Page 2 of Arranged with Twins

The man, Hamilton, turns with a politician’s practiced smile that falters when he sees Leo’s expression.

He drops his hand from the waitress’s back immediately.

His voice carries the slightly slurred cadence of someone who’s been sampling the premium bar too liberally.

“Denisov? Wonderful party. Just wonderful. Congratulations on the engagement. Lucky man.”

Leo steps closer, effectively boxing Hamilton between the bar and his own considerable presence. “I noticed you seemed to be having an interesting conversation with our server here.”

The waitress, a young woman with dark curls and intelligent eyes, shoots Leo a grateful look before slipping away with her tray. Hamilton’s face reddens slightly. “Just being friendly. No harm in a little conversation.”

Leo’s tone remains perfectly pleasant, while something underneath it makes the hair on my arms stand up. “Conversations tend to go more smoothly when all parties are equally interested in participating. Don’t you agree?”

Hamilton’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Absolutely. Absolutely. I should go find my wife. Congratulations again on the engagement.”

He practically scurries away, leaving Leo and me alone at the bar. The bartender, a distinguished man in his fifties, doesn’t even need to be asked. He simply slides a glass of what looks like very expensive whiskey across the polished surface.

Leo lifts the glass with a nod of thanks. The bartender glances at me questioningly.

I order my drink while processing what just happened. “Gin and tonic.”

Leo adds, which earns him a sharp look from me, “Make it a double.”

“I can order my own drinks.”

He shrugs, turning his glass in slow circles on the bar top. “I’m sure you can. You look like you could use something stronger than champagne to get through the rest of this evening.”

He’s not wrong. The gin burns pleasantly as I sip it, and some of the tension in my shoulders starts to ease. “That was well-handled, by the way. With Hamilton, I mean.”

He looks mildly irritated for a moment, but I realize it’s still with the handsy man, not me. “Men like him think wealth buys them license to take whatever they want. It’s important to correct that misconception when it arises.”

I sip my drink again before asking, “Is that what you did? Corrected a misconception?”

He looks at me over the rim of his glass. “I reminded him some things aren’t for sale, and some people aren’t for taking.”

The words hang between us, making me consider he might not be as bad as I anticipated if he’s willing to intercede on behalf of a woman most of the people in this room would consider either invisible or disposable.

Ironically, though, he’s decided that he’s entitled to take me.

Before I can respond, the sound system crackles to life, and Father’s voice fills the ballroom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for just a moment? Katherine and I are delighted to share some wonderful news with all of you tonight. It gives us tremendous joy to announce the engagement of our daughter, Sienna, to Leonid Denisov.”

I let out a sigh.

The crowd begins to gather, conversations dying as people turn toward the small stage at the far end of the room. Mother stands beside Father, her smile radiant and perfectly calculated for the cameras that have multiplied during our conversation at the bar.

Applause erupts across the room, punctuated by camera flashes and the excited murmur of voices already crafting the story they’ll tell at tomorrow’s brunches.

The sound washes over me like a wave. I drain the rest of my gin and tonic in one swallow.

The alcohol provides false courage for what’s coming next, which is the performance that will seal my fate and bind me to a man I barely know.

Leo murmurs, offering me his arm, “Showtime.”

I take it because refusing would create a scene that would send Mother into hysterics and provide fodder for gossip columnists for months. His arm is solid under my hand, with firm muscles and bone beneath the fine wool of his jacket.

I take comfort in this handsome devil. Everyone else here seems worse, somehow.

We make our way through the crowd, which parts before us.

People reach out to touch my shoulder to offer congratulations and position themselves within the circle of this new alliance.

Their faces blur together, smiling but in a greedy and soulless way.

I’m glad I can’t remember them, because it would just make me think less of them, if such a thing were possible.

Father announces as Leo helps me up the single step onto the platform, “There they are. The happy couple.”

Happy.

I paste a smile across my face and wonder if anyone in this room besides myself can see how brittle it is. Surely, they’ve noticed a lack of courtship between us? Our first appearance in public together is for our engagement party. Yeah, there’s nothing fishy about that.

Leo’s hand settles at the small of my back, warm and possessive, distracting me from my bitter thoughts. Questions fly from the small cluster of reporters Mother specifically invited, including society columnists and lifestyle journalists who can be trusted to write the story she wants told.

A reporter calls out, “When’s the wedding?”

Another voice joins in, “How long have you two been dating?”

A third reporter focuses on me specifically, “Sienna, what attracted you to Mr. Denisov?”

I open my mouth to attempt an answer to that last question, while Leo’s hand presses slightly against my back in either a warning or a signal.

When he speaks, his voice carries easily across the room without any apparent effort.

“Sienna and I have known each other since childhood. Some connections are worth waiting for the right time to become more.” He glances down at me, and there’s something in his expression that might almost be genuine affection if I didn’t know better.

“When the right person comes along, timing becomes irrelevant.”

It’s a perfect answer, romantic enough to satisfy the reporters but vague enough to avoid specific follow-up questions.

I nod along, playing my part in this elaborate theater.

I manage to keep my voice steady when the next question comes my way.

“We’re still discussing details, but we’re both excited about the future. ”

More flashes, more questions, and more careful non-answers that reveal nothing while seeming to share everything follow.

Finally, after ten minutes of the cross-examination, Father raises his hands to quiet the crowd.

“I think that’s enough for tonight. Let’s allow the young people to enjoy their engagement party. ”

The crowd begins to disperse, and conversations resume as people discuss this new information and calculate how it might affect their own positions in the complex web of Manhattan society.

Leo keeps his hand on my back as we step down from the stage, guiding me toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

His approval sounds genuine. “You did well.”

I manage a stilted smile that has no warmth. “Did I have a choice?”

“There’s always a choice, Sienna. The question is whether you’re willing to accept the consequences of making it.”

Before I can ask what he means by that, Mother appears at my elbow with a charming smile that’s no more authentic than the one I just gave him. I have to admit her timing is impeccable.

She gestures toward the terrace. “Darling, the Times photographer wants a few more shots of you and Leonid. He’s requesting something more intimate, so perhaps on the terrace?”

The terrace. Of course. Nothing says romance like expensive real estate with a view of Central Park.

I glance at Leo, who nods almost imperceptibly.

I smooth my expression into something pleasant. “Of course. Lead the way.”

The photographer directs us through a series of poses on the terrace.

We’re hand in hand looking out over the park in one.

In the next, after I shiver, the photographer catches the moment when Leo drapes his jacket over my shoulders.

A second after that, he moves to stand behind me with his hands on the railing.

Each shot captures what looks like romantic intimacy while being a carefully choreographed performance.

The only genuine moment is when he unexpectedly gave me his jacket.

I didn’t want to feel something, but I did.

When the photographer finally finishes and disappears back into the ballroom, Leo and I are left alone on the terrace.

The noise from the party becomes muffled through the glass, creating an oddly intimate bubble of space.

The October air carries a chill that isn’t as sharp now that I’m wearing his soft wool jacket.

I should suggest we go back inside to maintain the polite distance appropriate to our situation. Instead, I study his profile. “Why did you agree to this?”

He sounds bored. “I told you earlier. It’s all about legitimacy and stability.”

I frown at him. “No, I mean why did you really agree to it? You could marry anyone. You could probably buy whatever legitimacy you think you need without tying yourself to someone who clearly doesn’t want to be here.”

He turns to face me fully, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed. The pose should look casual, yet there’s nothing relaxed about the way he watches me.

His voice drops lower, becoming more intimate.

“Your father saved my life when I was seventeen, but not in some dramatic, heroic way. He gave me shelter when I had nowhere else to go. He asked for nothing in return, expecting no loyalty or future consideration. He simply helped because it was the right thing to do.”

I nod slowly, having a vague memory of the circumstances, though no one was eager to explain everything to seven-year-old me. “Now you’re returning the favor?”

He doesn’t look away from my face. “In part. There’s more to it than simple obligation.”

“Such as?”

Instead of answering, he lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “You’re not what I expected.”

I stare at him without blinking. “What did you expect?”

“Someone more compliant.” A corner of his lip curls upward in clear amusement. “I thought you’d be more eager to please. Your parents spoke of you as though you’d be grateful for this arrangement. Head over heels for me.”

I laugh, yet there’s no humor in it. “Yes, I’m sure they said plenty of things. They’ve been trying to marry me off to someone suitable since I graduated from university. They just never found the right combination of wealth and social standing until now.”

He seems unsettled for a second, either by my honesty or how my parents misled him. “I see. What would you choose for yourself, Sienna?”

The question catches me unprepared. It’s been so long since anyone asked what I wanted rather than telling me what I needed or what I would do.

“I’d want to work. Not charity work or serving on boards like Mother but actually building something.

I studied business at London School of Economics, not because my parents thought it would make me a better wife, but because I wanted to understand how things really work. ”

He seems intrigued. “What if I told you this arrangement doesn’t have to be what you think it is?”

I resist the urge to scoff and try to sound pleasant. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’re both intelligent adults entering into a partnership that benefits our families. That doesn’t mean we can’t find ways to make it benefit us as well. I’d prefer you be happy in the arrangement, or at least… satisfied. And I’d like the same. I have needs too.”

I expect a wink at the end of that, but he just smiles a little.

The sounds from the ballroom indicate the party is beginning to wind down. Guests will start making their departures soon, and with them goes any chance for private conversation. Tomorrow, this will all become real in ways I’m not prepared to contemplate.

I smooth my hair and check that my smile is firmly in place. “We should go back inside. Mother will worry if we’re gone too long.”

Leo nods while gently removing his jacket from my shoulders and shrugging back into it. “Of course. Shall we?”

He offers me his arm again, and I take it. We walk back toward the ballroom doors, and he leans down to speak directly into my ear, his breath warm and close. “Smile, sweetheart.”

The cockiness in his voice sends fury burning through my chest, reminding me exactly what this arrangement represents despite his seemingly reasonable words from moments before.

He’s only reasonable as long as I don’t make waves, I’m sure.

He thinks he’s the boss of me. He thinks he has already won.

And I know what he wants from me. A man like him expects control, possession, and the systematic dismantling of any autonomy I might have claimed for myself to make me his perfect wife.

He wants a dutiful sycophant regardless of his talk of partnership.

Once I’m properly “trained,” he’ll forget all about me unless he needs me at a function of some sort.

The thought sits in my stomach like a stone, making me nauseated.

Shut your mouth and open your legs. I can imagine it already.

I smile anyway, hating that he already has any amount of power over me. The cameras are waiting, after all, and the show must go on.