The Understudy Bride

CHAPERFIVE

Mia didn't answer right away. She lifted her face and tried looking at Damian across the table, trying to figure out if he meant what he said.

"Are you saying that we should stay married?" she said. "For how long?"

"Twelve months. That's what the clause says." Damian said it flat, like he was reading a schedule. "After that, an annulment doesn't trigger the penalty. Your father's company survives either way."

"A year."

"A year."

Mia sat back in her chair. Down the hall, a phone rang twice and stopped. She thought about her apartment in Queens. Her old life. The one she had before yesterday morning, back when her biggest problem was picking between two dresses.

"I have a job," she said.

"Keep it."

"I have an apartment."

"Keep that too." He leaned back. "But think about it. Most people wouldn't want cameras following them home to a small walk-up the week after marrying into Cole Hotels. The press will look for somewhere to point a lens. Better it's somewhere that doesn't raise questions."

"So I move in with you."

"You move into the penthouse. Do not mistake that for staying together." He folded his hands on the table. "I would love both of us to understand the terms before we settle down."

"Go ahead. Be clear."

"Separate bedrooms. Not up for discussion."

"I wasn't going to argue that one."

"Public appearances only when we need them. Galas. Board events. Anything that keeps the merger looking solid. The rest of the time, we live apart, under one roof. I'm not interested in playing house, Miss Alvarez. I doubt you are either."

"You can call me Mia."

That stopped him for a second. "Mia," he said, testing the word. "Fine. Twelve months. At the end, we file for divorce, quiet and clean, and you leave with a settlement big enough that this year costs you nothing. Your father's company survives. My board stops asking questions. Everyone gets what they need."

"Except me."

He looked at her. Something like real curiosity crossed his face. "What do you need that isn't on the table."

Mia actually thought about it this time, instead of just reacting.

"I need this to be fair," she said. "Not generous. Fair. Right now you're describing a year when I vanished into your life and came out the other side with a check. I want my own terms."

"Go on."

"I will keep my job. Not as a favor. As a right. If your PR team wants a story about a wife who doesn't work, that's their problem. Not mine."

"Agreed."

"I want a say in the settlement now. In writing. Not something your lawyers decide alone a year from now, when it's easier to lowball me."

Something close to respect crossed his face. "Also agreed."

"And I want this clear, right now, in this room. If you ever talk to me the way your uncle did an hour ago, like I'm a problem managing, this ends. Penalty or no penalty. I'll take my father's company down with me before I sit through a year of that."

The room went quiet. Damian studied her for a long moment. Mia held his gaze instead, showing the composer that for the past two days she had not shown.

"That's not a condition," he said finally. "That's basic decency. You shouldn't have to ask for it."

"I've learned not to assume anything."

He nodded once, slowly. "Understood. Write your terms down. My lawyers will look them over tonight. We'll have something signed by morning."

"That's fast."

"No reason to wait. Is there?"

Mia didn't have an answer. So she asked, sitting under everything else.

"What do I tell people? My friends. My coworkers. What's the story."

"The truth, mostly. Minus whatever would ruin your father." He said it like he'd already worked it out. "A whirlwind. You and Bianca had a falling out. You stepped in. We fell for each other faster than either of us expected. People will want to believe that anyway. Nobody likes a boring wedding story."

"And Bianca."

Something flickered across his face. Not anger. Closer to tired. "I'd like an answer to that myself. Your father seemed strangely calm about his daughter vanishing on her wedding day."

Mia hadn't told him about the dessert table yet. She wasn't sure why she was about to now. Maybe because the room felt quiet enough. Maybe because, for once, they were on the same side of something.

"He wasn't worried," she said. "Not the way a father should be if his daughter really vanished. He said she'd turn up. Like he expected it."

Damian's eyes sharpened. "You think he knew where she was."

"I think my father knew more than he told either of us." She'd never said it out loud before. Saying it made it feel true. "I don't have proof. Just a feeling. And twenty-six years of watching him manage things instead of living through them."

Damian didn't answer right away. He picked up the folder Vincent had left behind. He turned it over once in his hands.

"My uncle handled this contract," he said slowly. "Your father signed it. Bianca disappeared the morning it needed honoring. That solves a problem for exactly one person in this whole mess."

"You think it's connected."

"I don't believe in coincidences that are convenient." He set the folder down. "But that's a problem for another day. Today we have a wedding to explain and a year to survive."

Mia almost laughed. Not because any of this was funny. But because "survive" was the right word. Hearing him say it made the whole thing feel briefly manageable.

"One year," she said.

"One year," Damian stood and buttoned his jacket. He moved toward the door. "Someone will collect your things from the hotel this afternoon. A car will come for you at six."

"That's it? We're just doing this?"

He stopped at the door and looked back.

"You said yes to a stranger yesterday because your family needed you to," he said. "I'm asking you to say yes to a year on better terms. I'd call that an improvement."

He left before she could decide if that was a joke.