Stepping into the sitting room, her eyes met with Adrian's tall figure. He had changed into a pair of dark jeans and a gray sweater. To Elena, this outfit made him more intimidating, yet more human.
Looking her up and down, Adrian noted no injuries on her. "Mrs. Chen will show you to your room," he said. "There's an outfit laid out for you. Get changed into that."
Elena followed the housekeeper down a hallway lined with real art. The guest room was larger than her flat.
She pulled out her phone, wanting to check in on Lucas to make sure he hadn't heard about her situation. Unfortunately, she couldn't reach him, and that worried her.
The outfit in question was a chic, floral gown, simple yet elegant. She changed into the dress and stepped out to meet Adrian with a woman. Perhaps fifty, impeccably dressed, with military posture. She introduced herself as Simone.
For two hours, both Elena and Adrian were drilled on how to stand together without giving off the awkward vibe of strangers. Hand placements, the precise smile angle for cameras. Next, they had to memorize responses about their relationship.
"How did you meet?" Simone asked for the third time.
"He came to my gallery looking for a painting one fateful day. We started talking about art. It turned out he was a lover of the art industry. He kept coming back, and here we are."
"Better. But look at him when you say it. Like the memory makes you happy."
Elena threw a look at Adrian. "This is absurd," she muttered.
"This is necessary," Simone corrected. "Tomorrow night, every gesture and response will be scrutinized. You need to be fluent in the language of couples."
"I know how to act like I like someone."
"Liking isn't enough. You need to convince the world that you're in love. That means comfort. Familiarity."
Adrian spoke. "How do we achieve that in less than twelve hours?"
"Touch each other. Frequently. Get comfortable with proximity." Simone gathered her things. "I'll return at four tomorrow. Until then, practice. And Mr. Hale? Try smiling. You look like you're negotiating a hostile takeover."
When she left, the silence felt enormous.
Mrs Chen served dinner. They both sat at opposite ends of the really long dining table.
Adrian, exhaling loudly, stood up with his plate, closing the gap between them and sitting right beside her with his plate.
"So, do you cook?" she asked in a bid to start a conversation.
"No, I don't have a reason to. My chef does a wonderful job," He cut through the steak with surgical precision. "Do you?"
"When I have time. My mother taught me." Elena set down her fork. "The painting you were looking for. Did you find it?"
Adrian's hand stilled. "No."
"What was it?"
"Does it matter?"
"You came specifically for it. So yes."
He was quiet for a moment, perhaps pondering whether or not to have this conversation, "A landscape. Nothing famous. My mother used to take me to see it before she left. It was sold years ago. I thought your gallery might have it."His voice cracked slightly.
"My mother kept records. If you provide me with the artist's name, I can look it up and maybe find it for you."
Adrian looked up at her, "You'd do that?"
"Yeah. Besides, we're supposed to practice being comfortable. Knowing things about each other seems like a start."
The corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. "Practical."
"One of us has to be."
They finished their meal with slightly less tension. To Simone, this was progress, measured in millimeters.
After dinner, Adrian retired to his room, leaving Elena to enjoy her alone time. He soon came out, an hour later, finding her by the windows, staring at London's glittering sprawl.
"We should practice," he said, startling her in the process.
"Practice what?" She asked, after catching her breath.
"Proximity. If you flinch every time I touch you tomorrow, no one will believe we're engaged."
"I don't flinch." She said, her voice almost sounding like a whisper, as she tucked some strands of hair behind her ear.
"You do." He took steps towards her, "Every time." He stopped at a careful distance away. "May I?"
She gulped down the lump in her throat as she nodded.
His hand slid around her waist, light but definite, causing her to forget to breathe momentarily. She grabbed onto his arm in defiance.
"Relax," Adrian said quietly.
"I am relaxed."
"Your shoulders are by your ears."
Elena forced herself to breathe. It was just a pose. Performance.
"Better." His other hand adjusted their position. "Tomorrow, photographers. Questions. Watching eyes. If you can't relax around me, no one will believe this."
Elena looked up. The height difference becoming very apparent. In dim light, his eyes were almost silver. "Maybe if you were less..."
"Less what?" His voice sent shivers down her spine.
"Less you. Less intimidating. Less calculating."
Despite himself, his mouth quirked. "I wasn't calculating anything."
"Liar."
"How long until you bolt?"
Elena felt the urge to smile. "I signed a contract. I don't bolt."
"Good to know."
They stood by windows, London spread below like diamonds. Adrian's hand was still on her waist, pulling her into a hug.
"This is strange," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"Are we supposed to get used to it?"
"I hope so. We have twenty-nine long days ahead."
He released her, stepping away with careful precision. But his warmth still lingered on her waist.
"Get some rest," Adrian said, voice returning to neutral. "Tomorrow will be exhausting."
Elena retreated to the guest room, closing the door with a sense of relief. She pressed her palms against her flushed cheeks.
It was just one month of performance. Nothing more, nothing less.
*************************************************
The next morning, the guest room had been transformed into a showroom.
Elena sat surrounded by activity: a hairstylist wielding heated tools, a makeup artist studying her face, Simone overseeing with military authority.
"Chin up," the makeup artist murmured. "Perfect."
Elena barely recognized herself. Soft waves cascading over one shoulder. Flawless makeup.
And the dress.
Midnight blue silk that draped like water. Elegant, understated, unmistakably expensive.
"How much did this cost?"
"Don't think about it," Simone said, adjusting the fabric. "Tonight, you're not the struggling gallery owner. You're Elena Ward, fiancée of Adrian Hale. You belong in that dress. Believe it, and everyone else will too."
Elena wanted to argue, but the woman staring back at her in the mirror looked like she belonged.
"Remember to smile and touch him. Make sure to look like you can't imagine being anywhere else."
The pressure was getting to her, but she was determined to give it her best.
Adrian was on the phone when Elena emerged. He stood by the windows in a tuxedo, all clean lines and elegance. He was saying something about projections when he turned, his words dying mid-sentence.
For a moment, something unguarded crossed his face. Then, it was smoothed into controlled approval.
"I'll call you back," he said, ending the conversation.
Elena stood frozen, hyperaware of every inch of skin, every styled wave.
"You look perfect," Adrian said.
Not beautiful. Perfect.
She noted his words, like a piece clicking into his carefully arranged world, beaming with confidence.
"You look appropriate," she managed.
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "High praise."
Mrs. Chen appeared with a clutch and a wrap. Adrian checked his watch, managing anxiety.
"Car's waiting. Ready?"
No. "Yes." She said, trying to calm herself.
As they rode through evening traffic, Adrian briefed with military efficiency. "Pemberton Foundation Gala. That's where we are heading. Everyone who matters would be there. Stay close. Smile. For difficult questions, defer to me."
"Don't embarrass you," Elena finished quietly.
He looked at her, something flickering. "I was going to say, don't let them intimidate you. You have every right to be there."
The reassurance made her chest tighten.
The car slowed. Through the windows, the hotel blazed, with a red carpet stretching. Cameras. So many cameras.
"Oh God."
Adrian's hand found hers. "Breathe. Smile. We're madly in love, remember?"
The door opened. The world exploded into light.
Camera flashes were blinding. Voices shouted over each other.
"Mr Adrian! Over here!"
"Ms Elena! This way!"
"How long have you both been together?"
"Is it true you are both engaged?"
"When's the wedding?"
"What about Ms Clara?"
Adrian's hand settled on her lower back, possessive. Elena leaned in, tilting up with a painted smile. They posed. Moved. Performed.
By the time they reached the ballroom, her face hurt.
The interior was breathtaking: crystal chandeliers, marble columns, and tables in white and gold—fit for London's elite. Champagne flowing. String quartet playing. As though on cue, every eye turned towards them.
"Adrian Hale." A silver-haired man approached. "And this must be the mysterious lady that finally captured your heart."
Adrian chuckled, "Elena Ward, my fiancée," Adrian said smoothly. "Elena, Sir Robert Pemberton, tonight's host."
Elena summoned the gallery charm, "Thank you for having us. This is extraordinary."
"We're delighted. I understand you run The Ward Gallery in Kensington?"
"I do. It was my mother's."
"Wonderful. You must tell me more."
And so it began. Endless introductions. Careful navigation. Adrian stayed close, his presence anchoring. Occasionally, his hand brushed her back, maintaining the illusion.
Elena played perfectly, but in the end, she drowned. Adrian's expression became rigid as he watched Clara Moretti's figure descending the stairs.