Chapter 18
Alexander
My Bentley purrs to life as I pull into the bank’s private client entrance.
The teller’s perfectly shaped eyebrow arches when I request an unlimited credit card in my name—something I’ve never done before.
I don’t need to flaunt my wealth—the Hawthorne name does that for me.
But Olivia is my fiancée, so she deserves the world.
Or, at the very least, an embossed piece of plastic that won’t get declined at the Gallery’s charity auction.
“Mr. Hawthorne, we’ll have this ready for you within half an hour,” the teller says. “Would you like to wait, or shall we have it delivered to your office?”
“I’ll wait,” I reply, checking my watch.
While sitting in the plush leather chair of the VIP waiting area, I contemplate what I’m doing.
Father would call this reckless—giving anyone, even my fiancée, unlimited access to the Hawthorne fortune.
But that’s precisely why I’m doing it. I wouldn’t mind that much if she maxed it out before sunset.
Money’s purpose is to be spent, and I’ve not been spending it on anyone worthwhile for a long time.
After collecting the sleek black card, I head to the flower shop.
“I need something that says ‘I care about you’ without being too overwhelming,” I tell the florist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes who seems to understand exactly what I’m after.
“Roses are always classic, Mr. Hawthorne,” she suggests, “but perhaps something more unique would be appropriate?”
I nod, scanning the colorful array of blooms. “She’s an artist. Something vibrant, but elegant.”
The woman leads me to a selection of exotic flowers I couldn’t name if my life depended on it.
I choose an arrangement with deep purples and soft whites, with delicate green stems that curl artistically.
It looks like something Olivia might like.
She was oohing and ahhing while looking at similar violet flowers at the market a week ago, and I find myself hoping this arrangement will remind her of that moment.
It’s ridiculous how much I want to please her.
The florist arranges the flowers carefully. “For someone special, I presume?”
“Very,” I answer, surprising myself with how easily the admission comes.
With both the card and flowers, I make my way to Olivia’s gallery. My heart beats faster as I approach the entrance, like some lovesick teenager rather than the COO of a multinational corporation. It’s both embarrassing and exhilarating.
The gallery is quiet today, just a few patrons wandering among the exhibits.
I spot her immediately, gesturing animatedly to an elderly couple examining one of the larger canvases.
Her blonde hair is pulled back in a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She’s wearing a white shirt and black slacks, and I know for a fact that no one else in the world could make such a simple outfit look so captivating.
I stand for a moment, watching her work. There’s something about the way she moves, the passion in her gestures as she explains the artwork, that makes it impossible to look away. I’m caught in her orbit, willingly.
I wait until she finishes with the couple before approaching. When she turns and sees me, her expression shifts from professional courtesy to something more complex—surprise, pleasure, and—could that be annoyance?
Huh.
“Cassandra didn’t tell me that photographers are coming today. I’m not prepared at all.” She shoots me an accusing look.
I stand there, flowers in one hand, feeling ridiculous. Photographers? What is she talking about?
“I’m not sure what you mean. I wanted to surprise you.”
Her eyes dart to the flowers, then to my face, then back to the flowers. “Oh,” she says, and a blush creeps across her cheeks. “I thought you were... never mind. What are you doing here, Alexander?”
I step closer, extending the bouquet. “I brought you these. And this.” I hold out the black card, watching her expression carefully.
She takes the flowers first, burying her nose in them. “They’re beautiful. You didn’t need to, but thank you.” When she notices the card, her eyebrows knit together. “What’s this?”
I clear my throat. “A little something for emergencies.”
Her eyes widen as she takes it from me, turning it over in her hands. “Alexander, I can’t accept this.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” She lowers her voice, glancing around the gallery. “Because it’s too much. We’ve only known each other for a week.”
I step closer, lowering my voice to match hers. “You’re going to be my wife, Olivia. Everything that’s mine will be yours.”
“Temporarily.” Her eyes meet mine. “I don’t need your money, Alexander.”
“I know you don’t,” I say, my voice steady despite the sting of her words.
“But that’s not the point. This isn’t about what you need.
It’s about what I want to give you. I want you to have the freedom to do whatever you want, buy whatever you want, without worrying about the cost. You deserve that. ”
She stares at the card, her fingers tracing its edges as if she’s trying to make sense of it. I can’t read her expression, and it’s driving me crazy. Is she touched? Annoyed? Offended? I wish I could crawl inside her head to find out what she’s thinking.
Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a moment, I think she’s going to argue. But then she sighs, a small, almost imperceptible sound. “You’re impossible, you know that?” she says, her voice quieter now. “You show up here with flowers and a credit card like some billionaire cliché.”
“I’m just a man who wants to make you happy. Even if it means looking a little ridiculous in the process.”
She chuckles softly, and the tension in her shoulders eases. “You do look a little ridiculous,” she admits, a small smile playing on her lips. “But it’s... sweet. I didn’t expect this from you.”
“I wanted to see you again.”
“You don’t have to do this.” The smile disappears from her face. “I mean, we both know this arrangement isn’t... real. Not in the way you’re making it seem.”
I tilt my head. “Does it have to be fake?”
She swallows hard, her fingers tightening around the card. “Alexander, you know why we’re doing this. Your family, my family—it’s all about appearances. This isn’t about us. It’s about what people expect.”
“And what if I don’t care about other people? Please know that I’m not being kind or nice. I’m selfish and greedy. I want to give you things that will make you happy. I want to see you smile because of something I did. Can you understand that?”
“This is still too much.”
“Then use it only for the gallery,” I suggest, not willing to take the card back. “For supplies, for new pieces you want to acquire. Think of it as an investment in your passion.”
She looks around at her gallery, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. I’ve found her weakness—not money, but the possibility of what she could do with her art space without financial constraints.
“I’ll think about it,” she concedes, slipping the card into her pocket. Not a yes, but not a no either. I’ll take it.
“That’s all I ask.” I glance at my watch. “I should let you get back to work. Dinner tonight?”
“Actually,” she says, looking genuinely regretful, “I promise I’d help Cassandra with something tonight.
But she organized our first public appearance as a couple for tomorrow morning.
Some photographers from social media outlets will be there.
She says it’s to get the ball rolling once our engagement is announced. ”
I run a hand through my hair, trying not to look too eager. “What time?”
“Nine. At the Griffin Hotel.” She adjusts the flowers in her arms. “Nothing too fancy, just coffee and pastries. Some posed photos.”
“I’ll be there.” I pause, then add, “I’ll have my assistant clear my entire morning.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile. “It’s coffee, Alexander. It won’t take all morning.”
“Still,” I say, stepping back, “I like to be thorough.”
As I turn to leave, she calls after me. “Alexander?”
I look back, hope rising in my chest embarrassingly fast.
“Thank you. For the flowers. They’re exactly what I would have chosen.”
Pride swells within me as I walk out of the gallery. It’s a small victory, but it feels significant. She liked the flowers. She didn’t throw the card back in my face. And tomorrow, we’ll be seen in public together for the first time.
I’m halfway to my car when my phone buzzes. It’s Lauren.
“What’s up?” I answer, sliding into my car.
“Just checking if you’re coming to the party on Friday,” she says. “Father’s been asking.”
I grimace. Of course he has. “I’ll be there. With Olivia.”
“Oh!” Lauren’s voice rises with interest. “So it’s going well? The arrangement?”
I pause, unsure how to answer. Is it going well? I’m bringing her flowers and unlimited credit cards like some besotted fool. That wasn’t part of our original deal.
“It’s... progressing,” I say carefully. “Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“What’s that?”
“Did Father actually get you expelled from school, or was that just some scheme you and Cassandra cooked up to throw Olivia and me together?”
“I did get expelled, Cassandra just called me at the right time. When she first mentioned her plan, I thought she was crazy. But you sound different.”
“Different how?”
“Less... Alexander-y. Less controlled. It’s nice.”
I frown at her assessment as I pull into traffic. “I’m still very much in control.”
“Sure you are,” she teases. “That’s why you’re leaving work early and buying flowers. Very cold and calculated, my dear brother.”
“How did you—”
“I dropped by your office, and your assistant said you’d already left for the day. Again. Third time this week, Alex. People will start to think you actually have a life.”
“Hilarious,” I say, voice flat. “You’d better get ready for the party, too. I’m not telling Father about Olivia until it’s all over social media.”
“You’re trying to kill us, aren’t you?” She laughs. “Father is going to lose his mind when he finds out you’ve been keeping this from him.”
“I know.” I can’t help smiling, even with the confrontation looming. “But in this case, I’d rather ask forgiveness than permission. “