A small victory, hard-won through weeks of performance.
"Thank you. It would help ensure consistency in the creative direction."
Later, alone in my suite, I stand before the window overlooking the darkened gardens. I was beginning to hate the view.
He believes he's succeeding—that my performance of gradual acceptance reflects adjustment.
I turn from the window, moving to the small desk where I've begun keeping a journal—a record of wedding preparations, I'm not stupid enough to keep anything incriminating inside of it but it's another tool to make it look like he's won.
I close the journal, carefully replacing it.
The game has only begun.
CHAPTER 11
The formal dining room gleams with polished silver and crystal, candles casting flickering shadows across damask tablecloths and the carefully composed faces of Chicago's elite. I sit at Gage's right hand, playing my role with practiced precision.
It's our third private dinner party this week, this one featuring Judge Harrison and his recently divorced daughter Caroline, the Zhangs from last week's restaurant outing, and two new couples being cultivated for business reasons—the Athertons (banking) and the Donovans (real estate). The conversation flows with practiced ease, touching on safe topics—art exhibitions, charity functions, market trends carefully divorced from political implications.
I contribute appropriately, drawing on both my society upbringing and my genuine knowledge of design principles. The performance has become almost automatic now—five weeks into captivity, the mask slips on with disturbing ease.
"Penelope was just telling me about the floral concept for your wedding," Caroline says during dessert, her expression genuinely interested. "The combination of traditionalarchitecture with more organic arrangements sounds absolutely stunning."
I smile. "We wanted something that balances structure and natural beauty," I reply, the practiced line emerging smoothly.
"Much like marriage itself," Judge Harrison observes with paternal wisdom that makes my stomach clench. "The framework of commitment supporting the organic growth of connection."
"Beautifully put, James," Gage responds, his hand settling briefly on mine—a possessive gesture disguised as affection.
"You make a striking couple," Adelaide Zhang comments, her assessment encompassing both our physical appearance and apparent compatibility. "Some matches seem inevitable in retrospect, don't they? As if all paths would eventually lead to this connection."
If only she knew the literal truth of her metaphorical observation.
"Inevitability requires perspective," I offer. "What seems predetermined from one vantage point might appear quite different from another."
Gage's fingers tighten slightly around his wine glass.
"Speaking of perspective," he redirects smoothly, "Malcolm mentioned you've recently acquired Hayashi's latest installation piece. I'd be interested in hearing how it transforms within different lighting conditions."
Later, when our guests have departed and staff clear the remains of dinner, Gage leads me to the library for our customary post-event review. The routine has become established over weeks.
"Judge Harrison continues to be impressed," he observes, pouring two brandies without asking my preference. "His support for the Harbor Point development will be valuable given the zoning complications."
I accept the crystal snifter, the ritual now familiar. "Caroline seemed particularly interested in wedding details. Is her recent divorce relevant to your business interests, or merely coincidental?"
He raises an eyebrow at my directness. "Caroline's legal practice specializes in corporate acquisitions. Her personal circumstances are irrelevant to our professional connection."
"Yet you seated her beside me rather than with the Athertons, despite their shared financial focus," I note, testing my growing understanding of his strategic orchestration. "And encouraged discussion of wedding preparations rather than legal matters."
A slight smile curves his lips. "You're developing an eye for social strategy, Penelope. A valuable skill for your future role."
"Your comment about 'structural arrangements' was unnecessary," I say after a moment, choosing direct address rather than evasion.
"The comment wasn't for their benefit," he replies calmly. "It was a reminder for you, after your philosophical observation about perspective. Public events aren't the place for veiled expressions of discontent, however cleverly phrased."
I study him over the rim of my glass, noting subtle differences in his demeanor tonight—a slight tension in his shoulders, a marginally shorter fuse for my boundary-testing.
"Something's bothering you," I observe. "Beyond my minor conversational deviation."
