"Life rarely meets our expectations, Alex. That's what makes it interesting."
Robert raised his glass. "To my grandson and his bride. May you find whatever you're looking for, even if it's not what you expected."
It wasn't exactly a blessing, but it wasn't a condemnation either. Sophia raised her glass, meeting Robert's eyes over the rim.
The rest of dinner passed more smoothly.
Robert told stories about Alexander as a child brilliant and stubborn even then, apparently and asked Sophia about her architectural work with genuine interest. By the time dessert arrived, the tension had mostly dissolved.
"Walk me out," Robert said to Sophia as they prepared to leave. "I'd like a word in private."
Alexander looked like he wanted to object, but Sophia nodded. "Of course."
They walked slowly through the restaurant, Robert moving with the careful precision of someone managing pain. Outside, his driver waited by a black Mercedes.
"You're good for him," Robert said without preamble. "I can see it already. The way he looks at you he hasn't looked at anyone like that since before Vanessa."
"Mr. Sterling"
"Robert. Call me Robert." He smiled. "And don't argue. I'm dying, which gives me certain privileges, including being right about things."
"Alexander told me. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I've had a good life, longer than I deserved. But I worry about Alex. He's isolated himself, convinced himself that control is the same as safety. It's not." Robert took her hand.
"Whatever brought you two together money, contracts, desperation doesn't matter. What matters is what you do with the time you have. Don't waste it pretending you don't feel things. Life's too short for that particular lie."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You will." Robert squeezed her hand gently. "The wedding is Saturday. I'll be there, front row. And Sophia? Thank you for being honest tonight. Most people in your position would have lied, told me pretty stories about love at first sight. The fact that you didn't tells me everything I need to know about your character."
He kissed her cheek, surprisingly gentle, then climbed into his car and was gone.
Sophia stood on the sidewalk, her mind spinning. Alexander appeared at her elbow.
"What did he say?" he asked.
"That I'm good for you. That we shouldn't waste time pretending we don't feel things."
"He's a romantic. Always has been."
"Maybe." Sophia looked up at him. "Or maybe he's just dying and wants to make sure you're not alone when he's gone."
Alexander's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. "Come on. Let's go home."
Home. The word shouldn't have felt so significant, but it did.
In the car, Alexander was quiet, staring out the window at the passing city lights. Sophia wanted to say something, to break the silence, but didn't know what.
"You did well tonight," he finally said. "Better than I expected."
"Because I didn't fall apart when he called me a gold digger?"
"He didn't" Alexander stopped, sighing. "He was testing you. Seeing if you'd lie or hide behind pretty words. You didn't. You stood your ground. He respected that."
"Did he? He seemed pretty disappointed in both of us."
"He wants me to be happy. He thinks that requires love." Alexander's voice was carefully neutral. "He's wrong, but he's sincere about it."
"What if he's right?"
Alexander looked at her sharply. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't start believing the fairy tale, Sophia. This is a contract. A year of our lives. Then it's over."
"I know that. But your grandfather made me think what if we're wrong? What if we're so busy protecting ourselves that we miss something real?"
"There's nothing real about this." But his voice lacked conviction, and when Sophia slipped her hand into his, he didn't pull away.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, hands linked, both pretending this was just part of the act.
Both knowing it was starting to feel like something more.
Friday morning brought chaos.
Sophia woke to find Margaret coordinating an army of vendors, florists, caterers, and wedding planners who'd transformed the penthouse into what looked like a high-end bridal magazine explosion. White roses everywhere. Fabric swatches. Seating charts for a ceremony that would host two hundred of Manhattan's elite.
"Sorry about the noise," Margaret said, finding Sophia in the kitchen nursing her first coffee. "Mr. Sterling wanted everything handled quickly, which means everything's happening at once."
"It's fine. I just didn't expect…" Sophia gestured vaguely at the controlled chaos. "All of this."
"The Sterling family has certain standards to maintain. The wedding needs to look like it was planned for months, not days." Margaret's smile was kind. "Don't worry. You just need to show up and look beautiful. We'll handle the rest."
"What about Alexander?"
"Already at the office. He said he'd be back by noon for the rehearsal."
Rehearsal. Right. Because they were getting married tomorrow and needed to practice pretending to be in love in front of two hundred witnesses.
Sophia's phone buzzed. A text from Ethan: They're moving me to a regular room today! Doc says recovery is ahead of schedule. You coming by?
She smiled, typing back: Absolutely. This afternoon. Save me the good Jello.
At least something in her life was going right.
"Miss Chen?" A woman in her forties appeared, carrying what looked like a garment bag the size of a small car. "I'm Vivienne, from Marchesa. I have your dress for the final fitting."
Her dress. Sophia had been so focused on Ethan's surgery and surviving dinner with Robert that she'd barely thought about what she'd actually wear to her own wedding.
Vivienne led her to one of the guest bedrooms that had been temporarily converted into a fitting room. When she unzipped the garment bag, Sophia's breath caught.
The dress was stunning ivory silk with delicate lace sleeves, a fitted bodice that would flow into a full skirt. Elegant but not overdone. Timeless. Exactly what Sophia would have chosen if she'd been planning a real wedding.
"Mr. Sterling selected this himself," Vivienne said, helping Sophia into the dress. "He was very specific about what he wanted. Classic, sophisticated, nothing too trendy. He said you'd prefer something that felt authentic rather than flashy."