.”
“What message would that be?” Leo’s voice carries a dangerous undertone as he steps closer to my side. “That my fiancée makes intelligent decisions about her own well-being, Katherine?”
“Of course not.” Mother’s laugh sounds forced. “I simply meant appearances matter at events like this. A toast, perhaps? Just for the photographs?” She blinks rapidly.
“No.” I keep my voice firm despite the familiar pressure to comply. “I said I’m not drinking, and I meant it. It… makes my skin pink and itchy. That’s not a good look.”
Katherine’s expression flickers between frustration and social necessity. Around us, other guests continue their conversations, but I catch several curious glances in our direction. Any further argument risks creating exactly the kind of scene Katherine works so hard to avoid. “Well.” She waves the concern away with practiced dismissal. “I suppose young women these days are more health conscious. Vanity, really, but admirable in its way.”
The casual cruelty of reducing my choice to vanity rather than health makes my jaw clench, but my mother has already moved on to greet other guests. The interaction leaves me feeling exposed and frustrated in ways I can’t express without throwing something at her.
He puts his hand on my waist again, and the action feels steadying and possessive in equal measure. “You handled that well.”
“Did I?” I lean into his touch slightly, grateful for the support. “It doesn’t feel like winning when she dismisses everything I say.”
“It is winning.” His voice carries quiet conviction. “Every time you refuse to let her make your decisions, you win, even if she can’t acknowledge it.”
The observation makes me nod slowly. Maybe success doesn’t require my mother’s acknowledgement or understanding. It’s enough that I stood my ground and protected something important. That leaves me feeling satisfied, and I decide that’s what matters.
The evening continues around us, filled with music, conversation, and carefully orchestrated social theater. Leo and I move through it together, presenting the image Katherine requires while building something more substantial underneath the performance.
By the time guests begin departing, I feel cautiously optimistic about what we might create together. The pregnancy changes things, but perhaps it also creates opportunities to have a real relationship that neither of us expected when this arrangement began. It’s a heady thought, even if I’m not quite ready to believe it can truly happen.
14
Leo
The medical office of Dr. Kane smells like antiseptic, and the beige walls are covered with motivational posters about healthy pregnancies. I sit beside Sienna in the examination room after the doctor has finished her part of the exam and tells us to wait for the ultrasound technician, telling myself I’m here for information and control, nothing more. This is just strategic oversight of a situation that affects my interests.
The self-lie becomes harder to maintain when the ultrasound technician squirts gel onto Sienna’s stomach and positions the wand. The monitor flickers to life, showing grainy black and white images that mean nothing to me until the technician points to two distinct shapes.
“Congratulations,” she says with professional cheerfulness. “You’re having twins.”
The words stop me cold. Not one child, but two. That means there are two futures I’m responsible for protecting, two reasonsfor enemies to target Sienna, and two lives that will carry both our names into an uncertain future.
I watch Sienna’s face as the reality sinks in. Shock flickers across her features first, and then something that looks like wonder takes its place. She stares at the monitor where our children appear as shadowy outlines, and her lips part in amazement. “Twins,” she whispers.
The technician prints several images while explaining due dates and development stages. She casually mentions Dr. Kane will refer us to a doctor who specializes in multiples while I absorb the information automatically and file away details about appointments and milestones while studying Sienna’s reaction.
When she places her hand on her stomach, the orange diamond ring catches the fluorescent light, and the future suddenly feels quite real. These aren’t abstract consequences anymore. They’re my children, growing inside the woman who’s become far more important than any business arrangement should allow.
The drive back passes in heavy silence. Sienna stares out the window while I navigate Manhattan traffic, and both of us process what we just learned. My mind races ahead to practical considerations, like security upgrades, estate planning, and schools that can protect children with dangerous last names.
“Two babies.” Sienna breaks the quiet as we pull into my garage. “I can barely wrap my head around one, and now there are two.”
“We’ll manage.” The response comes automatically, though I’m not sure either of us believes it yet. There’s so much stuff piling up. It feels like it’s all about to topple over on us.
