Chương 3
The click of the latch was gentle.
It bothered me anyway.
“My company is in a bridge phase,” he said, returning to his chair. “We have receivables and committed capital. Timing is the issue.”
“How much is due today?”
“This isn’t an interrogation.”
“Then answer.”
Eleanor rose and crossed to the drinks cart. She poured mineral water into a glass, added one thin slice of lemon, and set it in front of me.
“You must think of the baby,” she said.
“I am.”
“The stress is not good for you.”
“Then stop asking me for money.”
She straightened.
There it was. The edge beneath the politeness.
“You have benefited from our family’s name, our connections, and this home.”
“I met Julian at a charity panel in Seattle. I didn’t know your family name.”
“But you know it now.”
“I know the invoices.”
Julian muttered something under his breath.
“What?” I asked.
He rubbed his forehead. “I said you’re being unbelievably transactional.”
I almost laughed.
The laugh caught behind my teeth and became something dry and painful.
“Your mother just presented me with ten thousand dollars in flowers.”
“This is our wedding.”
“It is her production.”
“She’s trying to make it beautiful.”
“For whom?”
“For us.”
“You haven’t looked at a single proposal.”
“I trust her.”
“You trust her with my money.”
His eyes flashed.
The baby shifted—or perhaps my stomach only cramped. At four months, I was still learning the difference between movement, gas, tension, and fear. My hand went automatically to the place below my ribs.
Julian saw it.
For one second his face softened. He started to rise.
Then his phone vibrated again inside his pocket.
Whatever was on that screen won.
He sat back.
That small choice broke something I had been protecting for him.
Not a dramatic thing. No thunder. No sudden revelation. Just a thread pulled loose from fabric.
I thought of the first night we met, when he had spent forty minutes asking questions about my business and never once checked his phone. I had liked that about him. Later, I understood that Julian’s attention was brightest when he believed something might improve his life.
At the time, I had mistaken focus for devotion.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
Eleanor stared at me. “We have not finished.”
“I have.”
I lifted my bag from beside the sofa and stood carefully. A brief wave of dizziness passed through me. I waited for it to settle before taking a step.
Julian watched me with the irritated expression of someone whose meeting had gone off schedule.
“You’re seriously walking out?”
“Yes.”
“Over flowers?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
I looked at him.
He truly seemed not to know.
That might have been the worst part.
“Choose a standard menu,” I said. “Cancel the imported flowers. I’ll have my accountant send you a list of what I’ve paid. There will be nothing else.”
Eleanor’s voice sharpened. “Sit down, Maya.”
I walked toward the front door.
Behind me, fabric rustled. Julian moved faster than I expected. He passed me in three long steps and reached the door first.
His hand closed around the brass lock.
“Julian,” I said.
He turned the dead bolt.
The sound was not loud.
A small metal click.
I stopped.
The room seemed to rearrange itself around that noise. The distance between me and the door became measurable. Julian’s body became an obstacle. Eleanor was no longer a difficult future mother-in-law standing beside a stack of invoices. She was a person behind me in a room I could not leave.
Julian put his back against the door.
“We are going to finish this conversation.”
“Open it.”
“Once you calm down.”
“I am calm.”
“No, you’re not. You’re exhausted, you’re pregnant, and you’re reacting to numbers without context.”
I felt heat climb my neck.
“Open the door.”
He folded his arms.
It was a pose I had seen him use with employees, contractors, waiters, anyone he wanted to outlast. Feet apart. Chin lowered. Voice controlled.
“We need ten minutes,” he said.
“You don’t get to decide when I’m allowed to leave.”
“Don’t make it sound insane.”
“You locked the door.”
“In my mother’s house.”
“With me inside it.”
“It is one conversation.”
“Open the door.”
Eleanor came closer, her heels quiet on the rug.
“Maya, no one is harming you.”
“Then let me leave.”
“You are behaving irrationally.”
“I said no to paying ten thousand dollars for flowers. That is not irrational.”
“This is no longer about flowers.”
“Finally, something we agree on.”
Julian’s mouth twitched, but not with humor.
“You want to know the situation?” he said. “Fine. The company needs a short-term capital injection.”
“How much?”
He looked at his mother.
She looked back.
The glance lasted less than a second, but it was practiced.
I gripped my bag.
“How much, Julian?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand.”
The number entered the room and took up space.
My first thought was that I had misheard him.
My second was that he had known before we arrived.
“How long have you known?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“How long?”
“A few weeks.”
“A few weeks.”
“The investor who was supposed to lead the bridge round delayed.”
“So the final notice on your phone—”
“Is a creditor.”
“What kind?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “A secured lender.”
“Secured by what?”
“The company’s assets.”
“And?”
Silence.
“And what?”
“My shares.”
Eleanor stepped between us slightly.
“The company is very close to a major contract,” she said. “The situation is temporary.”
I kept looking at Julian.
“Why are we discussing orchids?”
He exhaled.
“It wasn’t supposed to come out like this.”
“How was it supposed to come out?”
“After the wedding, when we could make decisions together.”
“Decisions about my money.”
“Our money.”
“We are not married.”
“We will be in eleven days.”
“Not if you keep standing in front of that door.”
His face went still.
May you like
Eleanor’s changed first. Not surprise. Calculation.
She reached toward the coffee table and gathered the invoices as though tidiness could return the conversation to something manageable.
