Chapter 23 #2
He nods, but he’s not convinced. He follows me out of the kitchen, his steps hesitant.
“I really am fine, Vulcan. Just tired,” I add.
He doesn’t respond and when I glance over my shoulder, he’s raking his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to finish cooking. Do you want wine or another glass?” He glances at the glass in my hand.
“Wine is fine.”
I head straight to our bedroom, the weight of the impending conversation pressing down on me heavier with each step.
The hot water from the shower does little to soothe my nerves, either.
It’s only a temporary escape, a brief pause before I face Vulcan and everything that comes with our arrangement.
I let the water run over me as I try to gather my thoughts, knowing he wants to talk. And it scares me how much I care about what he has to say.
I turn off the water, stepping out onto the chilly tile floor and wrapping myself in the towel. I dress quickly, wanting to look nice for him without seeming like I’ve tried too hard. He still sends those butterflies soaring in my stomach, like on our first date.
As I reenter the kitchen, the aroma of herbs and spices fills my senses once more. He doesn’t turn around immediately as I walk in, focused on stirring the creamy sauce in the pan. But when he does, his expression softens and he offers me a small smile that warms my heart.
“Sit down. Dinner will be ready soon,” he says, and I can see we’re both walking on eggshells.
This is new territory for me, as I finally see that it might be for him too.
I obey, taking a seat at the kitchen island.
The wine bottle he opened is already on the counter, alongside two glasses.
I pour myself a glass to the rim and down the contents before pouring another half glass and downing that one, too.
I need enough liquid courage to get through tonight’s dinner.
Vulcan plates the pasta, his back still facing me, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
The wine is warming me from the inside, smoothing out the sharp edges of my nerves.
I watch him, appreciating his meticulous care, even in such a mundane task.
His attention to detail, the quiet pride in doing something well.
He sets a plate in front of me and we begin to eat in silence. It’s delicious, but the heaviness between us makes it hard to focus on the flavors.
I muster up the courage to break the silence. “About earlier,” I begin. “I won’t sign the document. Your assets don’t belong to me. I never wanted anything but what I told Minji.”
Vulcan pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I don’t understand,” he draws out, placing his fork down gently as he turns in his seat to look at me. “You agreed to this marriage knowing it was a business arrangement. Why refuse added protection for your future?”
I take a deep breath. “It’s not about the money.
I mean, yes, it was because of the money that I signed up for this, but for the amount I wanted.
After the three years, I will leave with what I came with.
I won’t have any claim over what you’ve built or inherited.
I don’t want that.” I pause, my heart racing.
“I want this to be as clean and simple as possible.”
Vulcan’s brow furrows. “But why? This could secure your future, Karina.”
I shake my head, pushing my plate away. The pasta suddenly feels heavy in my stomach. “Because I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. This arrangement… it’s already complicated enough and adding more money will make it more so.”
Also, you are making it so easy for me to fall in love with you.
He leans back, gaze darting back and forth between my eyes. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Karina. Most people would jump at this opportunity.”
“Well, not to sound cliché, but I’ve never been accused of being like most people.” I force a smile, though it feels brittle on my face.
Vulcan’s lips quirk up, a ghost of a smile. He reaches for his wineglass, taking a long sip before continuing. “It doesn’t sit right with me to leave you with nothing after three years of… this.”
I feel a flush creeping up my neck, partly from the wine and partly from the intensity of his gaze. “Vulcan, I—”
“Please,” he interrupts. “Let me do this. Not for the reasons you might think, but because it’s the right thing to do. We can negotiate the terms and make it something we’re both comfortable with.”
I bite my lip, considering. The wine has loosened my resolve, and his earnestness is disarming. “Okay,” I concede. “But on one condition.”
Vulcan raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“We revisit it after a year,” I say firmly. “When we know each other better, when this isn’t so… new.”
He nods furiously. “Deal. I’ll have Minji set the date in her calendar.”
I sigh, feeling the relief instantaneously. “But don’t hide things from me. I won’t be as forgiving next time. Okay? So, if you have any other secret contracts that I need to sign, now is your time to come clean.” I eye him suspiciously.
“Nope, nothing else,” he says, looking away. Is he hiding something else…? His eyes meet mine again, and I see nothing but sincerity there. Still, a nagging doubt lingers in the back of my mind.
“Are you sure?” I press, leaning forward slightly. “Because I meant what I said. I don’t appreciate being left in the dark.”
Vulcan sighs, stroking his beard. “Karina, I promise you, there’s nothing else for you to sign. I understand why you’re wary, but I’m not trying to trick you.”
His words should reassure me, and maybe it’s the wine making me paranoid or the fact I’ve been forced to accept that people always have hidden agendas, but I’m still filled with tension.
Ultimately, I decide I’ve reached my breaking point for the day. I promise myself I’ll sit with this feeling more tomorrow, when I have a clear head. “Okay.”
Vulcan’s shoulders relax, and he offers me a small smile.
We finish our pasta in silence, and it’s even more unbearable than when we first began. All you can hear is the sound of our utensils scraping against the plate. I glance at Vulcan’s nearly empty plate, waiting for him to excuse himself any minute.
“How was work?” he surprises me by asking.
“Work?”
“Yes, work. You said you had a double, but you’re home early.”
“Oh, right. Dr. Montiel was able to come in.”
“That’s fortunate.” His tone is neutral as he reaches for his wineglass. “You work hard. It’s important to rest.”
His words, though simple, resonate deeply within me. When was the last time someone acknowledged my efforts? My mother certainly never does. I feel warmth spreading in my chest, but I quickly suppress it. Don’t get too comfortable, I remind myself.
“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter.
Vulcan sets down his glass, his gaze fixed on me. “Is everything all right? You seem… off. Are you still thinking about the agree—”
“I just…” I start. “I’m not used to this. To someone actually listening to me and considering what I want. It’s… unsettling.”
“I get it. I understand,” he murmurs. “Trust takes time to build. I hope that over the next three years, I can prove to you that your voice matters here. That you matter.”
I feel a lump forming in my throat, and I have to look away from his gaze. His words are everything I’ve longed to hear, but I’m terrified to believe them. What if it’s all just part of the act? What if, after we make it official, things change?
“Thank you,” I manage to get out, still not meeting his eye.
Vulcan nods, seemingly satisfied. I sense his eyes on me occasionally as I force myself to take a few more bites, though my appetite has vanished.
Vulcan stands and begins clearing the dishes, waving me off when I move to help him.
“You’ve had a long day.”
I sink back into my chair. “Are you sure? I don’t mind. Your shoulder still isn’t healed.”
“Karina, it’s just dishes.”
“So? You cooked dinner too.”
“And I will continue to cook dinner. But… you can help with something else actually.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“My mother is flying in from London two days before the wedding. She’s here to see some friends, but—well, I know you don’t want a huge wedding. Would it be okay if she came to the reception?” he asks, loading the dishes in the dishwasher.
Something catches in my chest, tightening around my heart. I can’t speak immediately, overwhelmed by the implication. Vulcan is sacrificing so much for me, and it hits me with a force I wasn’t prepared for.
My trauma is causing him to alter his life. I don’t know why I thought that because I don’t want my mother there, he wouldn’t want his by his side either.
“Of course,” I rush to say, ashamed of my selfishness. “Of course your mother should be there.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable—”
“No, really,” I interrupt. “I’d like to meet her.” I’m surprised to find I mean it. Not everyone’s mother is like mine.
“You don’t have to be so agreeable, you know. I want you to be happy on our wedding day.” He walks around the counter and takes both my hands in his.
“I want this.” I look up at him. “I want to meet your mother. And I want her to be there for you.”
Something shifts in his expression, a warmth that spreads across his features. For a moment, I forget this is all an arrangement, that we’re two virtual strangers bound by necessity rather than love.
“Thank you,” he says. “That means more than you know.”
I nod, unable to form words as his thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand. And I know, when I end up heartbroken, I will have no one to blame but myself.
“She’ll love you,” he continues. “You’re exactly the kind of woman she always hoped I’d find.”
I wish I could be the woman he spent the rest of his life with, but we are on borrowed time. Three years will be here in the blink of an eye.