Chapter 21 #2
“I mean,” I try to clarify, “this is a business arrangement. You’re providing a service, and I want to make sure you’re fairly compensated.”
“A service,” she repeats, her voice flat.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No, you’re right. This is a service I’m providing. A business transaction.” She stands up from the bench, suddenly agitated. “Fine. Five million dollars. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Freya, please don’t be upset. I’m trying to make this fair for you.”
“Fair?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Nothing about this is fair, Ben. Nothing about any of this has ever been fair.”
“What do you mean?”
For a moment, I think she’s going to say something important, something that might change everything between us. But then she shakes her head and sits back down.
“Nothing. I mean nothing.” She takes a deep breath. “If you want to give me five million dollars to marry you, then fine. I accept.”
“It’s not about marrying me. It’s about recognizing what this costs you. Your time, your energy, your privacy. The way people look at you now, the attention you never asked for.”
“The attention that got me the gallery exhibition?”
“That’s different. That’s your talent being recognized.”
“Because of my association with you.”
“Because someone saw your work and knew it was extraordinary.”
We’re talking in circles, and I can feel the conversation slipping away from what I actually want to say.
Which is that I feel guilty about involving her in this charade, that I hate seeing her become distant and guarded, that I wish I could go back and make different choices that wouldn’t have put us in this position.
“Look,” I say finally, “I just want to make sure you know how much I appreciate what you’re doing. Five million dollars seems like a small price to pay for saving my entire business.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Saving your business?”
“The Red Dawson deal alone will transform everything. But beyond that, the change in my public image, the way people see me now… it’s already opening doors I didn’t even know existed.”
Freya nods, but she’s looking out at the garden instead of at me. “Good. I’m glad it’s working out for you.”
“It’s working out for both of us. Your art career is taking off, you’ll have financial security, and you’ll be able to pursue your passion full-time.”
“Right. Win-win situation.”
But she doesn’t sound like she feels like she’s winning anything. She sounds exhausted and resigned, like someone who’s agreed to something she regrets but feels too obligated to back out of.
“Freya, are you okay? You seem different lately.”
“Different how?”
“Distant. Like you’re going through the motions, but your heart isn’t in it anymore.”
She finally looks at me, and there’s something in her expression that makes my chest tight. “My heart was never supposed to be in it, remember? That was the whole point.”
“I know, but—”
“No feelings, right? That was our rule.”
“Right.”
No feelings.
If only I could go back and rewrite that moment. If I’d known what was to come, I never would have agreed to something I now know I couldn’t uphold.
“Then why does it matter if I seem distant? Isn’t that what we agreed on?”
I don’t have a good answer to that question, because the truth is that I miss the easy friendship we used to have.
I miss the way she used to tease me and challenge me and make me laugh.
I miss feeling like I was talking to my best friend instead of this person who doesn’t even seem to like me anymore.
“I guess I just want to make sure you’re happy,” I say finally.
“I’m fine, Ben. I’ll be fine.”
But she doesn’t look fine. She looks like someone who’s slowly disappearing into herself, retreating from everything that used to make her vibrant and alive.
“The five million will be transferred to your account before the wedding,” I say, standing up from the bench.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what you’ve earned.”
We walk back to our cars in silence, and I realize that offering her more money hasn’t made me feel better about this situation at all. If anything, it has made me feel worse, like I’ve confirmed that what we’re doing is purely transactional.
Like I’ve reduced the most important relationship in my life to a business deal with a clearly defined monetary value.
As I drive home, I can’t stop thinking about my father’s words about his marriage. How they learned to coexist but never to really know each other. How they prioritized compatibility over connection, practicality over passion.
How they ended up as polite strangers sharing a life that satisfied neither of them.
This weekend, I’ll marry Freya in front of everyone we know, and we’ll begin exactly the same kind of arrangement my father spent our entire coffee conversation warning me against.
The difference is that my father married a woman he never loved.
I’m about to marry a woman I’m terrified I love too much, who sees our relationship as nothing more than a well-compensated business transaction.
And I have no idea which situation is worse.