Chapter 2 - Chapter Two:The contract & the first test

Victoria's stomach knotted as they entered the beautiful ballroom of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Reflecting the elegance of New York's elite, who mingled with champagne flutes in hand, the big chandelier above cast gentle light on the polished floor. Victoria, however, was no longer only a journalist. She was Andrew Sinclair's intended. The moment they stepped inside, the cameras focused on them. As the media vultures descended, flashes erupted like little stars. Victoria sensed her anxiety increase. The world could now see their meticulously constructed facade from the last few days on full show. She looked at Andrew, who stood next to her like a statue, his jaw set and eyes scouring the room. Everything a millionaire mogul should be, his attitude was cool and controlled. But what of her? She did not fit here. Not in this way. The burden of the part she was playing made her heart quicken. Gently pushing her forward, Andrew's fingers brushed against hers, ensuring she was in the ideal position for the cameras. Though his touch was intentional and nearly chilly, the way his fingers curled around hers made something inside her quiver. Whispering near her ear, he said, "You're doing great," causing her to tingle down her spine. Though the words should have been comforting, they only increased her inner stress. Then, as if on cue, Andrew moved her closer, his hand sliding around her waist, drawing her snugly against him. Camera flashes got more intense. The audience looked to be holding its breath. Then, without notice, Andrew bent down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss meant for show, exacting, and deliberate. Victoria stood still. Her heart missed a beat. She was unready for this, this under-the-spotlight moment of closeness. The sound of reporters yelling questions and the camera pressure made everything seem surreal. Her body reacted before her mind could grasp it, and she kissed him back, her lips quaking against his, unsure whether it was the performance she was concerned about or the odd surge of something else she couldn't describe. Victoria, her heart pounding in her chest, gasped for air and drew back first. Though she hardly saw them, the cameras' flashbulbs kept popping. All she could think about was the feeling of Andrew's lips on hers, how it had felt, not just as a rehearsed kiss but as something... other. Though it vanished as fast as it arrived, it left an unanticipated warmth in her chest. Her thoughts spinning, she backed off a little, her fingers still tingling from the contact. Had she thought it up? Did he also sense it? Was this only for the cameras or was there more below the surface? A glimmer of enjoyment in his steely blue eye, Andrew's gaze fixed on hers. "That wasn't so terrible, right?" She swallowed and her voice was almost a whisper. Sinclair, you are a hell of an actor. He arched an eyebrow, his lips curling slightly in a smile. Victoria, you did really great yourself. Trying to get some kind of control back, she stepped back. The audience clapped and cheered as though they were seeing the start of a fairy-tale romance. She was doing her part, but the burden of what she had just experienced started to encroach on her, threatening to lose her composure. Victoria, pull yourself together. This is only a performance. It's not true. But when she gazed up at Andrew, something in his expression caused her to doubt herself. He seemed happy and content, but not in a way that comforted her. It was as though he had triumphed in a war she was unaware they were fighting. A frenzy of smiles, pictures, and champagne, the gala had been one. Victoria thought she had aged five years by the time the night came to a close. The unrelenting flash of cameras gave her head pain; the reporter enquiries seemed like a burden she could not escape. Throughout the whole experience, Andrew had been calm, collected, and completely composed. He was the image of the ideal, callous millionaire. She, on the other hand, was only trying to keep up. Walking to the exit, a reporter ran up to them and thrust a microphone into her face. Ms. Harrington, is it love or only a business arrangement? The public is curious. Victoria stood still. The inquiry was too personal, too direct, and it made her heart race. His presence hung like a shadow, and she could feel Andrew's gaze on her. He had not forewarned her about this one. She had been ready for the cameras, for the phoney smiles, but not for this. She looked at Andrew, wishing he would speak up. His jaw was tense and his face impossible to read. The stillness between them was oppressive. Her thoughts raced. Should she tell a fib? Should she speak something straightforward and practiced? Should she, though, be honest and say this was a hoax? That there was only a contract, no affection? Her throat caught on her breath. Stuck between the reality and the fiction she had to live for the next six months, she felt trapped. The strain was intolerable, and in that split second she questioned whether she was acting or whether the part was beginning to consume her completely. "I, " she started, but the words froze in her throat. Her eyes darted back to Andrew, who gave her a barely noticeable nod, as if to say so. Her heart thumped. What if this turned out to be a mistake? She smiled and corrected her posture. It's just what it seems. A commercial deal. As the words escaped her mouth, the reporter's face beamed with joy and the cameras went crazy. The audience was happy. She had done her share. Her head was still spinning, though, as she walked away with Andrew. Was that accurate? Or had she simply been dishonest with herself? Swarming about them, New York's elite, the gala was a swirl of gold, silver, and polished faces. Victoria went following Andrew, who was smoothly weaving through the throng, and the chatter was a distant murmur in her ears. His presence drew attention; every step was confident and certain; his hand was always on the small of her back guiding her through the crowd of people. She was doing her part, yet something within her seemed odd. They walked inside the main hall and the cameras flashed again. Her image wrapped closely with Andrew's calculated character, she was the focus as his fiancée. Dressed in a suit that made him look like he belonged to this world, a world that seemed so alien to her, he looked every bit the part. But even with the performance, something was bubbling under the surface. His touch against her skin made her feel heavy, and for a brief moment she saw something deeper in his gaze, something concealed beneath his suave attitude. Though his every word and action were exact, it was the times he believed no one was looking that allowed her to see the man behind the mask. He was unfeeling. Removed. His presence was strong as they mixed. Too conscious of the part she was playing, Victoria remained mute and, when appropriate, offered courteous smiles. But with every smile Andrew beamed, she saw how his eyes would flicker with something else, a slight tightening of his lips, a faint jaw strain. The ideal front, fraying at the edges. They discovered a calm area during an hour of mingling. Andrew moved closer, his body too near and his breath brushing across her ear. Her chest pressure grew stronger. Victoria, how long will we keep pretending? Just for her, his voice was low, nearly a whisper. His hand delicately brushed her arm, but not with love; he cautioned, "Don't get too close." She looked into his eyes, her heart beating all of a sudden. What does that signify? Though the chill persisted, his gaze softened. It's only company, really. Keep it in mind. The night kept playing out in a haze of fake smiles and forced laughs. Victoria could not help but feel as the night went on that she was trapped in a game she had not completely grasped. Every time she looked at Andrew, she found herself doubting more and more. What did he really want out of this arrangement? What lay under that gleaming surface? The calm of the night was a welcome as they at last retired to the balcony for a breath of fresh air. Victoria, leaning on the railing, observed the city lights spread out in front of her, the hum of life going on even as she remained trapped in this perfectly built world. Silent for a time, Andrew stood beside her gazing across the city. His stance was rigid, as though the burden of the world was on his back. She could sense the tension between them, thick enough to cut through. She had to question. Andrew, what is your end game? What do you hope for from this? His face unreadable, he looked her way. His jaw tightened and for a brief second she glimpsed a spark of something darker before it disappeared once more. "I need redemption, as I told you," his voice harsher than all night. You," he said, waving dismissively to her, "are only a means to that goal. The directness of his remarks made her stomach turn. To him, she was just a means to an end. But then why did he appear so committed to her? Why the delicate gestures, the gentle times that made her question whether more lay under the surface? She moved uneasily. What happens next, six months later? What then happens? His look softened once again, only little, but the way he examined her suggested something deliberate. You reclaim your life. I receive what I want. The arrangement terminates. It's that easy. Victoria's chest grew tighter. Wasn't it meant to be easygoing? But looking into Andrew's eyes, she saw a guy who, even as he urged her to do just that, did not know how to let anyone get near. Something in her moved. Could he actually be that frigid? She turned her attention back to the city lights, away from him. Andrew, I'm not your marionette. You are not the only one who stands to gain from this. His smile was nearly sad and tight. Nobody ever said you were. Victoria's heart leapt. He was impossible for her to read. What did he want of her? The burden of their unspoken tension remained heavily as the night dragged on. The questions remained: When the six months finished, what would happen? What was Andrew Sinclair actually hiding? But one thing was sure: every passing moment was pulling her deeper into a web of lies, deception, and overwhelming desire.