Chapter 006

"Ava, are you anxious?"

I lack the strength to respond, but the question still lingers. As I tighten the collar of my dress, which is a deep midnight blue that I hoped would evoke a feeling, my fingers tremble a little. It feels more like armor, a costume for a part I never tried out for. A part of a life that seems more and more alien.

I say, "I'm not nervous," but it's a hollow statement. In the hopes that it will be convincing, I fake a smile at my mirror.

However, I don't want to be the woman who is staring back at me. I hardly recognize her anymore.

My breath freezes in my throat as the living room door swings open behind me. The time has come.

"Supper is ready," declares the housekeeper. Her gentle yet stern voice serves as a reminder that night has come, the night I will formally enter a world I never selected.

I inhaled deeply. Every step feels more difficult than the last as I walk to the dining room, my heart pounding. I pause for a second when I get to the door, thinking if I should just turn around and leave. However, I am unable to. Now, there is nowhere to flee to.

He's inside when I walk in.

Rogan.

With his back to me and his posture tight, he stands by the window. I doubt that he is thinking about something as unimportant as that, yet his dark hair is ruffled as though he has been stroking it all night. When he does turn, his eyes are as frigid as ever and his face is unreadable. I prepare myself, but his stare hits me more forcefully than I anticipated.

Neither of us says anything for a moment. Between us, the quiet looms like a dense mist. It seems like the things we must speak are stuck inside of us and won't come out.

I eventually manage to say, "Rogan," the word tasting strange on my tongue. He doesn't say anything, but I can feel the weight of his stare. Rather, he points to the table, where the meal has been prepared in a spotless arrangement of exquisite china and silverware. "Should we?"

I nod and take slow, deliberate steps toward the table. My palms are clammy, and my ears are thudding loudly from the pulse in my neck. I don't want him to see that, though. I don't want him to understand the extent of my feelings about this arrangement. The pain of being in the same room as him, so close to him, yet so far away.

With the silverware gleaming like a reminder of everything that separates us, the grandeur of the table accentuates the gap between us as we sit across from one another.

The standard greetings are exchanged at the beginning of the conversation; nothing too intimate or genuine. His voice is lifeless and bland as he discusses business and the status of a project. I nod in agreement while feigning attention and concern. However, one ear hears the words, and the other hears them. He keeps his eyes fixed on his plate, as though he's too scared to look at me, and that's all I can see.

He eventually looks me in the eyes after a few minutes, and for the smallest of seconds, I catch something—something ephemeral. Something like a flash of emotion? Feeling sorry? I wonder whether I saw the fleeting flash of warmth that flickers in his eyes. However, it does exist, albeit just below the surface. It's evident in the way his shoulders subtly shift and his jaw tightens.

"Do you like everything?" He asks in a detached tone, as if he is doing so out of duty rather than real curiosity.

I take a deep breath. "It's okay," I say in a voice that is too quiet and unsure. I feel as though I'm participating in a play that I don't want to be in.

After a lengthy silence, I believe the tension will subside for a moment. However, it doesn't. Rather, the air becomes thicker and heavier with unspoken things and all that we are both trying to avoid. I want to yell at him and ask him why he is treating me this way and why he is behaving as though this is just a commercial transaction. However, the words become lodged in my throat.

I choose to pick at my food instead, shoving the veggies around my plate while feigning indifference to his observation of me. He may not even be aware of how much this pains me. How awful it is for me to sit across from him and see him act so cold and uninterested, as if I were a complete stranger.

Something in his eyes, however, suggests otherwise.

Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, he speaks once more.

He speaks sharply now, as if he's going to make this as clinical as possible, "Ava, we need to discuss our... arrangement." "The wedding, our engagement, everything. Time is of the essence.

I raise my head and look him in the eyes. My chest gets constricted. "I understand," I respond, my voice revealing the resentment I can no longer suppress. "Rogan, I know the timeline. We are getting married. It's not as if I have any say in the situation.

I can sense the change in the atmosphere—the tension that builds whenever he's upset—as his eyes narrow. But beneath the surface, there's another element that baffles me. A glimmer of annoyance? Feeling sorry?

With an angry tone, he yells, "Stop acting like that, Ava." "I understand that you're upset about this. However, I'm not either. It's not only you who is being coerced into this.

I feel a sting in my chest as the words hit me harder than I anticipated. I really don't know what to say anymore, but I want to say anything, anything. Although his remarks are a bit harsh, they also contain an honesty and an admission of something I hadn't previously thought about.

"So why?" My voice is hardly audible as I whisper. "Why are you doing this if you don't want to? Why comply with it?

His jaw tightens as his gaze changes. He opens his mouth to say something, but he shuts it again as fast. I believe for a second that he might tell me anything, something significant, something that would explain all of this. Instead, he pushes his chair back with a sharp scrape and rises up suddenly.

He says icily, "I don't have time for this tonight." "We'll discuss it further later."

He then exits the room, leaving me seated at the table with the unresolved questions still lingering between us.

With my fists curled hard around the edge of the table, I gaze at the vacant chair across from me. I can feel the weight of everything between us—the hurt, the bewilderment, and the resentment—and the oppressive quiet in the room.

Nevertheless, there is something more profound there in spite of all. Something I'm not sure where to put. a relationship that neither of us is willing to accept.

I sense it, but I'm not sure what it is.

And I hear him say one final word, in a voice that is just audible above a whisper, before the door shuts behind him.

"Ava, you're not an expert on everything. However, you will.

I'm left in silence after that, my heart pounding as the puzzle pieces start to fit together in my head.