Elizabeth woke to the unfamiliar light streaming through the French doors of her new suite. The room was perfectly quiet, as if the walls themselves conspired to keep out the noise of her life beyond these mansion walls. She lay still, letting the reality sink in—she was Mrs. Cole, living under Xavier's roof, tethered to his world in a way she still couldn't fully comprehend.
The dinner event had been a surreal experience. Every glance, every whispered conversation had felt like a test, as if his family and colleagues were all silently assessing her worthiness. She'd seen his grandmother, Eleanor, watching her closely with an expression that shifted between suspicion and skepticism. And though Elizabeth had been prepared for scrutiny, the sharpness in Eleanor's gaze had left her feeling vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected. Xavier's reassurance, though unanticipated, had helped her keep her composure. But she knew better than to think that would happen often. Xavier wasn't one for consolation; he was a man who managed expectations, even if that meant crossing emotional boundaries.
As she dressed for the day, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel the weight of the reality she'd signed up for. This arrangement was, at its core, a job. But as she looked in the mirror, she wondered how many more times she could convince herself of that. After all, she was pretending to be married, sharing a home with a man she barely knew, living under the scrutiny of his world.
Her first order of business was to check in at the gallery, so she gathered her things and headed to the main foyer, surprised to find Xavier waiting there, dressed in a crisp suit, coffee in hand as he scanned through emails on his phone.
"Good morning," he said, barely looking up.
"Morning," she replied, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. She couldn't quite get used to seeing him here, in a more personal space. She'd expected him to vanish into the depths of his corporate empire, not hover in the hallways like an ordinary person.
"I'm going to the gallery," she said, her tone a little too stiff. She'd hoped to avoid conversation with him after last night's event, just to collect herself and reset her boundaries. But Xavier looked up at her, a hint of curiosity in his expression.
"Already? You just moved in."
"Believe it or not, I still have things to do," she replied, unable to keep the slight edge out of her voice.
A faint smile flickered on his lips, and he held out a set of car keys. "I assumed you would, which is why I had this prepared for you. It's yours while you're here."
Xavier glanced down, seeing the sleek, black key fob in his hand. "You got me a car?"
"For the duration of our arrangement, yes," he said, his tone practical. "It's more efficient, given your schedule and the fact that you're living here now."
She took the keys, her fingers brushing against his as she did. A faint thrill went through her at the touch, and she quickly pulled back, hoping he hadn't noticed. "Thank you," she murmured, pocketing the key.
He gave a slight nod, watching her with that unflinching gaze"Elizabeth," he said suddenly, "last night, you handled yourself well."
Elizabeth's eyebrows lifted in surprise. The compliment was unexpected, and she wasn't entirely sure if he meant it or if it was just another tactic to keep her in check. But either way, she accepted it, nodding in acknowledgment. "I did what was necessary," she replied.
A flicker of something—perhaps admiration—crossed his expression, but it vanished as quickly as it came. "Good. That's exactly what I expect."
With a curt nod, he turned and disappeared down one of the hallways, leaving her to process the strange mix of approval and tension that his words had stirred. She knew Xavier Cole was a man who valued strength and loyalty, but there was an intensity to his expectations that felt almost… personal.
The gallery was as she'd left it, though a small part of her had worried that Xavier's involvement would somehow infiltrate even here. The familiar scent of oil paints and aged wood greeted her, and for the first time in days, Elizabeth felt a sense of calm settle over her. This was her sanctuary, her mother's legacy, and despite everything, she would protect it.
Her assistant, Sarah, greeted her with a warm smile as Elizabeth walked through the gallery's main hall. "Good morning, Mrs. Cole," she said, then froze, her cheeks turning pink. "Oh—sorry. I mean, Amelia."
Elizabeth managed a laugh, feeling the weight of her new name sink in. "It's fine, really. I'm still getting used to it myself."
Sarah handed her a clipboard, pointing to the upcoming exhibition notes. "We've got a few new artists interested in submitting their work for the winter showcase," she explained. "I've arranged a couple of meetings for you this afternoon, if that's all right."
Elizabeth nodded, grateful for the distraction of her usual responsibilities. "Perfect. The more I can keep busy, the better."
The hours passed in a blur of meetings and arrangements, and Elizabeth found herself slipping back into the comfortable rhythm of her work. Here, she was in control, and the expectations were ones she'd set for herself. But as the day wore on, she became aware of how much her situation had changed, how even in the gallery, she was no longer entirely free.
Around mid-afternoon, a familiar face appeared in the gallery lobby. Xavier's driver—Peter, a man with a silver beard and a warm smile—approached her, his posture respectful as always. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Cole. Mr. Cole asked me to bring you these," he said, handing her a small gift box tied with a silk ribbon.
Curious, she opened the box and found a simple, elegant bracelet with a card attached. She unfolded it and read Xavier's handwriting:
To look the part. —X.C.
Elizabeth felt a strange mixture of emotions. The bracelet was delicate, beautiful, but it was also another reminder that she was a part of his world now. A subtle accessory, one that wouldn't draw too much attention, but would send a message nonetheless. To anyone watching, she was Mrs. Xavier Cole, and she had to play the role.
She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, feeling its cool weight against her skin. It was a reminder, as much as it was a gift—a symbol of what she was here to do.
By the time she returned home that evening, exhaustion was beginning to set in. She found herself instinctively heading toward the east wing, already beginning to think of her suite as a safe place to unwind. But as she passed through the main hall, she caught sight of Xavier in the sitting room, speaking with an older woman she recognized as his grandmother.
She stopped, hoping they hadn't noticed her. Eleanor Cole had a presence that filled the room, her poise and elegance evident even from a distance. She was a woman who had likely been scrutinizing her family's affairs for decades, and Elizabeth felt a sudden wave of self-consciousness. She still felt out of place in this mansion, and the presence of Xavier's grandmother only amplified that feeling.
Just as she turned to retreat to her suite, Xavier's voice called out, "Elizabeth."
She forced herself to smile and stepped into the sitting room. Xavier and Eleanor turned to face her, and she could feel Eleanor's gaze appraising her, searching for any flaw in the woman her grandson had chosen.
"Grandmother, this is Elizabeth," Xavier said, his voice calm and controlled. "My wife."
Eleanor extended a hand, her eyes sharp as she observed Elizabeth. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Elizabeth," she said, though her tone held an edge. "I understand you're an art enthusiast."
"Yes, I run a gallery downtown," Elizabeth replied, hoping to keep her tone as cordial as possible.
"Is that so?" Eleanor replied, a hint of skepticism in her expression. "And what brought you to the gallery business? Surely, with Xavier's influence, you could manage a larger enterprise."
Elizabeth felt the comment sting, though she managed to keep her expression neutral. "The gallery belonged to my mother," she said, trying not to let Eleanor's dismissive tone affect her. "It's important to me to continue her legacy."
Eleanor's gaze softened, if only slightly. "I see. Family is important, of course," she said, though her tone held a trace of doubt. She turned to Xavier, giving him a pointed look. "I trust you'll keep things… appropriate. The Coles have a reputation to uphold."
Xavier's jaw tightened, his gaze flickering toward Elizabeth. She could tell he didn't appreciate his grandmother's tone, but he didn't argue. "I'm well aware, Grandmother."
Eleanor gave a final, assessing glance at Elizabeth before excusing herself, leaving the two of them alone in the sitting room.
Elizabeth let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Well, that was… intense."
Xavier's expression softened slightly, though he still looked wary. "She has her doubts," he admitted. "But she'll come around. Just… don't take her words personally."
Elizabeth crossed her arms, feeling the weight of her situation settle over her once again. "I can handle scrutiny, Xavier. I just need to know this arrangement isn't going to consume everything else I care about."
Xavier's gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable. "As I told you, the gallery remains yours. I'll uphold my end of the agreement. But you should know, Elizabeth, that living in this world isn't just about appearances. There are expectations, from my family, my colleagues, and even the media. They'll all be watching, and if we slip up, even once, they'll be ready to tear us down."
Elizabeth swallowed, feeling the weight of his words sink in. She'd known, on some level, what this arrangement would entail. But hearing Xavier spell it out so plainly made it feel more real—more daunting. This wasn't just about dinners or social events. It was about embodying a life that didn't belong to her, standing under a scrutiny she'd never wanted.
"And you think I'm not up to it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Xavier's lips curved into a faint smile, almost as if he were amused by her defiance. "I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't think you could handle it. But I also know that pretending to be someone else, day in and day out, takes a toll."
"Maybe it takes a toll on people who care about fitting in," she replied, straightening her shoulders. "But I'm here to get the job done and walk away. I don't care about winning over the Cole or anyone else in your circle. As long as I keep the gallery, the rest doesn't matter."
For a moment, he said nothing, just watching her, as if weighing her words. "Fair enough," he said finally. "But keep in mind that this arrangement affects both of us. If one of us slips, we both suffer the consequences."
The weight of his gaze made her heart race, and she looked away, unwilling to let him see how much his words unnerved her. She was out of her depth here—she knew it, and he knew it too. But she couldn't let him see how vulnerable she felt.
"Fine," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "Then let's keep this simple. I'll do my part, you do yours, and we'll get through this without incident."
Xavier gave a slight nod, as if sealing the unspoken agreement between them. "Agreed," he said, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, making her wonder if he truly believed it would be that simple.
They stood there in silence, the unspoken tension between them hanging thick in the air. She could feel the pulse in her temples, a reminder that, despite the walls she tried to put up around herself, Xavier Cole had a way of breaking through them—of making her feel things she hadn't anticipated.
As she turned to leave, Xavier's voice stopped her. "One more thing, Elizabeth."
She turned, her eyes meeting his. "Yes?"
"About my grandmother." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "She's protective of our family's reputation, sometimes to a fault. If she's cold or critical, don't let it discourage you. She'll come around in time."
Elizabeth felt a flicker of surprise. Xavier didn't strike her as the type to offer reassurance, and she hadn't expected him to care about her feelings, especially when it came to his family. But in his own quiet way, it seemed he was trying to look out for her.
"I'll keep that in mind," she replied, her voice softening despite herself.
For a moment, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, perhaps, or a tentative truce. Then, with a final nod, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the dimly lit room. As she made her way to her suite, she couldn't shake the feeling that, beneath the veneer of their arrangement, something far more complex was beginning to take shape.
Whether it was a blessing or a curse, she had yet to discover. But one thing was certain: her life was no longer her own. And the path she'd chosen, however practical it had seemed, was already leading her in directions she hadn't expected.