6. Xavier
Kim sat across from my desk with the contract spread between us.
She'd been reading for twenty minutes. Every line, every clause, every piece of legal jargon my personal lawyer, Michael, because Gerald was a little snitch, had stuffed into the document. Her finger traced the text as she went, lips moving slightly, brow furrowed in concentration.
I leaned back in my chair and tried not to fidget.
"Section four, subsection B." She looked up at me. "It says I'm required to attend 'all family functions as reasonably requested.' What does 'reasonably' mean?"
"It means I won't drag you to every cousin's birthday party. Major events only. Dinners, galas, that kind of thing."
"I want that clarified. 'Major family events, not to exceed two per week.'"
"Two per week?" I raised an eyebrow. "You think my family gets together that often?"
"I think rich people have a lot of parties. I want it in writing."
I nodded at Michael, hovering near the door. He scribbled a note.
Kim returned to reading. Another five minutes passed. I watched her face, trying to read her thoughts, getting nothing. She had the best poker face I'd ever seen.
"Section seven." She tapped the page. "The compensation structure. It says I’ll receive the full payment at the end of the three months."
"That's standard for…"
"I want half upfront." Her eyes met mine. "The other half when it's done."
"That's not…"
"Those are my terms." She didn't blink. "Half now, half later. Or we don't have a deal."
I studied her for a long moment. "Fine." I nodded at Michael again. "Half upfront."
Kim returned to the contract. Read the rest in silence. When she reached the final page, she picked up the pen I'd provided—a Montblanc, because I was apparently trying to impress her even now—and signed her name in neat, precise letters.
Kim Young.
Her hand didn't shake. Her expression didn't waver. She set down the pen and looked at me with those dark eyes that gave nothing away.
"So," she said. "When do we start?"
"This weekend." I pulled the contract toward me and added my own signature. "Dinner at my grandmother's estate. The whole family will be there. Sebastian, his girlfriend Aria, my mother Helena, and my grandmother. Maybe Isabelle, if she decides to show up.”
I handed my copy to Michael. He nodded, then left.
Kim's composure flickered. Just for a second. "That's a lot of people."
"They'll all want to meet you. The mysterious woman who finally tamed Xavier Dubois." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't worry. I'll prep you."
"Prep me?"
"Tell you about them. Who to watch out for, who to charm, what topics to avoid." I leaned forward, elbows on my desk. "If we're going to convince them this is real, you need to know what you're walking into."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. Tell me about them."
I took a breath and started with the hardest one.
"Sebastian. My brother. Half-brother, technically—same father, different mothers. If you're honest with him, he'll respect you. If you try to play games, he'll see through it immediately."
"And his girlfriend?"
"Aria." A genuine smile tugged at my mouth. "You'll like her. Everyone likes her. She's warm, sharp-tongued, and doesn't take anyone's crap. She sees everything, so don't try to hide anything from her. She'll figure it out anyway and be annoyed that you didn't trust her."
Kim filed that away. "Your grandmother?"
"Eleanor Dubois. She'll watch how we interact, how we look at each other. If there's a crack in our story, she'll find it."
"Reassuring."
"She's not cruel. She's just... thorough. She wants to make sure I'm not wasting my life. In her mind, this is love."
Kim's expression was unreadable. "And your mother?"
"Helena." My voice softened despite myself. "She's kind. Desperate for me to be happy. She'll probably cry when she meets you, fair warning. She's been waiting for this moment since I turned twenty-five and showed no signs of settling down."
"So she'll be easy to convince?"
"She'll be easy to please. Convincing is different." I met Kim's eyes. "She knows me. Really knows me. If I seem off, she'll notice."
Kim absorbed all of this in silence. Then she straightened in her chair.
"Your turn," she said.
"My turn?"
"If your family asks about me, you need to have answers. Where I grew up. What I like. Basic information that a boyfriend would know."
She was right. I should have thought of this myself.
"Okay." I pulled out a notepad, feeling oddly like I was back in school. "Let's start with the basics. Siblings?"
"None."
"Parents?"
"None."
I waited for her to elaborate. She didn't. I didn't push. "Favorite color?"
"Blue."
"Favorite food?"
"My daughter's mac and cheese. She helps me make it."
"Favorite snack?"
"I don't really snack."
"Everyone snacks."
"I don't have time to snack. Or the budget."
I moved on. "Hobbies?"
She almost laughed. "Hobbies require free time, Xavier."
"What would you do if you had free time?"
She considered this. "Read, maybe. I used to read a lot. Not anymore."
"What kind of books?"
"Anything. Everything. Romance novels, mostly, when I could find them." Color rose in her cheeks, like she was embarrassed to admit it. "I know happy endings aren’t realistic, but..."
I stored that information carefully. She cleared her throat.
"My turn," she said. "Favorite color?" she asked, moving on.
"Don't have one."
"Everyone has a favorite color."
"I genuinely don't. I like them all. Depends on my mood."
She made a small sound that might have been amusement. "Favorite food?"
"My grandmother's cook makes this chocolate soufflé that I would commit crimes for."
"Noted. Favorite snack?"
"Anything sweet. I have a problem. My dentist despairs."
Now she did smile.
"Hobbies?"
"Disappointing my family, apparently." I flashed a grin. "I used to sail. Haven't in years. I like cars, obviously. And..." I hesitated.
"And?"
"I used to draw. When I was younger. I fancied myself an artist." I shook my head. "That was a long time ago."
Kim studied me with those dark eyes. Like she was seeing something she hadn't expected.
"Okay," she said. "One more thing."
"What?"
"Nicknames." The word came out slightly strangled. "Couples have nicknames for each other. If your family expects us to be in love, we need..."
She trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. Her cheeks were pink. She wasn't meeting my eyes. I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life.
"You're right. We need pet names." I wiggled my eyebrows.
"Right." She cleared her throat. "So. What should I call you?"
"Hm." I pretended to think. "How about 'stud muffin'?"
Her eyes flew to my face. "Absolutely not."
"'Love nugget'?"
"No."
"'Snookums'? 'Honey bunches'? 'My little…'"
"Xavier." Her voice was strangled. "Be serious."
"I am being serious." I was grinning now, couldn't help it. "This is important. We need to establish our romantic vocabulary. How about 'darling'? That's classic."
"Fine. Darling." She said it like it tasted bad.
"And I'll call you..." I let the pause stretch out, watching her squirm. "'Angel.' No, wait. 'Princess.' No, that's too—"
"Just pick something normal."
"'Sweetheart'?" I suggested.
She nodded stiffly. "Fine. Sweetheart."
"Say it."
"What?"
"Say it. Call me darling. I want to hear how it sounds."
Her jaw tightened. Her cheeks flushed darker. For a moment, I thought she might actually throw something at me.
"Darling," she said flatly.
"That was terrible. You sounded like you were reading a tax form. Try again. With feeling."
"Xavier…"
"Come on, sweetheart." I leaned back, enjoying myself immensely. "We need to practice."
She took a breath. Closed her eyes. When she opened them, something had shifted. Her expression softened. Her voice dropped into something almost tender.
"Darling."
My breath caught. She noticed. A small smirk played at the corner of her mouth.
"Better?" she asked innocently.
I cleared my throat. "Much better. We'll continue this later," I said, standing. "I'll call my sister about getting you something to wear."
Kim stood too, frowning as she smoothened her skirt. "I have clothes."
"Not for this, you don't. Trust me." I walked her to the door. "Isabelle will make sure you fit in."
She looked like she wanted to argue. But she just nodded and walked out. I watched her go and tried to ignore the way my pulse was still racing from the way she'd said darling.
This was going to be harder than I thought.
The day of the dinner, Kim arrived at my apartment at four o'clock.
She stood in my doorway, overnight bag in hand, wearing jeans and a simple blouse. Her hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail. No makeup that I could see.
She looked completely out of place against the chaos behind me.
Isabelle's people had arrived three hours earlier and turned my penthouse into a battlefield. Garment bags hung from every available surface. Makeup cases covered my dining table. Two women in black were arguing about lighting near my windows while a third steamed something on a rack.
"What," Kim said slowly, "is happening?"
"Isabelle happened." I stepped aside to let her in. "She takes fashion very seriously."
One of the women in black descended on Kim immediately. "You must be Kim. I'm Renata. Isabelle sent me personally. We have a lot of work to do."
Kim shot me a look that promised retribution. I smiled and retreated to the kitchen for coffee.
They spent two hours getting her ready. From my position at the breakfast bar, I watched Renata and her team work. They circled Kim like sharks, holding up fabric swatches, debating hemlines, discussing her "coloring" and her "undertones."
Kim sat in the middle of it. She didn’t complain or scowl. She just let them do their work. I caught her eye once, raising my coffee cup in a mock toast. She did not look amused.
Then the dresses came out.
The first was red. Bold, with a neckline that plunged lower than Kim seemed comfortable with. She emerged from my bedroom wearing it, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression murderous.
"No," I said.
"Thank God." She retreated to change.