Chapter 4 Why Her
WHY HER
LUCA
Naomi arrived at my grandmother's house at four eleven, carrying six fabric samples and no visible intention of marrying me.
I respected the punctuality of both.
From the library doorway, I watched her cross the drawing room with Sabine.
Naomi had changed from load-out clothes into a charcoal suit cut close through the waist, with a black silk blouse and low heels meant for distance rather than display.
Her hair was down. No carpenter pencils.
I had learned not to mistake the absence of tools for reduced danger.
She spread the samples across a gilt table and began explaining why the foundation dinner should not use gold.
"Everyone expects legacy families to choose gold," she said. "It tells guests the evening is about what the family already owns. Your scholarship recipients need the room to feel forward, not inherited."
Sabine touched a square of deep green silk. "And this says forward?"
"This says the future has better taste."
My grandmother laughed.
Naomi's company had produced seven Beaumont events in six years. She never flattered Sabine. That was why Sabine requested her personally.
It was one of the reasons I had chosen her.
The sentence remained dangerous even in silence.
After leaving the ballroom, I had spent the day doing exactly what Mireille advised. I did not contact Naomi. I did not send the risk memorandum. I did not revise the offer or ask an assistant to determine what Pierce Events might need.
Instead, I met with the independent directors, reviewed Bastien's proposed acquisitions, and considered every alternative to marriage.
By three, I had found four.
All four required me to surrender control of Beaumont Luxury Group before the September vote.
That should have made Naomi's refusal more inconvenient.
It made it cleaner.
She had said no before knowing what she could ask for. There was no ambiguity to exploit, no revised package to design. If I chose to challenge the trust, negotiate with Bastien, or step aside, the consequence belonged to me.
The simplicity was unpleasant.
So was the fact that I still wanted to answer her question.
Why her.
"You are hovering," Sabine said without looking at me.
Naomi turned.
Her gaze met mine and held. No embarrassment from the morning. No softness either.
"I live here occasionally," I said.
"You maintain a wardrobe here," Sabine corrected. "That is not the same as living."
Naomi looked toward the hallway. "The trust committee might disagree."
I entered the room. "The trust committee has not yet reviewed the emotional significance of a wardrobe."
"Give them time."
Sabine gathered the fabric samples. "I prefer the green."
"You preferred the green before I arrived," Naomi said.
"Yes, but now the preference has professional documentation."
My grandmother kissed Naomi's cheek. "I have a call with the foundation treasurer. Luca will show you the ballroom drawings."
"Luca does not know where the ballroom drawings are."
"Then you can show him."
Sabine left before either of us could object.
Naomi waited until the door closed.
"Did she arrange this?"
"The dinner meeting existed before the trust problem."
"That was not my question."
"She expected I would be here."
"And did you?"
"Yes."
"So this is pressure with antique furniture."
"No. Your refusal stands."
Her expression changed by a degree. "You said that this morning."
"I meant it both times."
"Then why are you here?"
"You asked a question."
"People ask questions they regret."
"Do you regret it?"
Naomi's gaze traveled over my face with the concentration she gave rigging plans. The silence was not passive. She was assessing the load capacity of my answer.
"Not yet," she said.
I gestured toward the library. "The drawings are in there. So is privacy. The door remains open."
"How reassuringly procedural."
"I am trying to improve without becoming unrecognizable."
She walked past me into the library.
The room had belonged to my grandfather.
He collected first editions he did not read and letters he considered too important to answer himself.
Dark shelves rose to the ceiling. A rolling ladder ran along one wall.
At the center stood a broad partner's desk, large enough for two men to disagree without risking contact.
Naomi placed the fabric samples on a side table.
"Why me?" she asked.
No preamble. No easing into the room.
That was another reason.
I remained standing. "Because you know what I am like when no one is impressed."
"That is not a recommendation."
"It is a qualification."
"For marriage?"
"For a proposal that cannot depend on illusion."
She folded her arms. "You produce illusion for a living."
"I produce luxury. There is a difference."
"Explain it."
"Illusion requires the customer not to understand how it was made. Luxury survives understanding. The stitch should be as beautiful inside the garment as outside it. The stone should remain extraordinary after certification. The hotel service should function when no one famous is watching."
Naomi leaned one hip against the desk. "And your relationships?"
"Were illusion."
The admission felt worse in my grandfather's library.
She watched me carefully.
"The women knew the terms," I continued. "They consented. I honored every written obligation. I believed that made the arrangements honest."
"It made the documents honest."
"Yes."
"You still let women feel replaceable."
"Yes."
The second answer cost less, which concerned me.
Naomi glanced at the shelves. "And you believe I would make your marriage look real."
"You would."
"Because I produce convincing rooms?"
"Because you cannot be bought into pretending admiration."
Her gaze sharpened. "Everyone can be bought. The difference is what currency costs them."
"What is yours?"
"That is exactly the question you should have answered before asking me."
"I did not choose you because I thought you would say yes."
"Then why choose me at all?"
I removed my signet ring.
Naomi's eyes dropped to the movement.
I placed the ring on my grandfather's desk. Gold against dark leather. Family authority reduced to a small object I could take off but not entirely escape.
"Because you said no to me when the offer was designed to make yes easy," I said.
"Because you know every public version of me and trust none of them.
Because you have watched me end relationships efficiently enough to understand the risk without romanticizing it.
Because when a glass installation failed last night, you protected a stranger before you protected the event.
Because you build rooms for powerful people and never confuse proximity with belonging to them. "
Her face had gone very still.
I continued before I could improve the truth into something safer.
"Because I could marry a woman who wanted access to Beaumont, and we would spend six months performing stability for a committee.
I could marry a former companion who understood fixed terms, and every photograph would become evidence that the blacklist was right.
I could ask someone who needed money, and the deadline would make consent impossible to evaluate. "
"But not mine."
"Your no is more secure than most people's yes."
The words settled between us.
Naomi looked toward the open door, then back at me. "That may be the most flattering insult I have ever received."
"I expected competition."
"You have provided most of it."
A smile threatened. She stopped it.
I wanted to see it badly enough to resent myself.
"There is another reason," I said.
"I assumed there would be an annex."
"I trust your competence."
"That sounds almost normal."
"I do not trust easily."
"That sounds more like you."
"If the arrangement became difficult, I believe you would say so before resentment became performance. If I behaved badly, you would identify the exact failure rather than punish me indirectly. If the public attacked your work, you would defend it without asking me to erase the room."
Her attention sharpened at the last sentence.
"You have thought about the public attack."
"It would be inevitable."
"And your first instinct would be what?"
"Containment."
"Legal threats?"
"Possibly."
"Search suppression?"
"If the information were false or invasive."
"And if I told you not to?"
I considered the answer rather than offering the attractive one.
"I would want to argue."
"That was not the question."
"That is fair."
She waited.
"If it concerned your name, your company, or your private life," I said, "I would follow your decision."
"Could you?"
"I do not know."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"You keep saying that today."
"It has been a destabilizing morning."
"Perhaps uncertainty is good for your circulation."
"I will ask my physician."
The smile escaped this time.
It transformed her face without making it softer. Naomi's beauty had never depended on softness. She looked most compelling when amusement and assessment occupied her at once, as if delight itself had to pass inspection.
I had seen that expression in the service corridor fourteen months ago.
I had nearly kissed it away.
Then I had sent a contract because wanting her without an exit had frightened me more than losing the chance.
"There is another reason I do not believe your proposal is practical," Naomi said.
"Which one?"
"You could ask almost anyone. There are women who know your rules, like your life, and would consider a year beside you a benefit rather than an insult."
"Yes."
"You have already made a list."
"Counsel made one before I prohibited it."
Her eyebrows lifted. "How many candidates were on the bridal procurement schedule?"
"Twelve."
"Of course there were twelve."
"One for each month would have been vulgar."
"That is the line you found?"
"I am not defending the exercise."
I had read the names once. Former companions, daughters of family allies, a museum trustee whose father controlled votes in two Beaumont subsidiaries. Every woman was accomplished. Every woman also entered the list as a solution attached to a secondary advantage.