The charity gala glitters with old money and older grudges. Crystal chandeliers cast calculated shadows across faces I've known since birth—shareholders, board members, the occasional trophy spouse maintaining strategic smiles.
My mother is somewhere near the champagne fountain, probably calculating my romantic trajectory with the precision of a missile guidance system.
I spot Rae the moment she enters, because apparently my attention has developed a targeting system for chaos wrapped in couture.
She's wearing emerald silk that matches her eyes, arm linked through Miles's like they're both afraid of drowning. The careful distance between them could be measured with architectural precision—close enough to suggest intimacy, far enough to scream avoidance. They're performing affection like actors who've lost their script mid-scene.
Something happened. I'm not stupid—I've survived twenty-nine years of family politics by reading rooms like survival manuals. Whatever transpired between them left both raw and pretending otherwise.
Miles's jaw is too tight. Rae's smile is too bright. They're touching without actually touching, orbiting each other like planets afraid of gravitational collapse.
‘Interesting’ doesn't begin to cover it.
Beatrice materializes beside me with the supernatural timing she's perfected over seven decades. "Dorian. You're staring."
"I'm observing. There's a difference."
"The difference being plausible deniability?" She follows my gaze to Rae and Miles, now accepting champagne from a circulating waiter. "They seem... tense."
"They seem like two people who've recently made a catastrophic decision and are pretending they haven't." I take a sip of my own champagne. "But what do I know? I'm just the merger candidate."
Beatrice's smile could negotiate treaties. "Speaking of which, I'd like to discuss timelines. The board is getting restless."
She orchestrates us toward Rae with the efficiency of someone who's been arranging people like furniture for decades. Miles looks like he'd rather be anywhere else—possibly the bottom of the ocean, based on his expression.
"Aurelia, darling." Beatrice air-kisses her granddaughter's cheek. "You look radiant. Miles, always a pleasure. Now, about the quarterly projections—"
"Actually," I interrupt smoothly, "I was hoping to steal Rae for a moment. Private word on the terrace? Business matters that might bore the others."
Miles's expression flickers—something dark and complicated—before he schools it into neutrality. "Of course. I'll... circulate."
The terrace is mercifully empty, all the strategic socializing happening indoors where witnesses can be leveraged. The city sprawls below us, indifferent to the small dramas playing out thirty floors above.
Rae leans against the railing, champagne glass clutched like a weapon. "If this is about merger timelines, I'm going to throw myself off this balcony."
"Tempting, but the paperwork would be nightmarish." I join her at the railing, maintaining respectful distance. "Actually, I wanted to apologize."
That gets her attention. "For what specifically? The golf course condescension? The merger pressure? The general existence?"
"All of the above, but specifically for treating this whole situation like a transaction." I stare out at the skyline because eye contact feels too honest. "I know this arrangement isn't what either of us would choose. The manufactured chemistry, the family expectations, the feeling of being auctioned off to the highest bidder."
"That's surprisingly self-aware for someone raised on a diet of entitlement and trust funds."
"Private school included mandatory therapy sessions. Something about preventing future scandals." I turn to look at her properly.
"For what it's worth, I'm starting to genuinely enjoy your company. Your sharp mind, your refusal to perform the simpering heiress role, the way you told my mother her flower arrangements were 'aggressively mediocre' at last month's benefit."
Rae's laugh is unexpected—genuine, not performative. "She asked for feedback."
"She asked for compliments. There's a difference she's never learned." I find myself smiling. "You're interesting, Aurelia. In a world of strategic partnerships and calculated alliances, you're actually interesting. It's inconvenient as hell."
She relaxes slightly, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. "You're not what I expected either. At eleven, you were insufferable."
"At eleven, I was overcompensating for parents who scheduled bonding time like board meetings." I gesture toward a couple inside, the wife's diamonds probably worth more than my first car. "See the Hendersons? Married forty years. Hate each other with the passion of a thousand burning suns. But the merger was too profitable to dissolve."
"Romantic."
"Instructive." I turn back to the skyline. "I don't want that. The performance without substance. The slow mutual destruction masquerading as partnership."
Through the glass, I catch Miles watching us. His face is carefully blank in a way that suggests it's anything but—the kind of controlled expression that takes practice to maintain. He's standing near the champagne, pretending to listen to some board member's wife while his eyes drift back to the terrace with magnetic regularity.
A woman in red approaches him—Senator Morrison's daughter, if I remember correctly. Strategic flirtation wrapped in designer fabric. She touches his arm, laughs at something he says, leans in with practiced intimacy.
Miles lets her. He laughs back, engages, performs the social dance beautifully. But his eyes keep sliding toward the terrace, toward Rae, like he can't help himself.
"Your boyfriend seems to be making friends," I observe casually, gesturing inside.
Rae's expression flickers—Loss? Jealousy?—before she schools it into indifference. The transition takes approximately 1.3 seconds, which is far too long for someone supposedly secure in their relationship.
"Miles is charming when he wants to be. It's one of his many talents."
"Is it?" I watch her watch him through the glass, cataloging every micro-expression. "He seems more interested in watching us than in the Morrison heiress currently touching his arm."
"He's protective." The words come out too quickly, too defensive.
"He's jealous." I let the observation hang between us. "Which is interesting, for a fake relationship that's supposedly becoming real. One would think jealousy would require actual emotional investment."
Rae goes still. "Who said anything about fake?"
"No one. That's exactly my point." I finish my champagne, setting the empty glass on the railing.
"You two are terrible liars, at least to anyone paying attention. The careful distance, the loaded silences, the way you both look at each other when you think no one's watching. Something happened between you—something you're both pretending didn't matter."
"That's quite a theory."
"It's an observation. I've spent my entire life reading rooms full of people pretending to be something they're not. You and Miles are performing a relationship while simultaneously avoiding whatever real thing exists between you."
I meet her eyes directly. "Which means either he loves you and you're too scared to acknowledge it, or you love him and you're too stubborn to admit it. Possibly both."
Rae's silence is louder than any denial.
"I'm not your enemy, Aurelia." I step back from the railing. "I'm just someone who recognizes the difference between strategic partnership and actual connection. And what you have with Miles—whatever complicated mess it currently is—looks a lot more like the latter."
Inside, the woman in red is still touching Miles's arm. He's still watching the terrace.
And Rae is still pretending she doesn't notice.
"We should go back inside," she says finally. "Beatrice will send a search party."
"Probably armed with merger contracts and wedding venue brochures."
That gets another small laugh—victory, of a kind.
We return to the gala, to the champagne and the circling socialites and the endless performance. But something has shifted between us—an understanding, maybe, or at least mutual recognition.
These two are terrible liars.
And I'm starting to think that might be the most honest thing about them.