Marking My Territory

Saturday morning dawned with an unusual delivery to my apartment—a large white box bearing the elegant gold logo of Selene, the city's most exclusive boutique. The delivery woman smiled politely as she handed me the package.

"Mr. Blackwood said you'd be expecting this," she said, offering me a tablet to sign.

I hadn't been expecting anything, but I nodded anyway, scrawling my signature on the screen. Back inside, I set the box on my dining table and stared at it suspiciously, still in my pajamas with uncombed hair and a half-empty coffee mug in hand.

My phone buzzed with a text from Ethan, as if he somehow knew the package had arrived:

For tonight. The car will pick you up at 6:30, not 7. We have a photo opportunity before the gala. -E

I sighed and lifted the lid of the box, pushing aside layers of tissue paper to reveal a stunning gown in deep emerald green. The silk material flowed like water through my fingers as I lifted it out, the cut both elegant and daring with a low back and subtle side slit. Nestled beneath it were matching shoes, a small clutch, and another velvet jewelry box.

This one contained a pair of diamond and emerald drop earrings that would perfectly complement the engagement ring still sitting heavily on my finger. Another card simply read: Complete the look. -E

I texted him back: Don't you think this is a bit much?

His response came quickly: First impressions matter. The press will be there. -E

Press. The word sent a flutter of anxiety through my stomach. It was one thing to perform for Montgomery in a private dining room, quite another to face photographers and society reporters. I hadn't considered how public this arrangement would become.

As if reading my thoughts, Ethan sent another message:

Don't worry. You'll be magnificent. I've arranged for a stylist to help you prepare. She'll arrive at 3:30. -E

I stared at my phone, caught between irritation at his presumption and relief that I wouldn't have to figure out how to style myself for a black-tie gala. After a moment's hesitation, I replied:

Thank you for the dress. It's beautiful. -M

His response was immediate: You're welcome. Try to get some rest before tonight. -E

Somehow, that simple instruction felt more intimate than it should have, as if he were genuinely concerned about my well-being rather than just ensuring his fake fiancée would look her best. I pushed the thought away and returned to my coffee, now cold.

The stylist arrived precisely at 3:30—a brisk woman named Vivian with silver-streaked black hair and the efficient movements of someone who had prepared countless women for important events. She swept into my apartment with three assistants and an alarming number of cases and garment bags.

"Ms. Chen," she greeted me, assessing me with a quick up-and-down glance. "We have work to do."

For the next three hours, I was at the center of a whirlwind of activity. One assistant set up impromptu salon equipment in my bathroom, another transformed my bedroom into a makeup station, while the third steamed the emerald gown to perfection. Vivian directed it all while personally attending to my hair, describing her vision for the evening in crisp, confident terms.

"Mr. Blackwood was very specific," she said as she twisted my hair into an elegant updo. "Sophisticated but not severe. He mentioned you have a tendency to hide behind your hair when you're nervous."

I blinked in surprise. "Did he?"

"He notices details," Vivian replied, securing another pin. "A useful quality in both business and relationships."

I wondered what other observations Ethan had shared about me. What other details had he noticed during our brief interactions? The thought that he was studying me as closely as I was studying him was both unnerving and strangely thrilling.

By 6:15, Vivian declared me ready. When I looked in the full-length mirror that one of her assistants had somehow produced, I barely recognized myself. The woman reflected back at me exuded elegance and confidence, her skin glowing, her eyes enhanced but not overwhelmed by artful makeup. The emerald dress hugged my curves before flowing gracefully to the floor, the low back revealing just enough skin to be alluring without crossing into inappropriate territory.

"There," Vivian said with satisfaction. "Now you look like Ethan Blackwood's fiancée."

The words hit me with unexpected force. I was playing a part, stepping into a role that had nothing to do with the real Maya Chen. For a dizzying moment, I wondered if I would lose myself in this performance.

"Thank you," I said quietly, touching the diamond and emerald earrings that completed the transformation. "You've worked magic."

Vivian smiled for the first time. "The magic was already there, Ms. Chen. We just enhanced it a bit."

Harrison arrived precisely at 6:30, his expression of approval when I emerged from my building boosting my confidence. The drive to the Art Institute was quick in the early evening traffic, but my nerves increased with every block. By the time we pulled up to the museum, where a red carpet stretched from the curb to the grand entrance, I was grateful for Vivian's industrial-strength antiperspirant.

"Mr. Blackwood is waiting at the end of the carpet," Harrison informed me as he opened my door. "Just smile and walk directly to him. Don't stop for questions."

I nodded, too nervous to speak, and stepped out of the car. Immediately, camera flashes erupted from the small group of photographers lining the carpet. I froze for an instant, blinded and disoriented, before remembering Harrison's instructions. Smile and walk directly to him.

I fixed my gaze ahead, where Ethan stood waiting in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, looking like he had stepped out of a magazine cover. Our eyes met across the distance, and to my surprise, he started walking toward me rather than waiting at his end of the carpet.

When he reached me, he took both my hands in his, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "You look incredible," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "Are you ready?"

I managed a small nod, intensely aware of the cameras capturing our every move.

"Just focus on me," he said softly, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. "Forget about everyone else."

Somehow, his touch steadied me. We walked the rest of the carpet together, pausing briefly for photos when requested by the event organizers. Ethan's hand remained at the small of my back, warm and reassuring through the thin silk of my dress.

Inside, the museum had been transformed into a glittering wonderland for the gala. The Great Hall featured elegant tables surrounding a dance floor, with ice sculptures and elaborate flower arrangements creating a scene of sophisticated enchantment. A string quartet played classical music in one corner while waiters circulated with champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ethan said, procuring two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. "The Art Institute Gala raises millions each year for arts education in public schools."

I accepted the champagne gratefully, taking a larger sip than was strictly elegant. "Is that why we're here? Your passion for arts education?"

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Partly. It's also an excellent networking opportunity, and..." he paused, his eyes meeting mine, "Montgomery is on the board of directors."

Of course. The investor was the real reason. I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment at the reminder that our entire relationship was a business strategy.

"There he is now," Ethan said, his hand returning to the small of my back. "With his wife, Elaine. She's the real art enthusiast in the family."

I followed his gaze to where Montgomery stood with an elegant woman in her sixties, her silver hair arranged in a classic chignon, her black gown simple but clearly expensive.

"Do they know?" I asked quietly. "About our arrangement?"

Ethan's expression didn't change, but his hand pressed slightly firmer against my back. "No. And they never will. Are we clear on that, Maya?"

His tone sent a clear message: this deception was absolute, with no exceptions. I nodded, feeling uncomfortably like a conspirator in something larger than I had initially understood.

"Excellent," he said, his public smile returning. "Now, let's go charm the Montgomerys."

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions and small talk. Ethan kept me close by his side, his arm around my waist or his hand holding mine as he introduced me to what seemed like half of San Francisco's elite. I smiled until my cheeks hurt, trying to remember names and connections while maintaining the façade of being madly in love with the man beside me.

It wasn't as difficult as I had feared. Ethan was surprisingly attentive, bringing me fresh champagne when my glass emptied, whispering helpful information about people before they approached, and occasionally brushing his lips against my temple in a gesture that appeared loving to observers but never crossed into uncomfortable territory for me.

Elaine Montgomery proved to be a delightful surprise—warm, intelligent, and genuinely interested in my background in design. She asked thoughtful questions about my work and shared her own experiences in arts patronage with refreshing lack of pretension.

"You must come to our home for dinner," she insisted, patting my arm. "Gabriel mentioned Ethan was bringing his fiancée next week, but he didn't tell me how charming you are."

I felt a genuine smile spread across my face. "I'd like that very much."

"It's settled then," she said decisively. "Tuesday evening. Gabriel can discuss business with Ethan while you and I explore more interesting topics."

Ethan, who had been deep in conversation with Montgomery, turned at this. "What's settled?"

"Dinner at our home on Tuesday," Elaine replied. "I've just informed Maya that business talk will be strictly limited."

Ethan smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression as he looked at Elaine. "I wouldn't dream of boring two such fascinating women with business matters."

Montgomery chuckled. "You might not have a choice in the matter. My wife has a way of directing conversations where she wants them to go."

"A valuable skill," Ethan replied diplomatically. He glanced at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Maya has the same talent. She can turn a roomful of strangers into captivated listeners within minutes."

The unexpected compliment caught me off guard. I met his gaze, searching for signs that this was just part of the performance, but his expression seemed genuine.

"You flatter me," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "I'm just trying not to embarrass myself among all these impressive people."

"You're doing wonderfully," Elaine assured me, squeezing my hand. "And you've clearly had a profound effect on this one." She tilted her head toward Ethan. "I've known him for years, and I've never seen him so... settled."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, unsure how to respond to this assessment of our fake relationship. Thankfully, the string quartet finished their set, and the emcee announced that dinner would be served shortly.

"That's our cue to find our table," Montgomery said. "We'll see you both on Tuesday."

As the Montgomerys walked away, Ethan guided me toward our assigned table near the front of the room. "You've made quite an impression on Elaine," he said quietly. "That's no small achievement. She's an excellent judge of character."

"Does that bother you?" I asked. "That she thinks she's seeing something real between us?"

Ethan considered this as he held my chair for me. "I don't enjoy deceiving her," he admitted, taking his seat beside me. "But the end justifies the means in this case."

"And what is the end, exactly?" I pressed, keeping my voice low. "You've never fully explained why this investment is so important to you."

Something shifted in his expression, a glimpse of the driven man beneath the polished exterior. "Our diagnostic platform could save thousands of lives. Montgomery's investment and connections would accelerate its deployment by years. Every month of delay means more missed diagnoses, more preventable deaths."

The intensity in his eyes caught me off guard. This wasn't just business for him; it was deeply personal.

"Because of your mother," I said softly, remembering what he had told me at the Mercantile Club.

He looked surprised that I had made the connection, then nodded once, his expression guarded. "Yes. And many others like her."

Before I could respond, we were joined by the other guests at our table—a prominent surgeon and his wife, a museum board member, and two tech investors I vaguely recognized from industry publications. The conversation shifted to safe topics: recent exhibits at the museum, the success of the fundraising campaign, the unseasonably warm weather.

Throughout dinner, Ethan played his role perfectly, keeping one hand on the back of my chair, occasionally leaning in to whisper comments that made me laugh, his eyes lingering on mine in a way that would convince anyone watching that we were deeply in love. I found myself responding naturally to his attentions, our chemistry surprisingly convincing even to myself.

After the dessert course, the emcee invited everyone to the dance floor as a jazz ensemble replaced the string quartet. Ethan stood and offered me his hand.

"Shall we?" he asked, a hint of challenge in his smile.

I hesitated only briefly before placing my hand in his. "I should warn you that I'm not a particularly good dancer."

"Fortunately, I am," he replied, leading me toward the dance floor. "Just follow my lead."

As we reached the center of the floor, Ethan drew me into his arms with practiced ease, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine in a proper ballroom frame. The band began playing a jazz standard—slow enough for conversation but with enough rhythm to require actual dancing rather than just swaying in place.

"Relax," Ethan murmured, guiding me into a simple step pattern. "You're too tense."

I tried to loosen my shoulders, acutely aware of his hand at my waist, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way other couples seemed to make space for us on the floor.

"People are watching us," I whispered.

"People are always watching," he replied, executing a perfect turn that brought us closer together. "That's rather the point."

His face was inches from mine now, close enough that I could see the faint lines around his eyes, the precise five o'clock shadow along his jaw, the varying shades of blue in his irises. For a dizzy moment, I forgot that this was all pretend.

"You're staring," he said, his voice low and amused.

I blinked and looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry. I was just... thinking."

"About what?"

"How strange this is," I admitted. "A week ago, I was devastated about Daniel's wedding invitation. Now I'm dancing with Ethan Blackwood at the Art Institute Gala, wearing diamonds and emeralds, and everyone thinks we're engaged."

Ethan's hand tightened slightly at my waist. "Do you regret our arrangement?"

I considered the question as he guided me through another turn. "No," I said finally. "I don't regret it. It's just... surreal."

"Reality is often what we choose to make it," he replied, his expression thoughtful. "What feels more real to you—your life a week ago, or right now?"

The question caught me off guard. Before I could formulate an answer, a flash went off nearby—a photographer capturing our dance for what would undoubtedly be the society pages.

"Smile," Ethan whispered, pulling me closer as the photographer approached for another angle.

I curved my lips obligingly, trying to look like a woman in love rather than a woman caught in an increasingly complex deception. After a few more photos, the photographer thanked us and moved on to other couples.

"You're a natural at this," Ethan commented as we continued dancing.

"At pretending?"

"At navigating this world," he corrected. "You adapt quickly, read situations well. It's an undervalued skill."

I wasn't sure if he was complimenting me or simply assessing my usefulness to his plan. "I've always been good at fitting in where I don't belong."

Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. "What makes you think you don't belong here?"

I gestured subtly around us. "Look at this room, Ethan. Old money, tech billionaires, social elites. I'm a graphic designer from a middle-class family in Oakland."

"And I'm the son of two academics who would have found this event painfully pretentious," he replied. "Origins are irrelevant. It's what you do with your opportunities that matters."

Before I could respond, the song ended, and polite applause rippled through the crowd. Ethan kept hold of my hand as we left the dance floor.

"I need to speak with the hospital board chairman before he leaves," he said, checking his watch. "Do you mind if I leave you for a few minutes? The ladies' room is just past the Egyptian gallery if you need it."

I nodded, secretly relieved to have a moment to myself. "I'll be fine. Take your time."

With a brief squeeze of my hand, Ethan strode off toward a group of older men in tuxedos across the room. I made my way toward the ladies' room, grateful for a chance to collect my thoughts away from the watchful eyes of San Francisco society.

The museum's restrooms were as elegant as the rest of the building, with a spacious lounge area featuring comfortable seating and flattering lighting. I was touching up my lipstick when the door opened, and two women in designer gowns entered, deep in conversation. They paused when they saw me, exchanging meaningful glances before approaching the mirrors.

"You're Ethan Blackwood's fiancée," said the taller woman, her tone making it a statement rather than a question. "Maya, isn't it?"

I nodded, suddenly wary. "Yes. And you are?"

"Vanessa Caldwell," she replied, not offering her hand. "This is Diane Mercer. We're old friends of Ethan's."

Something in her emphasis on "old friends" set off warning bells in my mind. I smiled politely, closing my lipstick. "It's nice to meet you both."

"We were surprised by the engagement announcement," Diane said, her eyes assessing me in the mirror. "Ethan has always been... commitment-averse."

"People change," I replied simply, meeting her gaze.

Vanessa laughed, the sound brittle and false. "Not that much, and not that quickly. Three months ago, he was at my New Year's Eve party without you."

The implication was clear: they didn't believe our relationship timeline. I felt a flicker of panic but kept my expression neutral.

"We kept things private initially," I said, repeating the line Ethan and I had agreed upon. "When you know something is special, sometimes you want to protect it from outside scrutiny."

"How considerate," Vanessa replied, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Though it's interesting that none of Ethan's close friends had even heard your name until last week."

My pulse quickened, but years of client presentations had taught me how to maintain composure under pressure. "Ethan is a private person. I respect that about him."

"Private, yes," Diane agreed, applying fresh perfume to her wrists. "But also selective. His last serious girlfriend was Alessandra Vitali. The model." She looked me up and down with an expression that clearly found me lacking in comparison.

I knew I should walk away, but something stubborn flared inside me. "I'm sure she was lovely," I said coolly. "Ethan and I have moved past discussing our exes, though. We're focused on our future."

Vanessa raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "A future that began remarkably quickly. Almost as if it were... arranged."

My blood ran cold at how close she was to the truth. Before I could formulate a response, the restroom door opened again, and Elaine Montgomery entered. She took in the tableau—me standing tensely between the two women—and her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Maya, dear," she said warmly, coming to stand beside me. "Ethan is looking for you. The mayor just arrived and is asking to meet his fiancée."

Relief washed through me at the timely interruption. "Of course. I was just leaving."

"Vanessa, Diane," Elaine acknowledged the other women with a cool nod. "Lovely to see you both. Your husbands were looking slightly abandoned at the bar when I passed by."

The dismissal was subtle but unmistakable. With thin smiles and murmured goodbyes, the two women left, leaving me alone with Elaine.

"Thank you," I said quietly when the door closed behind them.

Elaine waved away my gratitude. "Those two have been chasing Ethan for years. Vanessa even after she married poor Richard Caldwell." She patted my arm sympathetically. "Don't let them bother you, dear. They're just jealous that Ethan chose someone with substance over style."

I felt a twist of guilt at her kind words, knowing our entire relationship was a fabrication. "It just caught me off guard."

"Of course it did. You're not used to the sharks in this particular pool." She smiled warmly. "But you handled them beautifully. Now come along, Ethan really is looking for you, though I may have exaggerated about the mayor."

She looped her arm through mine as we left the restroom, a gesture of solidarity that touched me unexpectedly. In the hallway, we nearly collided with Ethan, who was indeed headed in our direction with a concerned expression.

"There you are," he said, his relief visible. "I was beginning to worry."

"I rescued your fiancée from Vanessa Caldwell and Diane Mercer," Elaine informed him with a knowing look. "You might want to keep a closer eye on her until those two accept they've lost the competition."

Ethan's expression darkened. "What did they say to you?" he asked me, placing a protective hand at the small of my back.

"Nothing worth repeating," I assured him, touched by his concern even as I wondered how much of it was genuine and how much was for Elaine's benefit.

"They were just marking their territory," Elaine said with a dismissive wave. "Maya held her own admirably."

Ethan's eyes remained on mine, searching my face. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, managing a small smile. "I'm fine. Really."

Something in my expression must have convinced him, because he relaxed slightly. "Good. Gabriel is waiting to introduce us to the hospital board chairman. Would you mind joining us?"

"Not at all," I replied, grateful to move on from the restroom encounter.

Elaine gave my arm a final pat. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to your networking. Remember—Tuesday at seven. Formal but not black tie."

As we watched her walk away, Ethan turned to me. "What really happened with Vanessa and Diane?"

I hesitated, then decided honesty was the best approach. "They were questioning our relationship timeline. Suggesting it seemed... arranged."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "I should have warned you about them. They're part of a social circle I've been trying to distance myself from for years."

"Exes?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"Brief diversions," he corrected, his tone dismissive. "Nothing meaningful."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's not how they see it."

"Their perception isn't my concern," he said firmly. "What matters is that you weren't too uncomfortable."

"I'm tougher than I look," I assured him, oddly pleased by his protective instinct. "It takes more than two jealous socialites to rattle me."

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I'm beginning to see that." He offered me his arm. "Shall we rejoin the fray?"

I placed my hand on his arm, feeling the solid strength beneath the expensive fabric of his tuxedo. "Lead the way."

The rest of the evening passed without incident. We met the hospital board chairman and several other influential people in the medical field, all of whom seemed impressed by Ethan's evident devotion to his new fiancée. I played my part with increasing confidence, finding it easier to anticipate Ethan's cues and respond naturally to his attentions.

By the time we left shortly after midnight, I was exhausted but exhilarated. The cool night air felt wonderful after hours in the crowded museum, and I took a deep breath as we waited for Harrison to bring the car around.

"You were magnificent tonight," Ethan said quietly, draping his suit jacket around my shoulders to ward off the chill. "Everyone was charmed by you."

"Even the hospital board chairman?" I asked with a tired smile. "He seemed more interested in his whiskey than in meeting me."

"Especially him," Ethan assured me. "He mentioned to Montgomery that I seemed 'more human' with you by my side. Apparently, I've had a reputation for being somewhat... cold."

I looked up at him, studying his face in the soft glow of the street lights. "I can't imagine why," I teased gently.

To my surprise, Ethan laughed—a genuine sound of amusement that transformed his features. "Touché, Ms. Chen."

Harrison pulled up with the car, and Ethan held the door for me. As I settled into the backseat, I realized how comfortable I had become in his presence over the course of the evening. The initial awkwardness had faded, replaced by something that felt almost like genuine rapport.

Ethan slid in beside me, closing the door against the outside world. "I've instructed Harrison to take you home first," he said. "You must be tired."

I was exhausted, but also strangely reluctant for the evening to end. "It was an interesting night," I admitted. "Not what I expected."

"In what way?"

I considered how to express the strange mix of feelings I was experiencing. "I thought it would feel more... performative. But there were moments when it almost felt natural."

Ethan was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful in the dim light of the car. "You're very good at adapting to new situations," he said finally. "It's an admirable quality."

I wasn't sure if he was complimenting me or simply acknowledging my usefulness to his plan again. "Is that why you chose me? Because I adapt well?"

His eyes met mine, surprisingly intent. "I didn't choose you, Maya. You chose me, remember? You created this relationship before you even knew I existed."

The reminder of how our arrangement had begun sent an uncomfortable flush to my cheeks. "Right. Of course."

We rode in silence for several blocks, the lights of the city sliding past the tinted windows. Finally, Ethan spoke again, his voice softer than before.

"Tuesday evening at the Montgomerys' will be important," he said. "More intimate than tonight. Montgomery makes his final investment decisions based on gut feelings as much as business metrics. He needs to believe we're genuinely committed to each other."

I nodded, understanding the subtext. We would need to be even more convincing, our performance even more seamless. "I'll be prepared."

"I know you will," he replied, his confidence in me oddly reassuring. "You exceeded all expectations tonight."

As Harrison pulled up to my apartment building, Ethan reached across the seat and took my hand, his thumb brushing over the engagement ring that still felt foreign on my finger.

"Keep the dress," he said. "It was made for you."

I started to protest, but he shook his head. "It's not a gift, Maya. It's a business expense. Like the ring and the earrings."

The reminder of the transactional nature of our relationship stung more than it should have. I nodded, slipping his jacket from my shoulders and handing it back to him.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, then," I said formally. "I'll see you Tuesday."

Something flickered in his expression—amusement or perhaps disappointment—but he simply nodded. "Tuesday."

As Harrison opened my door, Ethan added softly, "Sweet dreams, Maya."

The unexpected warmth in his voice followed me into my apartment, where I carefully removed the emerald earrings and placed them in their velvet box. As I undressed, hanging the exquisite gown with more care than I typically showed my own clothes, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror—still elegant despite the slightly smudged makeup and loosened hair.

For one evening, I had been Ethan Blackwood's fiancée, moving through his world with surprising ease. It had been exhausting but also exhilarating in ways I hadn't anticipated. I touched the engagement ring, still glittering on my finger, and reminded myself firmly that none of it was real.

This was business. A transaction. In less than three months, I would return the ring, say goodbye to Ethan Blackwood, and go back to my normal life—hopefully with enough money to clear my parents' medical debts and perhaps start my own design firm.

The thought should have been comforting. Instead, as I finally removed the ring and placed it in its box on my nightstand, I felt an unexpected hollowness in my chest.

Just business, I reminded myself as I crawled into bed. Nothing more.

But as I drifted toward sleep, my mind replayed the feeling of Ethan's hand at the small of my back, the intensity in his eyes when he'd called me magnificent, the unexpected warmth of his laugh. For a dangerous moment, I allowed myself to wonder what it would be like if any of it were real.

Three months, I thought firmly, pushing the dangerous speculation away. Just three months, and then it's over.

It was my last conscious thought before sleep claimed me, carrying me into dreams where the line between pretense and reality blurred even further.