Chapter 92.2

Chapter 92.2

“Omaa!”

Startled out of her skin, Miran whirled around to glare at him—just as a yellow cab pulled up in front of them. Smiling, he gently turned her back toward the car.

“Get in.”

Inside the cab headed for Columbus Circle, Miran leaned her head on his shoulder, dozing off. André bent down and kissed the crown of her head.

The fall semester at her language institute ended on December 20.

The flight back home is December 31. Everything that could get in the way has to be cleared out before then.

And after that…

He tilted her chin up, cradling her cheek as though it were fragile porcelain, and kissed her lips. Again and again he kissed her, until her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled at him softly.

André’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Just looking at her sent a shiver through his whole body. He was learning firsthand that sweet pain wasn’t just a figure of speech.

From the very beginning, when he had posed as a retired soldier, she had loved him with unwavering devotion. The fact that he was a Lafayette meant nothing to her.

Knowing there was one person who would still love him even if he lost his wealth, his title, and his honor—it was the safety net that told him even if he fell from the tightrope he was walking on the edge of a cliff, he wouldn’t die.

Soon he would have to tell Miran everything. But there were many things to take care of first.

He needed to finalize the contract with Lorraine, adjust the timeline.

Only then would he explain everything to Miran. Given her temperament, she might not accept it easily. He would need to approach cautiously, make her understand, persuade her again and again.

Because she loved him, he believed she would, in the end, understand.

For now, André pushed down the unease coiled in his chest and pulled Miran closer into his arms.

—

“I was waiting. I had a feeling you’d call. Did you get home alright that night?”

The moment she picked up, Lorraine teased him with a sly laugh. It was a nasty habit she’d picked up as a child, when he so often ignored her. Then, as now, André gave no sign he was listening.

[I’ll accept your proposal. Before the lawyers hammer out the details, we should agree on the general terms. Let’s meet.]

A brief silence fell on the other end.

“…You’re really going to marry me?”

Lorraine’s voice cracked. André pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke through clenched teeth.

[Yes, Lorraine Cabot. But if this was some kind of game you decided to play with me, this time you’ll regret it.]

“No, no! I’ll do it! That’s not what I meant—I just thought you were serious with that woman at the club. I was half giving up, even making a list of other candidates. Anyway, what a romantic way to propose. I almost pity the woman who ends up marrying someone like you. That Asian girl looked really young. Is she even over eighteen?”

André let out a sigh that seemed to shake the ground before he spoke again.

[Listen carefully. My first condition is that we never bring up each other’s private lives. I won’t meddle in your men, and you’re forbidden to mention, pry into, or investigate my woman. Break this rule, and the contract ends immediately. Understood?]

“Whoa. Calm down, André. We’ll go over the details in person.”

[You choose the place.]

“This time let’s meet somewhere visible.”

[Are you out of your mind?]

“If word gets back to our parents that we’ve been seen together, they won’t question it when we suddenly announce we’re getting married, will they?”

[…Where.]

“Tavern on the Green. Wednesday, seven o’clock.”

Tavern on the Green, a fine-dining restaurant in Central Park that opened in the 1930s, was a favorite haunt of the Upper East Side social set.

[Fine. I’m hanging up.]

When the call ended, André opened a blank Word document and began drafting the contract terms.