Page 9 of Arranged with Twins
“It would be, if any of it were real.” I scroll down to read more comments, each one reinforcing the fiction that this is some grand romantic gesture rather than a business transaction. “They’re all calling me Leo’s bride like I’ve already lost my identity completely.”
Nadia glances up from her phone. “That bothers you more than the arrangement itself, doesn’t it? The way people are already defining you through him?”
“It bothers me that everyone assumes I should be grateful.” I set down my coffee harder than necessary. “That I should be thrilled to marry a man I barely know because he’s wealthy and powerful and handsome. As if those qualities automatically make him a good husband or even a decent person.”
“You did study abroad and built your own life,” she says gently. “You graduated summa cum laude from one of the best business schools in the world. You speak three languages, and you’ve traveled extensively. You’re not exactly the passive society daughter people seem to think you are.”
“None of that matters now, does it? I’ve never dealt directly in my family’s business and never been allowed to use my education for anything meaningful.” I scroll through more photos, each one reinforcing how trapped I am. “Until now,when suddenly I’m the solution to all their problems, and they remember I exist, but only to fulfill their needs. Never my own.”
Nadia’s phone buzzes with a text, and she glances at it before setting aside the device. “There’s something else we need to talk about. Something I probably should have mentioned earlier.”
The serious tone in her voice makes me look up from the newspaper. “What is it?”
“I know you think this marriage is just about convenience and family obligations, but I’ve been doing some research.” She hesitates, as if choosing her words carefully. “Leo Denisov isn’t just wealthy, Sienna. He’s connected to some very serious people. The foundation work, the legitimate businesses, they’re all real, but underneath...”
“Underneath what?”
“I think your parents may have gotten you involved in something more complicated than they’re admitting. The Denisov family has a reputation that goes back generations, and not all of it is related to philanthropy and real estate development.” She looks genuinely concerned.
I process what she’s saying with my mouth slightly agape. Part of me has always known that Father’s business interests extended beyond what appeared in annual reports and society page profiles. Mother’s careful management of our public image, the way certain topics were always off-limits at family dinners, and the particular mix of respect and caution people showed when discussing our family’s connections made it clear there were things they didn’t want to acknowledge or discuss.
“How much more complicated?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“I don’t know exactly, but if this is a business arrangement, it might be bigger than saving your family’s reputation. It might be about saving your family’slives.”
The words chill me, making me physically shiver. I think about Father’s trembling hands last night, the stress lines that have deepened around his eyes, the way he’s been taking calls at odd hours and disappearing for meetings he never discusses.
My phone buzzes against the counter, interrupting my increasingly dark thoughts. Leo’s name appears on the screen, and I read the message once, then again, feeling my jaw clench with each word.
“Car outside. Ten minutes. Don’t be late. Wear something nice but not too formal.”
No please or explanation of where we’re going or why. Just a command dressed up as information, which is what I should expect from a man who sees me as a pawn instead of a person.
Nadia reads the message over my shoulder and lets out a low whistle. “He certainly doesn’t sound like a man who’s used to hearing the word no.”
“Because he isn’t.” I drain the rest of my coffee and stand up, already calculating how quickly I can make myself presentable. “I should get ready.”
Nice but not too formal? That could cover a gamut of things. I have half a mind to dress like a slut just to see his reaction.
“Wait.” Nadia catches my arm as I start toward my bedroom. “Before you go, I want to ask you something. I want to design your wedding dress. If you’ll let me, I mean. And assuming you’re still getting married.”
The offer stops me in my tracks. I want to say yes immediately and grab onto this one piece of my wedding that could actually be mine. “I’d love that, but what if Mother has other ideas? You know how she is about controlling every detail.”
“Let me worry about her. I can be very persuasive when I want to be, and I have some ideas about how to approach this.” Nadia’s smile turns scheming, and I recognize the expression she wears when she’s solved a particularly challenging design problem. “Besides, she might be more open to the idea if I frame it properly. Young designer making her mark, exclusivity, artistic vision, and all that. It would actually be good publicity for the family to support emerging talent, and if I tell her it’s a wedding gift…”
“You’d really want to do that? Even knowing it’s not a real marriage?”
“Especially knowing that.” Nadia squeezes my hand. “If you’re going to play a part, you might as well look incredible doing it. And maybe having something that’s truly yours will help you feel less like a prop in someone else’s story. You should be the star, not Leo.”
I hug her quickly, grateful for this first genuinely good thing to happen since the engagement was announced. “Thank you. You’re incredible, but I forbid you to offer to do it for free. Mother and Father can afford you if they can afford that boring Valentino dress she stuffed me into last night.”
She grins. “Deal. A wedding dress should cover my shop rent for at least four months.” Her smile fades then as she gets more serious. “Just promise me you’ll try to keep an open mind about Leo. Maybe he’s not as bad as you think, and there’s more to thisarrangement than either of you realizes yet. If you keep an open mind, maybe it can become something real.”
I promise, somehow managing not to laugh at the idea, though we both know I don’t mean it. Hope is a luxury I can’t afford when my future has been planned out in boardrooms and sealed with handshake agreements between men who view me as an asset rather than a person.
He told me to dress nicely, so I swap out my loungewear for a sunny yellow dress Nadia made me a couple of years ago. It’s bright and cheerful, so hopefully, it will alleviate some of my doom and gloom mood. It takes thirteen minutes to change, and I don’t care that I kept him waiting.
The black sedan waiting outside my building is the same one from last night, though today there’s no driver holding the door open with ceremonial politeness. Instead, I see Leo’s bodyguard, a mountain of a man with Slavic features and watchful eyes, nod at me from the passenger seat. Way to convey this isn’t a romantic gesture. It’s just business.
