Page 25 of Arranged with Twins
Sienna
T he Manhattan ballroom glitters like a jeweler’s display case between the ornate chandeliers and the ostentatious displays of jewelry on the guests.
I stand beside Leo near the entrance, watching Manhattan’s elite filter through the doors with practiced smiles and calculating stares.
My mother orchestrated tonight’s party with military precision, another showcase designed to cement our engagement in the public consciousness.
I wear the orange diamond ring Leo chose for me that actually reflects my taste rather than Katherine’s vision of appropriate jewelry. The stones catch the light as I adjust my clutch, sending small rainbows dancing across my black evening gown.
“Sienna.” Mother’s voice carries that particular tone of maternal disappointment she’s perfected as she approaches us. She positions herself between Leo and me with the skill of someone accustomed to controlling conversations. “We need to discuss your choice of accessories.”
“Do we?” I keep my voice pleasant despite the warning bells clanging in my head. “Is there something wrong with my jewelry?”
“That orange monstrosity you insist on wearing draws entirely the wrong kind of attention.” Mother’s smile never wavers, but her words carry acid. “People are starting to talk about the discrepancy between the ring in the engagement photos and what you wear in public.”
Leo opens his mouth to respond, probably to defend my choice the way he did during our lunch weeks ago.
I speak before he can intervene. “The ring Leo chose for me is the one I love, and I’ll continue wearing it.
” I meet her gaze directly. “You can either accept that gracefully and handle the other ring as a mix-up accidentally given to the press, or I can tell my side of the story, which is the truth about how you tried to replace my fiancé’s thoughtful gift with something more suitable to your image. ”
The threat is real. Mother’s composure flickers for just a moment before the charming social mask slides back into place. “Of course, darling. I simply wanted to ensure everything appeared coordinated.” She touches my arm with false affection. “We’ll handle the press confusion appropriately.”
She glides away to greet other guests, leaving Leo and me standing in the aftermath of what amounts to a small declaration of war. “Well done.” He sounds genuinely approving. “I was about to defend you, but you handled that perfectly.”
“I can stand up to my parents when it really matters.” I adjust the ring deliberately, making sure it catches the light. “I’m going to have to do more of that because they’ll try to take control of… other things too.”
Leo understands immediately what I’m referencing. The baby growing inside me represents another opportunity for my parents to exert influence and make decisions they believe serve the family’s interests above my own.
“That won’t happen.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “Not while I’m here to prevent it.”
The promise is reassuring. For once, having Leo’s protective instincts aligned with my own desires feels like strength rather than constraint. “Thank you.” I reach for his hand, grateful for the support.
We share a moment of understanding that’s deeper than our usual careful politeness, which has slowly been fading in the past few days, since our night together, and when he realized I’m pregnant.
The ballroom continues to swirl around us, but for these few seconds, we exist in our own bubble of mutual purpose.
“Sienna?” Nadia’s voice breaks through the temporary peace as she hurries toward us, fashionably late and slightly breathless. “Sorry I’m behind schedule. I had last-minute alterations for a client who apparently gained ten pounds since her fitting.”
She looks stunning in a cream dress that complements her blonde hair perfectly. Her gaze darts between Leo and me, clearly noting the way we stand closer together than usual.
“You look incredible.” I embrace her warmly, grateful for friendly reinforcement in hostile territory. “That color is perfect on you.”
“Thanks. You look radiant yourself.” Nadia’s designer eye takes in my appearance with professional assessment. “Pregnancy suits you, even if you’re not showing yet.” She whispers the words so only I can hear them.
I glance around quickly to ensure no one overheard her comment. Leo’s jaw tightens, making me suspect he heard her quiet words. His protective instincts are triggered by any public reference to our secret.
“We should probably circulate.” I link my arm through Nadia’s, desperate to move away from potential eavesdroppers. “There are people Katherine expects us to charm.”
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions, small talk, and carefully choreographed social interactions.
I smile at investors, make pleasant conversation with board members’ spouses, and deflect personal questions with practiced ease.
Leo remains close throughout, a reassuring presence that makes the performance more bearable.
During a brief lull, I pull Nadia aside to a quiet corner, where tall floral arrangements provide some privacy from curious observers.
“How are you holding up?” She studies my face with the intensity she usually reserves for fabric quality. “You look tired.”
The admission comes out in a rush. “I haven’t told my parents yet about the pregnancy. Leo knows, but I’m not ready for Mother and Father to turn this into another opportunity for social engineering.”
Nadia nods understandingly. “Smart move. Once they know, they’ll want to control everything from prenatal vitamins to nursery décor. You’d be screwed. Or fucked, but isn’t that how we got here in the first place?”
I chuckle dryly. “Exactly.”
She smiles, and I glance across the room where Leo stands with a group of businessmen, his attention split between their conversation and monitoring my location. “He’s been surprisingly protective about keeping it all private.”
“Protective.” Nadia follows my stare, noting how Leo’s position allows him to watch both me and the room’s entrances simultaneously. “That’s one word for it. The man hasn’t taken his gaze off you all evening.”
“It’s about making sure I’m not acting out. I doubt it’s from a place of affection.” I try to sound dismissive, but uncertainty creeps into my voice. “He wants to manage the situation and protect his interests. That’s all.”
“Are you sure about that?” Her expression turns thoughtful. “That looks less like business management and more like a man who’s genuinely worried about someone he cares about.”
The suggestion makes my chest flutter with something I don’t want to examine too closely.
Leo’s reaction to learning about the pregnancy was intense, yes, but interpreting it as emotional investment rather than strategic concern feels dangerous.
“We should rejoin the party.” I smooth my dress unnecessarily, needing the distraction.
“Mother will start looking for us soon.”
The orchestra strikes up a waltz as we return to the main floor, and couples gather for the evening’s first formal dance. Leo appears at my side without being summoned, extending his hand with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
“May I have this dance?” The request is courteous but unnecessary. We both know refusing isn’t an option.
I place my hand in his and allow him to guide me onto the polished marble floor. Other couples arrange themselves around us, but the ballroom feels smaller once we begin moving together. He leads with practiced skill, his hand firm at my waist as we navigate the familiar steps.
“You’ve been quiet tonight.” His voice is pitched low enough that only I can hear it. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m just thinking.” I follow his lead through a turn, our bodies moving in perfect synchronization despite the emotional distance we usually maintain. “Do you remember at breakfast, you said something about previously living only for duty?”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but something shifts in his expression. “What about it?”
“When did that start? The duty-only existence?” I look into his eyes, emboldened by the music and the intimacy of the dance. “Was it after your parents died, or before?”
“After.” The admission comes reluctantly. “Before, I had the luxury of believing in things like choice and personal happiness. After, survival became the only priority.”
The hint of old pain he lets slip surprises me. Leo rarely reveals anything personal, especially not in public settings where vulnerability could be interpreted as weakness. “I understand that.”
“You’ve lived only for duty?” He sounds faintly skeptical.
My confession comes easier than expected, with a touch of defensiveness.
“I’ve never really chosen anything for myself.
Not my education, my career path, or this engagement.
The closest I came to living my own life and making my own choices was when I was in London, but I dutifully trotted home when summoned.
Everything has been decided based on what serves the family’s interests. ”
“And now?” He guides us through another turn, his touch gentle despite the strength he possesses. “What would you choose if you could?”
The question forces me to think. “I don’t know. I’ve been someone else’s decision for so long that I’m not sure I remember how to want things for myself.”
The shared admission creates something fragile between us in recognition of mutual limitation that feels more intimate than our physical closeness. For these few minutes, the careful walls we’ve constructed around ourselves lower enough to allow a sincere connection.
“Maybe we can figure it out together.” Leo’s voice carries no pressure, just possibility. “It’d be nice if we could learn how to choose things because we want them, not because they serve someone else’s agenda.”
The suggestion makes my heart race with hope I’m afraid to trust. The idea of building something real with Leo based on choice rather than obligation feels both thrilling and terrifying.
At the edge of the dance floor, Mother watches us with the calculating stare of someone evaluating a performance.
Her smile remains fixed for the benefit of other guests, but I catch the satisfaction in her expression.
To her, we’re playing our roles perfectly, giving the crowd exactly the romantic display she orchestrated.
If only she knew how much of this conversation was real.
The waltz ends, and couples begin dispersing toward the refreshment tables and conversational clusters. Leo keeps his hand at my waist longer than strictly necessary, brushing his thumb against the silk of my dress in a gesture that could be accidental but feels deliberate.
“Sienna, darling.” Mother’s voice cuts through the moment as she approaches with champagne flutes balanced on a silver tray. “You simply must try the vintage Dom Pérignon. It’s the same one we served at your engagement party.”
She presses a crystal glass into my hand with the expectation of immediate compliance. The champagne fizzes gently, releasing the crisp scent that once would have been appealing but now makes my stomach clench with warning.
“I’m not drinking tonight.” I set the glass on a nearby table without taking a sip. “I’ve had too much stress lately, and alcohol won’t help.”
Her smile tightens around the edges. It must be time for another dose of Botox. “Nonsense. A little champagne is exactly what you need to relax. People are watching, and abstaining sends the wrong message about celebration.”
“What message would that be?” Leo’s voice carries a dangerous undertone as he steps closer to my side. “That my fiancée makes intelligent decisions about her own well-being, Katherine?”
“Of course not.” Mother’s laugh sounds forced. “I simply meant appearances matter at events like this. A toast, perhaps? Just for the photographs?” She blinks rapidly.
“No.” I keep my voice firm despite the familiar pressure to comply. “I said I’m not drinking, and I meant it. It… makes my skin pink and itchy. That’s not a good look.”
Katherine’s expression flickers between frustration and social necessity.
Around us, other guests continue their conversations, but I catch several curious glances in our direction.
Any further argument risks creating exactly the kind of scene Katherine works so hard to avoid.
“Well.” She waves the concern away with practiced dismissal.
“I suppose young women these days are more health conscious. Vanity, really, but admirable in its way.”
The casual cruelty of reducing my choice to vanity rather than health makes my jaw clench, but my mother has already moved on to greet other guests. The interaction leaves me feeling exposed and frustrated in ways I can’t express without throwing something at her.
He puts his hand on my waist again, and the action feels steadying and possessive in equal measure. “You handled that well.”
“Did I?” I lean into his touch slightly, grateful for the support. “It doesn’t feel like winning when she dismisses everything I say.”
“It is winning.” His voice carries quiet conviction. “Every time you refuse to let her make your decisions, you win, even if she can’t acknowledge it.”
The observation makes me nod slowly. Maybe success doesn’t require my mother’s acknowledgement or understanding. It’s enough that I stood my ground and protected something important. That leaves me feeling satisfied, and I decide that’s what matters.
The evening continues around us, filled with music, conversation, and carefully orchestrated social theater. Leo and I move through it together, presenting the image Katherine requires while building something more substantial underneath the performance.
By the time guests begin departing, I feel cautiously optimistic about what we might create together.
The pregnancy changes things, but perhaps it also creates opportunities to have a real relationship that neither of us expected when this arrangement began.
It’s a heady thought, even if I’m not quite ready to believe it can truly happen.