THE BILLIONAIRE’S TEMPORARY WIFE

Chapter 9: Watching Her Win

Ethan's pov

I came to that gala expecting to spend the night managing damage. Instead, I spent it watching my wife undo it.

"What a lovely surprise you've turned out to be," Victor said, that same practiced warmth in his voice that had greeted me at every family function since I was old enough to shake hands properly.

"Victor." I kept my arm steady under Zara's hand, "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it. My own gala, after all." His eyes moved to Zara, warm and appraising in a way that made something in my chest go tight. "Mrs. Vance. I'll admit, I had my doubts when I heard about the engagement. Rushed things tend to fall apart under pressure."

"Then it's a good thing we're not most things," Zara said, smooth as anything, her smile never wavering. "I appreciate the honesty, though. Most people just say congratulations and gossip afterward."

A short pause. Then Victor laughed, genuine or performed, I honestly couldn't tell anymore where the line sat with him. "She's sharp, Ethan. I like her."

"So do I," I said, and meant it more than I expected to.

"Enjoy the evening, both of you." He inclined his head and moved off toward a cluster of board members near the bar.

"Friendly," Zara murmured once he was out of earshot.

"That's one word for it."

"What's another?"

"Careful. Victor's never said anything to me in thirty-one years that didn't have a second purpose underneath it." I steered us toward the main floor, away from his line of sight. "Don't let the warmth fool you."

"I don't let anything fool me. Occupational hazard of my old job." She scanned the room, chin lifting slightly. "Who's next on the flash cards?"

"The Okafor twins, if they find us first. Otherwise just survive the small talk and let me handle the rest."

"You say that like I need handling."

"I say that because I promised myself I'd manage tonight, not enjoy it." I hadn't meant to say the second half out loud, and her eyebrow went up at the admission, but Gerald appeared at my elbow before she could push on it, murmuring something about the Whitcombe account, and I excused myself with a promise to find her within the hour.

I regretted it within twenty minutes. Not because Gerald's problem wasn't real but because every few minutes my eyes kept drifting past his shoulder, tracking a navy dress across a room full of people who'd already decided, before she ever walked in, that she didn't belong there.

I found her by the dessert table with Amara Okafor and her brother Desmond, the three of them deep in conversation, and something in the set of Amara's posture told me this wasn't small talk.

"Ethan." Amara caught sight of me and waved me over, delight plain on her face, which was rare enough on its own that I nearly stopped walking to make sure I wasn't imagining it. "Your wife has been telling us about container insurance premiums. Did you know she used to help her father run logistics before everything fell apart?"

"I did know that," I said, which was mostly true. I'd read it in a file once. Hearing Zara talk about it herself.

"She's making a compelling argument that half the industry's overpaying for coverage they don't need," Desmond said, arms crossed, though his expression held none of the skepticism his posture suggested. "I told her she should've gone into insurance instead of hospitality."

"I considered it," Zara said, dry. "Turns out hospitality pays faster and complains less."

Amara laughed, "I like her, Ethan. Truly. Where did you find this one?"

"Long story," I said, and Zara shot me a look I couldn't quite read, something between amusement and warning.

"We should talk numbers sometime," Amara said to Zara. "Properly. Lunch, maybe, away from all this noise."

"I'd like that," Zara said, and I believed her, and something about the ease of it, settled something in my chest that I didn't examine too closely.

"You should give her a real role," Amara said to me, half-joking, half not. "Advisory board, something. She'd run circles around most of the men currently sitting on it."

"I'll take that under advisement," I said, and Amara laughed like I'd made a much better joke than I had.

"I'm serious, Ethan. Don't waste what's standing right next to you."

They drifted off toward the bar together a few minutes later, and I stood there a moment just watching her go.

"She's good," Daniel said, appearing at my shoulder with two drinks, handing me one without asking if I wanted it. "Better than good. I don't think I've seen this room warm up to an outsider that fast in years."

"She's not performing," I said. "That's the difference. Everyone in this room can smell performance from across the floor. She just… talks to people."

"Revolutionary concept." Daniel took a sip of his drink, watching her across the room with an expression I couldn't quite place. "You look happy, by the way. I don't think I've seen that particular look on you in a while."

"I'm not… " I stopped, because the denial died somewhere in my throat before I could finish it, unconvincing even to myself.

"You don't have to finish that sentence." He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad, Ethan. Genuinely. God knows you've earned something good happening to you for once."

"It's temporary," I said, out of habit more than conviction.

"Sure it is." Daniel's smile didn't quite reach his eyes when he said it.

"Any luck with what we talked about?" he asked, dropping his voice. "The list?"

"Still working through it."

"Let me know when you're ready to talk it through properly. Offer still stands." He raised his glass slightly, an easy toast to nothing in particular, and I nodded without committing to anything, my mind already somewhere across the room again.

He drifted off toward the bar, and I lost myself in the crowd again.

I found her again near the terrace doors, deep in conversation with Walter Halloway, one of the oldest and most stubborn investors on our board, a man who'd called me "too young for the job" to my face at every shareholders' meeting for the past four years and had never once been wrong enough about anything to make disagreeing with him easy.

"...and that's when my husband tried to convince the harbor master we didn't need the permit," Zara was saying, gesturing with her free hand, "which, for the record, we absolutely needed."

"Sounds like every man I've ever worked with," Halloway said, wheezing out a laugh that turned into a genuine cough, delighted despite himself. "Confidence without paperwork. Dangerous combination."

"The most dangerous kind, honestly."

"You remind me of my late wife," he said, quieter now, something soft crossing his weathered face. "She never let anyone in a room forget she belonged in it either."

"That's a real compliment. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just keep doing it." He patted her hand.

I realized I wasn't performing a marriage anymore… I was jealous of a seventy-year-old man for making her smile like that.