Liam’s eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “What is wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.
Isabelle’s eyes fixed on the flashing expensive cars. “Nothing,” she said, her voice flat and impassive.
His lips tensed. “You are not even going to test drive it?” he asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.
She shook her head, her eyes unvarying. “It’s beautiful, Liam. But I can not accept it.”
“Why not?” Liam asked, his voice softer now, pigmented with a pang of understanding. He knew their relationship wasn’t a fairytale love story. It was a business sale. Yet, he could not deny the flicker of hope that had sparked in him around Isabelle.
She took a deep breath, her voice low and simulated. “Because Liam.” she said, her eyes eventually meeting his. “we are bound by a contract. A contract that dictates our lives, our futures, and our happiness.”
He squinched, the sharp edges of their reality slicing through the fragile pretense of normality. “Isabelle.” he began, his voice a low grumble. “This is a gift. A gesture of… well, it’s a way of showing you….” He traced off.
“You’re being nice.” she intruded, the words laced with bitterness. “You are trying to make this whole facade sufferable for me, but it does not change anything. This isn’t real. There is no love, no affection. Just a contract.”
He felt a surge of frustration crash over him, pulling him under. “Isabelle, I understand it’s all a bit unusual.” he began, his voice tight with frustration. “But I am not trying to pretend. I am not trying to deceive you. This is….”
“What? A way to buy my love?” she snapped, her voice sharp. “A way to keep me quiet while you show me off like a trophy?”
“That is not fair, Isabelle,” Liam said, his voice low and simulated. “This is not about my business, This is about us, about… about you and me.”
“Us?” she scoffed, her eyes narrowed. “There’s no ‘us ‘, Liam. We’re two individuals bound by a contract, playing a part in a facade, a game that have been designed.”
He felt a swell of wrath, a burning frustration that he struggled to contain. “Isabelle, you are making this more delicate than it needs to be.” He said his voice hardening. “I am offering you a gift, a gesture of goodwill.” he continued, his voice rising. “Is that so wrong?”
The wrath in her eyes burned lustrously. “You suppose throwing money at me will make this whole facade vanish?” she asked, her voice cold and criminating. “Do you think this will abolish the fact that you’re engaged to me for a contract?”
He felt a dull pang in his chest. He knew she was right. This was not a romantic courting, it was a calculated sale. But he was trying, God, he was trying to break through the walls she had erected around herself.
“I understand your reservations, Isabelle,” he said, his voice softening. “But I ask you, please, give me a chance. Give us a chance.”
“To what?” she asked, her voice laden with disapproval. “To live out this facade, to pretend we’re in love, to keep up appearances for the benefit of our society?”
He faltered, his words caught in his throat. This was more than a facade, more than a facade. He did not know what it was, but he felt a pull towards Isabelle, a connection that he could not ignore.
“Isabelle.” he began, his voice low and humorless. “I am trying to make this work. I am trying to be a decent human being, a good mate, a good husband. “The word felt foreign on his tongue, a pledge he could not relatively grasp.
She scoffed, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and unbelief. “A husband?” she echoed, her voice laced with hate. “Liam, we are not even pretending to be a couple. Do you think buying me a car will abolish the truth? That it’ll change the fact that we’re bound by a contract, a contract that dictates our lives, our futures?”
He felt a swell of frustration. “Isabelle, please, just give me a chance,” he begged, his voice laced with despair. “I can not make you believe in this, but I truly value your happiness. I want to make this work, I want to…”
“No.” she intruded, cutting him off. “It’s over. I’m going home.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there on the scene.
He stood there for a long moment, watching her leave, the weight of her rejection settling upon him like a physical burden. His wrathfulness had dissipated, replaced by a crushing surge of sadness. He did not understand. He had not meant to cross any lines, to make her uncomfortable with his gestures.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. This was not about the car. It was about something else, something more complex than a simple gift. It was about the implied truth, about the fragile contract that held their lives together.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to recapture his composure. He needed to make a decision. He could not let her rejection and her hurt spoil everything. He was in too deep, he was too invested in it and he would not give up.
He approached the salesman, his voice calm and resolute. “I’ll take it,” he said, signaling towards the car. “Go through the paperwork, and I’ll register it in her name.” He needed to show her that he meant it, that he was committed to making this work, even if it was against her will.
The deals director, a seasoned professional with his eyes reflecting times of observing mortal feelings, simply nodded and progressed with the sale.
Within an hour, the car was his. Liam watched as the delivery motorist drove the beauty out of the dealership, towards his home, towards Isabelle.
He sat in the silence of his car, his mind working furiously. He had to talk to her, had to mend the cracks that had opened up between them. He needed to bridge the gap, to ground the ocean that was between their contract and their lives. He needed to find a way to show her that this facade, this contract, could become something more.
He returned home, his mind racing, a thousand scripts playing out in his head. His heart pained for her, for the way he’d hurt her. He needed to speak to her, to apologize, to understand. He needed to know if there was indeed a flicker of hope, a possibility of something more than just a contract binding them together.
As he walked through the door, the faint sounds of a discussion drifted from the living room. He stopped, his blood turning to ice. He recognized Isabelle’s voice, its soft air pigmented with a lightness he had infrequently heard. He recognized the other voice, the voice that sent a jolt of wrath through him, Max’s.
He did not move, his body firmed in the doorway. He could not believe what he was hearing. Isabelle was telling Max about the car, about Liam’s attempt to assuage her, to buy her affection. He felt a swell of wrath and a consuming rage that threatened to gulf him.
He stood there, an unnoticeable bystander, his voice choked by the bitterness that swamped his senses. He listened, his heart pounding, his mind reeling. The words echoed in the silence of the hallway, each syllable adding energy to the fire that was consuming him….