Chapter 16
BEN
“The crudité should be on the island,” I tell the caterer. “And there’s salmon, correct? My mother doesn’t eat chicken.”
She nods, not fazed in the slightest. “Of course, Mr. Lawlor. There are several servings of salmon in case other guests would like some as well.”
“Good.” I let out a long exhale, but the tension in my shoulders remains.
The dinner my parents originally wanted to have with just me and Freya has turned into a whole extended family affair, hosted at my place. At any minute, Freya, my parents, her parents, and her sister and brother-in-law will show up.
It’s the first time we’ll all be together as a “family,” and I’m freaking out.
The doorbell rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I check my watch, but I already know it’s Freya. She’s always early, has always been punctual to a fault.
I open the door to find her standing there, wearing a soft blue dress that brings out her eyes and holding a bottle of wine.
“Hey,” she says, and there’s something different about her expression. She looks… excited? Nervous? I can’t quite read it.
“Hey, yourself. You look beautiful.” The words come out automatically, but they’re true. She always looks beautiful.
“Thank you.” She steps inside, glancing around my foyer like she’s seeing it for the first time, even though she’s been here dozens of times over the years.
“Nervous?” I ask.
But before she can answer, the doorbell rings again.
“That’ll be the parents,” Freya says, and just like that, her excitement dims slightly. “Are you ready for this?”
“No. Are you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and small talk.
My parents arrive first—my mother impeccably dressed as always, my father immediately asking about my latest quarterly numbers.
But something’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the change of scenery, being here instead of at some stuffy restaurant, but they seem more relaxed than usual.
It’s been years since I’ve seen Freya’s parents and Bella and Mark. I’ve met them all before at various points over the years, but never in this context, never as the man who’s supposedly marrying their daughter and sister.
Freya’s father, Tom, shakes my hand with the firm grip of someone who’s worked with his hands his entire life. He’s a contractor, practical and straightforward in a way that’s both refreshing and intimidating. Freya’s mother, Linda, pulls me into a hug that catches me off guard with its warmth.
“We’re so happy for you both,” she says, and the genuine joy in her voice makes my chest tight with guilt.
We gather on my screened-in patio for dinner, a space I had professionally designed when I bought the penthouse but have used maybe three times in five years.
Tonight, with the table set for eight and string lights casting a warm glow over everything, it actually feels like a home instead of a showpiece.
“This is lovely, Ben,” my mother says, surveying the space with what appears to be genuine approval. “I had no idea you had such a beautiful entertaining area.”
“I don’t entertain much,” I admit.
By “much” I mean ever.
“Well, that’ll change once you’re married,” Bella says with a laugh. “Freya loves hosting people. She throws the best dinner parties.”
I glance at Freya, who’s helping the caterer serve the appetizers. I didn’t know she liked hosting dinner parties. There’s probably a lot I don’t know about the life she’s built for herself, the person she’s become when I wasn’t paying attention.
As the evening progresses, I find myself relaxing in a way I haven’t in years.
The conversation flows easily, jumping from Freya’s art to my parents’ retirement in California to Bella and Mark’s adventures in parenting to the upcoming engagement party we’ll have while my parents are still in town.
My father actually puts his phone away after the first course, and my mother laughs—really laughs—at one of Tom’s stories about a disastrous renovation project.
This is what family dinners are supposed to feel like, I realize. Warm and comfortable and genuine, not the stilted performances my own family gatherings have always been.
After dinner, we move to the pool area. I’d forgotten I even had outdoor furniture until the caterer suggested we might want to use the space. Everyone settles into the comfortable seating with drinks and dessert, the adults talking while Bella shows photos of her kids on her phone.
“Ben, could I have a word?” Tom asks, setting down his beer and nodding toward a quieter corner of the patio.
My stomach tightens. This is it—the traditional father-of-the-bride conversation I’ve been dreading.
We walk over to the edge of the pool, far enough from the others that we can speak privately. Tom is quiet for a moment, looking out at the water.
“You know, I’ve been watching you with Freya tonight,” he says finally. “The way you look at her, the way you listen when she talks. That’s how a man should look at the woman he loves.”
The guilt and the truth both hit me like a physical blow. “Tom…”
“I know Freya can take care of herself. She’s always been independent, stubborn as hell, determined to do everything on her own terms.” He smiles, clearly thinking of his daughter with deep affection.
“But it’s good to know she’ll have a partner who supports her dreams, who sees how special she is. ”
“She is special,” I manage, because that part, at least, is completely true.
“Linda and I, we’ve been married thirty-six years next month. You want to know the secret?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“It’s not love. Love’s the starting point, but it’s not enough on its own. The secret is commitment. Choosing each other every single day, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.” He turns to look at me directly. “Marriage isn’t a feeling, son. It’s a decision you make over and over again.”
The sincerity in his voice, the genuine care and wisdom he’s offering, make me want to confess everything. This man is giving me advice about loving his daughter, and I’m going to hurt them both when this arrangement inevitably ends.
“I’ll take care of her,” I say, because it’s the only true thing I can offer. “I’ll always take care of her.”
“I know you will. And she’ll take care of you, too. That’s how this works.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family, Ben.”
The rest of the evening passes too quickly. By ten o’clock, everyone is making noises about heading home. My parents are staying at a hotel downtown, and they’re among the first to leave, my mother actually hugging Freya goodbye and telling her how lovely it was to spend time with her.
“They like you,” I tell Freya as we wave goodbye to her parents.
“They’re not what I remembered,” she admits. “Your mother, especially. She’s much warmer than I thought she’d be.”
“Being away from work and social obligations brings out their better sides, I think.” I sit on it a bit more. “Maybe it’s the time that has passed, too. I dunno. Maybe they’ve changed.”
Bella and Mark are the last to leave, Bella pulling Freya aside for a quick sister conversation while Mark shakes my hand.
“Thanks for having us,” he says. “This was really nice. Freya seems happy.”
Does she? I want to ask. Because I can’t tell anymore what’s real and what’s performance.
After everyone’s gone, I start clearing glasses from the patio, expecting Freya to stay and chat, to maybe sit by the pool and decompress from the evening the way we used to after big events in high school.
Instead, she gathers her purse.
“I should head home,” she says. “Early workout class tomorrow.”
“Oh. Of course.” I try to hide my disappointment. “Thanks for tonight. You were incredible with everyone.”
“So were you. Your parents really do seem to love you, you know. In their own way.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
She hesitates at the door, like she wants to say something else, but then just gives me a small smile. “Good night, Ben.”
“Good night.”
I return to the empty rooms of my penthouse, which feel even more cavernous when not filled with family. The caterer has cleaned everything, leaving no trace of the evening except the lingering scent of the flowers Freya’s mother brought.
I pour myself a scotch and sit on the patio, looking out at the pool that reflects the lights of the city beyond. The space feels different now that it’s been filled with laughter and conversation. Less like a magazine spread and more like a place where people actually live.
Tom’s words echo in my mind: Marriage isn’t a feeling. It’s a decision you make over and over again.
What if it was real? The thought creeps in despite my attempts to push it away. What if Freya and I actually got married, not for business deals or public image, but because we wanted to build a life together?
What if I came home every night to someone who knew me, really knew me, the way Freya does? What if I had someone to share these moments with—dinners with family, quiet evenings by the pool, celebrations of each other’s successes?
What if I stopped being afraid of wanting something more than just professional achievement?
The space around me feels enormous and empty, a monument to success that lacks any real warmth or connection. I’ve built an empire, accumulated wealth beyond most people’s dreams, and achieved every goal I set for myself in high school.
But sitting here alone, I realize that none of it means anything if there’s no one to share it with.
I think about how natural it felt to have our families together tonight, how right it seemed to navigate tonight together.
I think about how much I wanted her to stay after everyone left, not for any strategic reason or public appearance, but just because I like having her around. Because she makes everything better, even fake dinner parties with fake in-laws discussing a fake future together.
The problem is that what I want doesn’t matter.
Freya made it clear that she’s doing me a favor with a predetermined end date.
She’s counting down the days until she can get back to her real life, free from the complications of being associated with me.
She wants to find a man who can truly love and care for her in a way I never learned to.
In a way that, despite what her father seems to believe, I know I probably can’t do.
In a little over a year, when our contract expires, I’ll be right back here—alone in this beautiful, empty penthouse, with nothing but work to fill the silence.
Maybe that’s what I deserve for turning love into a business transaction.ly-
Maybe that’s the price of getting everything you thought you wanted, only to discover it was never what you needed at all.