The Charade Begins

I looked at the rock he had just slid on my finger, no prior notice, no request, just go ahead and put a ring on me because you are Richard Numero Junior, the golden boy and heir to a million-dollar empire.

"Well isn't this romantic!" I hissed sarcastically.

"You want me to go on one knee?" he asked with a smirk, while I snatched my hand back. "The charade has begun, my lovely. Put up your best act."

I glared at him. "Don't call me that! I am not your anything!"

"But you are quite lovely tonight. Now smile like you adore me," he said, leading me inside.

The hall was filled with men in suits who looked like they could buy the universe if they felt like it. Junior introduced me as his fiancée, and they congratulated us in turn. One of them, an older man with a shiny bald head, asked, "So, Miss Williams, how did you get your hooks in this man. We have been waiting for this moment for years already,"

 "Oh, we have been together for years already. Teenage sweethearts, you know. I guess he just wasn't ready to make it official. Recently, he just walked up to me and slid this rock on my finger," I explained with an extra sweet smile. "So, here I am, trying to make him look less insufferable."

Junior coughed, his drink almost going to the wrong pipe and the men burst into laughter. "You've got a lot to handle here, Junior. I wish you luck!" The men switched to business talks as I stood there like his glorified suitcase. I can't live like this. I am an independent woman. I cannot be some sort of room décor for a man. As I stood there, I learned that the Numeros had their hooks in basically every sector of the economy including politics.

After the meeting, there was a small dinner with music playing in the background. I had a lot of wine trying to keep myself distracted. Just as I was about to grab another glass of wine, Junior grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor.

"Do you ever ask for consent?" I whispered sharply.

"Keeping up appearances," he replied, pulling me closer. My body met his and I stiffened trying hard not to flinch. His hand rested on my waist and I was suddenly very aware of every inch of my body he had access to. Flashes of our past danced in my memories again, I had been having recurring flashbacks since last night.

 "I don't dance," I said, wanting to get away from a situation that may bring on a panic attack.

"Relax. Just follow my lead"

Despite my protest, we moved in sync. We almost looked like a normal couple albeit I must come off to him as a stiff board, that was until he leaned in and whispered, "Why do you keep looking at me like I'm a serial killer?"

I stopped abruptly, stepping on his foot in the process. The question threw me off like he was reading into my soul.

Junior winced and led me away from the dance floor. "I think you enjoy making me miserable,"

"You have no idea," I replied, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

The ride back to my house was tense, this time in a limousine. Junior sat beside me and I made sure to create enough space between the both of us. I stared out the window to avoid looking at him.

"So," he began, "You didn't answer my question. Why do you act like I have the plague?"

"Maybe because you're annoying," I answered still not bothering to look at him.

"Well, you are marrying me. You need to deal with it." he countered.

I finally turned to face him. "I want it on paper – the contract."

"Oh… uhm, okay. I will reach out to my lawyer and get back to you on that," he said, leaning closer. "Looks like you don't trust me either, Princess. If you're going to hate me, at least let me know why."

I sighed heavily, he really was as overbearing as he was as a teenager. "Don't call me that either and I have no reason to trust you."

"Fine. If that's how you want it, so be it."

When we arrived at my house, the driver opened the door for me to get out. I walked up to our front door and watched the car drive out the gate. I hoped I wouldn't be seeing him anytime soon.

As the limousine disappeared into the night, I entered our house, feeling a mix of anger and helplessness. But one thing was clear: if Junior thought this was going to be a smooth ride, he had another thing coming.

*****

I had just settled into my chair at work when chaos erupted. The receptionist called over the intercom: "Miss Williams, there's… uh… a car here for you."

My stomach dropped. A car here for me meant only one thing, I was being invaded by a Numero on a Monday morning. Which one of them was it? Numero Senior, Mama Numero or Idiot Numero?

I strolled to the lobby and sure enough, parked outside was a black SUV with tinted windows. The chauffeur, a different one from Saturday night and looking more like a bodyguard and not a driver, opened the door for me like I was royalty.

"Miss Williams," he said with a small bow. "Mr. Numero requests your presence."

My life had become a frigging Bridgerton movie. "Which Mr. Numero precisely?"

"Mr Numero Junior," he clarified.

"Mr. Numero 'Junior' can request all he likes. I'm working," I snapped and gestured for him to leave.

The man didn't flinch. Well, he could stand there all day. Mr Numero Junior could kiss my ass. I turned back into the building, sitting comfortably at my desk when my boss appeared out of nowhere. "Ah, Miss Williams, good news! You can take the day off."

"What? I'm in the middle of preparing the audits for Sweet Royale Catering Services,"

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, "Go ahead, take the day."

It didn't take a genius to figure out the Numero name was behind this generosity. He shoved my purse at me and 'assisted' me in closing my laptop. I stormed out of the office determined to give Junior an earful the moment I set my eyes on him.

*****

Twenty minutes later, I found myself in a luxurious law office. The place looked like it was built and furnished by old money. Junior was already there in the reception sitting in an oversized chair like he owned the place and honestly speaking, from the little I had learned about the Numeros in three days, he probably did.

"You're late," he said without expression.

"I was working," I shot back.

"A Numero wife doesn't work at some—what was it again?—accounting firm?"

"I am not a Numero wife… yet. Besides, what am I supposed to be doing while you're off being the boss of the world?"

"You are my fiancee and your job will be to host galas, attend charity events, and smile at cameras. You're welcome."

"Great. A glorified mannequin, you think that's all I want out of my life – for my life! You think that I didn't have a plan before you oh… so graciously walked into my life," I said, rolling my eyes. "Let me tell you something, Junior. I worked my butt off to get that job. You don't get to waltz in and control my life. I refuse to let you strip me of my dignity!"

He stood up ceremoniously, his muscles flexing. I reminded myself I wasn't a girl anymore so I stood my ground, not flinching.

"Don't you ever… call me Junior." Out of everything I said, that's what he heard?

"What the hell am I supposed to call you? I have always known you as Junior,"

"Wh…"

He was interrupted by the lawyer, a middle-aged man clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss the contract?"