The CEO's Secret Vow

Episode 3

Izzy was in the middle of the room and her eyes were roving over the stark richness of her new place of residence. Abstract art was used on the walls, furniture was smooth and contemporary, but somehow cold, distant. It was all more of a show--an hollow than a house. The bed was enormous and neatly constructed, as though it were mocking at her loss. No familiarity, no warmth.

The thought was interrupted by the soft knocking on the door.

Come in, she called, and her voice had a foreign quality in the great empty room.

The door swung open, and a woman came in--a high, dignified personage in a keen black dress. Izzy immediately understood that she was one of the trusted employees of Dante. She possessed a silent assurance which indicated that she had a long time to figure out how to maneuver the politics of this house.

Mr. Montello, Mr. Montello said, asked me to dine with Miss Knight.

Izzy hesitated. Naturally, of course, she answered, attempting to be calm. She did not know whether the invitation to dinner was a favor or necessity, but she was aware that there was nothing she could do but accept it.

The woman did not give her time to collect her thoughts. The dress code is business formal. An hour later dinner will be served.

The woman had disappeared before Izzy could say anything, and left her with the disturbing impression of being spied upon. She paused a moment, attempting to clear the tornado of her feelings.

The fact of her predicament was taking its toll. She found herself in this huge house, obliged by a contract to a man she hardly knew, but on grounds which had nothing to do with love. The strain of the last few days, the strain of the deal, had only increased. She was not a chess piece in the game of Dante, but his equal player, who had fallen into a contract which was to determine the next year of her life. An hour later Izzy was walking down the long corridor toward the dining room, with each step reverberating in silence. The house seemed even bigger than when she had first entered it and now, as the night was closing in, seemed oppressive.

When she came up to the great wooden doors she stood still and drew a deep breath. She was not merely entering a dining room, but entering the world of Dante, the world of business, secrets and power. She had to be careful. A misstep, a single wrong move and she might lose not only her dignity.

The doors opened and she entered.

Dante was already seated at the head of the table and his black eyes looked up as she walked in. It was a commanding look, something that gave her a shudder. He stared at her with a disturbing composure whose face was invisible.

Join me, pray, said Dante, and his voice was as smooth as the chair he was to sit on was leather.

Izzy nodded and walked towards the opposite chair. She was not sitting at once but waiting until he recognised her presence.

You look... striking, said Dante, and his eyes were lingering on her, estimating. "The dress suits you."

The fingers of Izzy clenched behind the chair, her mind busy to keep her calm. The praise was frigid--a commentary rather than a statement of praise. Still, it irritated her. She did not come here to be flattered.

Thanks, she said in a curt manner.

Dante looked softer, but just a fraction of a second. He was examining her like he was searching her armor. She felt that this was not merely a dinner affair but a preparatory dinner to the coming year.

He pointed at the food in front of them. I hope the employees have made something to your taste?

Glancing down at the elaborate spread, Izzy saw fine china and gleaming silverware in the glare of the chandelier. The meal was fine, nearly extravagant, but not the meal which interested her. It was the manner in which Dante conducted the dialogue, and every word he uttered was well decided, like he was dictating the pace of their conversation.

I suppose it will be all right, she said steadily. She had to stay focused. This was not the place to feel.

They ate in relative silence and the tension between them simmersed. It was not merely the fact that they were strangers who were forced into a marriage. It was the burden of the things that were left to be said--the force of plays, the strategy of each words and each look. She wondered whether he was already planning his next step and had to think over her every move.

Why are you silent to-night, Dante? said. "Is it the food? The company?"

Izzy's gaze snapped to him. It was there once more--the challenge, the little reminder that she was his captive, that everything of this was beyond her power.

I am simply adapting, she said, cutting the word short. "A new home, a new life. It'll take time."

Dante sat back in his chair, with fingers tapping on the edge of his glass. His gaze never wavered off of her and Izzy could feel the burden of his gaze.

I know, I said, and it was very strange how soft his voice was. "It's a big change. but you see you will get on with it.

The eyes of Izzy were shifting towards the window, where he watched the lights of the city glittering in the far distance. She felt the contract being a shadow over her with the expiration date written on her mind of one year. But she did not come here only a year. She was here to survive.

I will adjust, I said, and I knew it was not true.

Dante stood and stared a long time at her, his face indescribable. Then, having as though the conversation never been anything but business, he sipped wine and laid the glass down.

The words were not complicated, Izzy, said the voice in a low tone. "I've made it clear. You'll play your part. I'll play mine. However, do not confuse it with one thing and another. We are not equals, we are partners. I do not want your love, I want you to obey.

Izzy could feel the pain of his words, the cold that was exuded by him. She had not anticipated less, but the harshness of his sincerity struck her more than she supposed it would.

I have no business here, I am not here to be loved. But I will not be your prisoner, too.

What it might have been, Dante was not sure, but his eyes fluttered with it. "You won't be a prisoner, Izzy. But you'll be tested. You see that I can offer you more than signing contracts and going to dinners.

The heart of Izzy jumped, and it was the first time that she wondered what sort of a game Dante was playing. She could not get rid of the impression that it was not the end.

Dante stood, indicating the close of their dinner, and stood at the door. We will talk tomorrow of the next steps in your position of Mrs. Montello. Don't disappoint me."

Izzy sat there with her hands on the table and her mind was racing. Tomorrow. What would tomorrow bring?

The door clucked behind her and the room was so quiet it was choking. On his own, Izzy was not able to get out of the sense of the walls closing in.

And at the bottom of Dante watching her she was warned: this was only the start. The real test was yet to come.

Izzy had always in the back of her mind that the wedding would be like an obligation, a cold transaction. However, nothing could have primed her about how impersonal it was.

It was a beautiful place, a big ballroom, with high columns and chandeliers. However, the room was so beautiful that it was remote, sterile--a atmosphere of a business meeting, rather than a love party. The gentle murmur of the guests and the sound of glasses, the noises of a high society party, where all was measured, calculated, were the only warmth of the room.

Whenever she stood close to the altar, her eyes looked at Dante who was already waiting to receive her. He was imposing and very tall in his dark tuxedo and his face was not readable. He wasn't nervous. She could tell. Things such as nerves did not enter his world because he had already figured out all the results. He was a goal-oriented man and even at this point.

Her stomach churned.

She never thought her marriage would appear this way cold, sterile, and full of people who would not be interested in anything except the show. No flowers were speaking of love, no gentle glances between the couple. No pleasure in the air, but a feeling of duty.

Her father was by her side, and he was determined, and his face was hard as he could not move a single thing in this moment but the ceremony. He wasn't proud. He was in a state of desperation, desperate to rescue the family empire. And he was ready to lose his daughter to it.

Izzy shakily held his hand but soon concealed it with her fingers gripping the bouquet she was holding. She looked out at the guests and found hundreds of strangers, who were not really interested in her as an individual. They were present to see the Knight family fall and, maybe, to see a display of strength.

As the music came on, it was like a funeral march. The movements which carried her to Dante were tedious, like each inch reminding her of the dangling chains at which she had so readily consented to fasten. Izzy stepped to the altar, and stood only inches away, and in view of Dante. His eyes were cold and evaluating. No, no, it was not love in his eye. However, there was something different there. Something more dangerous.

The official who was a silent man in a black robe began the ceremony and his utterances were inaudible as the mind of Izzy ran. The heaviness of the ring on her finger was becoming heavier by the minute. She hardly heard the vows, the oaths of fidelity which she knew Dante could never fulfil. This wasn't a marriage of love. It was a marriage of survival.

As she came to speak, her voice became steady and she cleared her throat. I, I, Isabella Knight, marry you, Dante Montello...

Her tongue was hollow and she could hardly complete the sentence. How would she vow to remain faithful to a man who regarded her as nothing but an end in herself?

His voice low and commanding, Dante never took his eyes off hers when he spoke his own vows. I, Dante Montello, espouse thee, Isabella Knight, to my wife...

His language was frigid and hard and she could see the barrier between them growing. This was business. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then, as you see, they were married.

The welcome was as splendid as anticipated, but it was a play also. The laughter was unnatural, the toasts too good, the smiles too artificial. Izzy was sitting at the same table with Dante, and the weight of the room was crushing her. She did not know what to say to him- what did you say to a man who had just stolen everything of you?

Dante bent over her, and spoke in a low voice. You are beautiful, Izzy, you are beautiful, he said, and this was a compliment, a strange, nearly disarming compliment.

It threw her off. She did not want to feel anything about him, not to mention that she wanted to appreciate his words. Something in her could not but admire the honesty in them--he was not accustomed to compliments, and she could tell how he might sometimes have a glimpse of something gentler in his eyes.

But now the time was over, and his walls were rebuilt. Don't complicate this unnecessarily, he said, in a cold voice. "We both know why we're here."

Izzy's heart skipped a beat. Was he indicating something greater? She couldn't tell. His voice was so infernally repressed. But now there was something in his eyes, something different. Perhaps it was the graveness of the occasion, or perhaps it was the stress of the occasion, but Dante was not as impassive as he seemed.

She did not want to talk, and her lips were pressed. Night was certainly not over yet, and she had no doubts that he would continue to keep her at arm length, as he always did. Yet, she could not get rid of the emotion that it could only become more complicated.