9. Vivienne #2
"Glad to hear it," Jaxon replies, genuine interest in his voice. Despite my earlier assumptions about his involvement being purely for my benefit, he seems to actually care about the Lumina partnership.
"Now, about the launch event next month," Gerald continues. "We're thinking a dual reveal—men's and women's lines simultaneously, with you two as the faces of authentic partnership. Powerful concept, don't you think?"
I exchange a quick glance with Jaxon. We hadn't discussed extending our arrangement to professional collaborations beyond my leadership of the account.
"Interesting thought," I say carefully. "Though we'd need to discuss the details, of course."
"Of course, of course! Just planting seeds." Gerald winks conspiratorially. "But think about it—the newly engaged power couple, representing complementary branches of the same brand philosophy. Symmetry! Narrative! Very compelling."
Before we can respond, Gerald is pulled away by another board member, leaving us to contemplate this unexpected development.
"Thoughts?" Jaxon asks quietly.
"Professionally, it's brilliant," I admit. "Personally..."
"Complicated," he finishes for me.
I nod. "We'd be extending our arrangement into territory we didn't anticipate."
"Six months is still six months," he points out. "Whether we're appearing at charity galas or cosmetics launches."
"True," I agree, though something in me rebels against the clinical reminder of our timeline. "Let's discuss it later, away from prying ears."
The gala continues with the predictable rhythm of such events: dinner, speeches, silent auction, dancing.
Jaxon and I perform our roles flawlessly, presenting the united front Luke coached us on.
We dance close but not too intimately, laugh at each other's comments, and exchange meaningful glances across the table.
By the time the event winds down, I'm exhausted from the constant performance. When Jaxon suggests leaving before the final round of networking, I agree eagerly.
"Just let me visit the ladies' room first," I tell him. "Meet you at the coat check?"
The relative quiet of the bathroom is a welcome respite from the social cacophony outside.
I take a moment to touch up my lipstick and gather my thoughts, unsettled by the evening's revelations.
My mother's disapproval. The unexpected jealousy over Alessandra.
Gerald's proposal that would entangle Jaxon and me even further.
When I emerge, I decide to take a shortcut through a small gallery connecting to the main ballroom. The space is dimly lit and blessedly empty, the walls adorned with photos documenting the historical events hosted at the Waldorf over the decades.
I'm halfway through when a particular image catches my eye.
It's from some charity event years ago—judging from the fashions, at least fifteen years past. What stops me isn't the event itself but the people captured in the corner of the frame: two teenage boys in ill-fitting tuxedos, looking awkward and uncomfortable.
I step closer, heart suddenly racing. The taller boy I recognize immediately as Andrew—my ex, Jaxon's brother—perhaps seventeen or eighteen, his features not yet hardened into the man I'd later date in college.
Beside him, looking mutinous and slouched against the wall, is unmistakably a younger Jaxon, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
But what makes my breath catch is the third figure in their group: a girl about Andrew's age with a familiar face that makes my stomach drop.
Me.
I'm perhaps sixteen in the photo, wearing a blue dress I vaguely remember from my mother's insistence that I attend some youth charity function. I'm standing beside Andrew, clearly part of some conversation, while Jaxon lurks at the periphery, watching us.
I have absolutely no memory of this encounter.
How is it possible that Jaxon and I met years before I dated Andrew? That we were in the same room, at the same event, having some interaction I can't recall? Why didn't Jaxon mention this when we reconnected at the hospital gala?
I step closer, studying the image. There's something in young Jaxon's expression as he looks at teenage me—an intensity that seems at odds with his slouched posture. Not quite resentment, not quite interest, but something that suggests I made some impression, however fleeting.
"Vivienne?" Jaxon's voice behind me makes me jump. "Everything okay?"
I turn, the photo still holding my attention. "Did you know?"
"Know what?" He approaches, then stops dead when he sees what I'm looking at. His expression shifts from confusion to recognition to something unreadable.
"We've met before," I say quietly. "Years before I dated Andrew. Years before that night at the charity gala."
He stares at the photo, something complicated working across his features. "I wasn't sure you'd remember."
"I don't," I admit. "That's what's so strange. I have no memory of this at all."
"It was brief," he says, voice low. "You were Andrew's lab partner in some science class. He invited you to this event—I think he was already interested in you, even then. I was dragged along because our parents insisted on the 'family appearance.'"
"And we spoke?" I press, unsettled by this gap in my memory.
Jaxon's eyes remain on the photo, something like wistfulness crossing his face. "Briefly. You asked me about music. Said you'd heard I played guitar." He smiles faintly. "You were the only person that night who talked to me like a person, not just Andrew's annoying little brother."
The revelation lands with unexpected weight. All this time, I thought our first meeting was at the charity gala. But we have a history—however minor—that predates everything. That predates Andrew, Sophia, all the complications that would later entangle our lives.
"Why didn't you mention it when we met again at the gala?" I ask.
His eyes finally meet mine, something vulnerable in their depths. "Would it have mattered? Would it have changed anything?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us is prepared to address. Before I can respond, his phone buzzes with a text.
"Car's here," he says, breaking the moment. "We should go."
As we walk toward the exit, his hand finds the small of my back in what has become a familiar gesture. But now I'm hyperaware of it, conscious that the connection between us runs deeper and more complex than I realized.
Our arrangement suddenly feels like a fragile construct built atop a foundation much more complicated than I was aware. And I'm no longer certain what's real and what's performance, what's strategic and what's something else entirely.
The one thing I know for sure: nothing about this fake engagement is as simple as I thought.