Recipe For Disaster

Romero, sensing the finality in her words, nodded towards Pablo. “I’ve also decided that you’ll be assisting Carmen with everything she needs at the company. Make sure she’s equipped to handle her duties. I don’t want any delays.”

Pablo clinched his jaw, clearly torn between his loyalty to Romero and his concern for Carmen. “Fine. I’ll get the documents ready,” he muttered begrudgingly. “But don’t think for a second that I’m okay with this,” he added.

“I don’t care,” Romero replied dismissively, picking up his fork again, as if the matter was settled. He glanced briefly at Carmen, then resumed eating, unbothered by the tense atmosphere.

Carmen pushed her plate aside, and stood up. “Please excuse me,” she said, bowing slightly. She glanced at Pablo, who gave her a small, supportive nod, even though his unease was clear, and she walked out of the room.

As Carmen left the room, Pablo glanced back at Romero, who was enjoying his meal. “What are you doing, Romero?”

“Are you blind? Can’t you see I’m eating,” Romero answered in a bored tone.

“You know that’s not what I mean! That young lady doesn’t deserve that–”

“Enough,” Romero cuts in, pausing his meal. “I don’t like it when you go against my instructions. That young lady you’re referring to willingly accepted to do this. She’s not rendering her services for free, I’ll be paying her. Stop acting like I’m using her.”

Pablo opened his mouth to protest, but Romero beat him to it. “We’re finished here. If I were you, I'd be resting by now, since tomorrow is going to be a long day,” Romero continued.

Pablo knew better than to challenge Romero outright. He gave a curt nod, and exited the room without uttering another word.

***

A new dawn came, Carmen stood in front of the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with anxiety. Today was the day she would officially become Missus Monteiro, at least on paper. She straightened the simple peach gown she had chosen, and left the guestroom in Monteiro’s home.

She met with Pablo, who showed her to Romero’s study room. The room was filled with the quiet hum of a lawyer and a notary flipping through documents. Romero sat at his desk, his wheelchair positioned behind him like a throne. He glanced up when Carmen entered with Pablo.

“You’re on time. Let’s get this over with,” Romero said, gesturing to the seat next to his.

Carmen nodded, taking her seat beside him. The lawyer laid out the contract in front of them, explaining each clause in precise detail. Carmen listened intently, her eyes scanning the pages filled with legal jargon that sealed her fate.

After the lawyer’s brief, Romero took the pen first, signing his name with a fluid emotion. He slid the contract to Carmen, his eyes locking with hers for a brief, charged moment. “Your turn,” he simply said.

Carmen hesitated, as if she wanted to pull back. With a steady breath, she signed her name, each stroke of the pen a silent promise to herself that she would find a way to endure this arrangement.

As soon as the papers were notarized, Romero dismissed the lawyer. He wheeled himself closer, his eyes scanning Carmen’s appearance from head to toe. “Now that we’ve got this settled, there’s something we need to address immediately,” Romero said, his attitude shifted from business-like to critical.

Carmen raised a brow, unsure what he meant. “What is it, Mister Monteiro?”

Romero gestured toward her attire, his expression disapproving. “You can’t represent the Monteiro name looking like this. From today on, you will need to improve your appearance. Everything about you; clothes, hair, even your posture needs to reflect the Monteiro standard.”

Carmen bristled at his words but kept her cool. “I don’t need you telling me how to dress, sir,” she replied.

“I’m not offering a suggestion, Carmen. You’re stepping into a world where appearances matter more than you realize. I expect you to look elegant at all times,” Romero said, his tone sharpened. He turned his attention to Pablo, who stood nearby, watching the interaction unfold. “Mister Pablo, take her shopping. She needs a complete makeover; clothes, accessories, whatever. Make sure she’s presentable by the time she gets to the company.”

Pablo nodded, and muttered, “understood,” though it was clear he was still uneasy about the whole situation.

Romero looked back at Carmen, his face unyielding. “Don’t think of this as a favor. It’s an investment. And like I said, I'll love to see result. You’ll be my wife on paper, and that title demands a certain standard. Do I make myself clear, Missus Monteiro?”

Carmen’s heart pounded in her throat, she stared unseeingly at him. She couldn’t tell if it was the title that got her nervous, or the role she'd be playing at the company. What has she gotten herself into?

Carmen swallowed her pride, knowing she had little choice but to comply. “Fine. I’ll do what’s necessary.”

“Good. Mister Pablo, ensure everything is done quickly. I need her at the company by noon,” Romero replied, his tone final.

Pablo gestured for Carmen to follow him. As they exited the study, Pablo couldn’t help but cast a worried glance at her. “Are you okay?”

Carmen nodded, though her eyes betrayed her unease. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

The drive to the boutique district was tense. Pablo tried to make small talk, but Carmen’s responses were short and distracted. He could tell she was still processing everything, and he didn’t want to push her any further.

They pulled up in front of an upscale shopping area lined with designer stores, each window displaying the kind of opulence that Carmen had never imagined herself indulging in.

As they walked through the first boutique, Carmen felt completely out of place. Sales associates swarmed around her, offering dresses, suits, and accessories with price tags that made her stomach turn. Pablo was by her side, trying to keep things light, but Carmen could feel the weight of every garment she tried on, each one a reminder of the role she was now forced to play.

After several hours, and with Pablo’s careful guidance, Carmen finally emerged from the boutique transformed. She wore a sleek, tailored blue dress that fit her perfectly, paired with designer silver heels that elevated her stature and a confidence she had not expected to feel. Her hair was styled elegantly, and subtle makeup accentuated her features without overwhelming them.

Pablo observed her quietly, noting how the transformation had not just changed her appearance but seemed to bolster her in every way. “Wow, you look…incredible, Missus Monteiro,” he said, his voice sincere.

Carmen glanced at herself in the mirror, the reflection of a woman she barely recognized staring back. “Thanks. I guess this is what it takes to be a Monteiro. But Mister Pablo, there’s no need to address me in the way you just did,” she said.

Pablo chuckled. “Why not? That’s who you are now. But just remember, no matter how you look or what title you hold, don’t lose yourself in all of this. You’re more than just a face for the company.”

Carmen’s heart melted, and she offered him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. I won’t. I promise,” she assured him.

The drive to the company was much quieter than the trip to the boutiques had been. Carmen sat in the passenger seat, her mind skipping a beat as they approached KRM. It was one thing to wear the dress and heels, but facing a room full of shareholders and board members was an entirely different challenge. She’s only twenty-three, and those people she’ll be meeting are far older than her. Would they take a young lady like her seriously?

Pablo parked the car and glanced at her. “Are you ready?”

Carmen exhaled slowly, her fingers gripping the door handle. “I guess so, Mister Pablo.”

They walked through the grand doors of the Monteiro building, Pablo guiding her toward the elevator that would take them to the top floor. The higher they went, the more Carmen felt the pressure building. She could feel her pulse quickening with each passing second.

The boardroom was large and imposing, with a long mahogany table in the center. The board members and shareholders had already assembled, and the room buzzed with low murmurs of conversation. As Carmen entered, all eyes shifted to her, the whispers ceasing immediately.

Pablo cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Good afternoon, everyone. As you all know, we are here to introduce Missus Carmen Monteiro, who will be serving as chairperson of the company, representing her husband, Mister Romero Monteiro.”

The silence that fell in the room was deafening, and Carmen could feel the weight of a dozen skeptical gazes on her. She straightened her posture, determined not to show any weakness.

One of the shareholders, Mister Pérez, a man in his mid-fifties with a sharp suit and an even sharper glare, was the first to speak. “This is absurd,” he condemned, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Romero thinks he can just hand the company over to… this woman?” he waved a dismissive hand in Carmen’s direction.

Carmen chewed the inside of her jaw, but she held her tongue.

“I second that. We’ve worked too hard to see KRM handed to a young lady who I’m certain has zero experience of running a company. This is a recipe for disaster,” another shareholder sitting next to Perez, chimed in.

Pablo opened his mouth to defend her, but Carmen stepped forward, silencing with a subtle hand gesture, taking a seat at the head of the table.

“I understand your concerns. “But I’m not here to run the company in the traditional sense. I’m here to represent Romero Monteiro as his wife and ensure that the company continues to thrive under his direction.”

Mister Pérez scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Represent Romero as his wife? When did you two get married? Because from the much I know about him, I’ve never seen him with a woman who appears as his fiancée. So how–”

“Mister Pérez, Mister Monteiro’s private life shouldn’t be of a concern to you. If he never flaunt his woman to any of you, that’s because he chose not to. I’ll suggest you respect his decision,” Pablo reprimanded, cutting him off.

Mister Pérez's jawline twitched, agitated. “I’m not saying I don’t respect his decision. What I’m trying to point out is that she doesn’t know anything about running a business. How can she even deal with all of us sitting around this table?”