Chapter 9: Muse
972 Words
The words were calm and factual.
Maren’s smile remained in place.
“I know.”
She did know.
Still, something small shifted inside her chest before she pushed it away.
This was an arrangement.
Lucian was generous because he believed obligations should be fulfilled correctly.
She was cheerful because cooperation was better than hostility.
Neither of them was falling in love.
Perfectly simple.
She ate the food he had given her.
It tasted unusually good.
After dinner, Maren carried her laptop and sketchbooks into the sitting room.
She spread references across the low table.
Classical portraits.
Ocean patterns.
Architectural lines.
Botanical structures.
Photographs of dancers, musicians, storms, cities, and faces.
The word muse appeared at the center of every page and refused to become a real idea.
Maren leaned back against the sofa.
“What inspires people with no problems?”
Arthur placed tea beside her.
“People with no problems are uncommon.”
“What inspires very wealthy people?”
“Usually the acquisition of additional wealth.”
“That is not jewelry.”
“It frequently becomes jewelry.”
Maren considered that.
Lucian entered the sitting room while reading a contract.
She looked up.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You usually do.”
“If you loved a woman, would you buy her a company?”
Lucian stopped reading.
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
Maren waited.
Lucian lowered the document.
“Why?”
“Research.”
“For jewelry?”
“For billionaires.”
“Those are different subjects.”
“In the novel, men like you buy companies whenever the woman they love encounters a minor inconvenience.”
“What novel?”
Maren immediately corrected herself.
“In novels. Generally.”
Lucian resumed walking.
“No.”
“No?”
“I would not acquire a company without reviewing its financial condition, liabilities, management structure, and strategic value.”
Maren stared at him.
“That is the least romantic answer possible.”
“It is the only responsible answer.”
“So if the woman you loved worked for a terrible employer, you would do nothing?”
“I would resolve the problem.”
“How?”
“That would depend on the problem.”
“Would you buy the company?”
“Not unless it was worth buying.”
Maren looked at Arthur.
“He’s very normal for a billionaire.”
Arthur poured more tea.
“Mr. Ravenscroft is not merely the son of a wealthy man. The Ravenscroft family has held substantial assets for generations.”
Lucian sat in an armchair and reopened the contract.
Arthur continued, “He assumed major family responsibilities at a young age and became head of the family before reaching adulthood.”
Maren looked back at Lucian.
The original novel had barely given him a page.
A cold husband.
A powerful background character.
A convenient man for the foolish supporting woman to betray.
It had never explained how much weight he carried or how young he had been when it was placed on him.
“You became the head of the family as a teenager?”
Lucian did not look up.
“Yes.”
“That sounds terrible.”
This time, he did look at her.
Most people praised the achievement.
They called him exceptional, ruthless, gifted, inevitable.
Maren was the first person to call it terrible.
She held his gaze, completely sincere.
“You should have been doing irresponsible things and making bad decisions.”
“I had no interest in either.”
“That is because no one taught you properly.”
Arthur coughed.
Lucian stared at her for a moment longer before returning to the contract.
“You should work on your competition.”
Maren recognized the dismissal.
She also noticed that he had not disagreed.
She lowered her attention to the blank sketchbook.
Several minutes passed.
The room became quiet except for paper turning and the soft tapping of her pencil.
Maren drew a curve.
Erased it.
Drew another.
Nothing felt alive.
She closed the sketchbook and stretched.
“I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Lucian glanced at the scattered pages.
“You give up quickly.”
“I’m pausing strategically.”
“That is a convenient phrase.”
“It’s an important professional skill.”
Arthur approached with a reminder.
“Mrs. Ravenscroft, the final fitting for Lady Ravenscroft’s birthday celebration is tomorrow afternoon.”
Maren straightened.
“Her birthday is next week?”
“Yes. The celebration will be held at Ravenscroft Estate.”
Old memories stirred.
Helena Ravenscroft.
Lucian’s grandmother.
The woman whose friendship with Maren’s late grandmother had created the marriage agreement.
Helena had approved the match.
She also believed Maren and Lucian were building a real marriage.
Maren looked across at him.
Their current relationship involved separate bedrooms, financial paperwork, warm milk, and one serving of vegetables.
Convincing an observant grandmother that they were deeply in love might be difficult.
“We need evidence,” Maren said.
Lucian looked up from the contract.
“Of what?”
“That we’re a convincing married couple.”
“We are married.”
“Legally. Grandmothers are not impressed by legal documentation.”
Arthur’s mouth twitched.
Maren picked up her phone and walked toward Lucian.
“We should take a picture together.”
Lucian’s expression became wary.
“A picture.”
“A normal married-couple picture.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard my argument.”
“I heard the request.”
Maren stopped in front of him.
“Couples use photographs as phone backgrounds.”
“We are not that kind of couple.”
“Exactly.”
Lucian’s gaze sharpened.
Maren smiled and raised her phone.
“If we cannot look in love, we need to become better at appearing accidentally in love.”
Lucian set the contract aside.
“Reason.”
- Writer
