PART THREE: THE PERFORMANCE. CHAPTER FIVE
489 Words
The performance required a different kind of discipline.
Business was about aggression; romance was about restraint. Marcus realized quickly that Diane didn't want a man who worshipped her—she wanted a man who saw her.
He began to keep a notebook. Not a digital one that could be hacked, but a small, leather-bound book he kept in his inner coat pocket. In it, he recorded the minutiae of her soul.
• Hates lilies; they remind her of her grandmother’s funeral.
• Drinks Earl Grey with a drop of honey when she’s stressed.
• Secretly doubts her decision to sell the family estate in 2012.
• Wants to be listened to, not solved.
He deployed these facts like tactical strikes.
When she had a difficult board meeting, he would have a cup of Earl Grey with exactly one drop of honey waiting on her desk when she returned. He wouldn't say a word. He would just nod and go back to his work.
He watched her melt.
"How did you know?" she asked one evening, holding the warm mug.
"I pay attention to the things that matter, Diane," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "You matter."
He became a master of the "unspoken." He would show up at her favorite gallery just as she was leaving, claiming he was "just passing by and thought of her." He would buy her books on obscure architecture because she’d mentioned an interest in it three months prior.
He was becoming fluent in the language of her heart, but he was speaking it with a foreign accent he had to practice in the mirror.
One night, they were at her penthouse. They had cooked dinner together—or rather, she had cooked while he stood close enough to let his heat radiate toward her.
"I was married once," she said suddenly, staring into her wine. "A long time ago. He wanted my father’s company. When he realized I wasn't going to just hand him the reins, he left."
Marcus felt a momentary spike of adrenaline. Careful, he told himself.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and steady.
"Don't be. It taught me that people usually have a price," she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were searching his, looking for a crack, a lie, a shadow. "What’s your price, Marcus?"
He walked over to her, taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table. He took both of her hands in his.
"I don't have a price, Diane. I have a purpose. And right now, my purpose is making sure you never have to wonder if you’re alone in this again."
He saw the last of her defenses crumble. She leaned her forehead against his chest, her shoulders shaking with a suppressed sob. Marcus held her, his chin resting on the top of her head, his eyes fixed on the lights of the city outside.
He was winning.
- Writer
