“So, which was it?”
Eileen perched on the seat across from me in the conservatory breakfast room, pouring us another cup of tea.
The mooncakes sat between us, untouched.
She placed the teapot back on the golden tray, angling its handle symmetrically between our cups, adding, “I’m referring to the assortment of household items that magically materialized whenever we misbehaved, growing up. Flip-flop?”
I reclined, sipping the loose-leaf tea, inspecting her behind the rim. “Believe it or not, my parents never threatened me.”
Perhaps this thing had legs after all.
That she stirred nothing in me was a feature, not a bug. She could never crawl under my skin, never sway me one way or the other.
“Ah.” She nodded, almost to herself. “The wall.”
I set the teacup on its saucer and thumbed away a drop that spilled over the edge. “My quads have been rock hard since I could talk.”
She cupped her mouth, giggling into her palm. For the first time in years, I felt at ease. Confident I’d fulfill the promise to my father.
I knew Eileen wouldn’t bust my chops if I taunted her. She was safe. A smart, logical choice.
The coup de grâce was that she reminded me of my mother in personality and experience, which meant I could never develop feelings for her in the long run, no matter how much time I spent with her.
“I always thought Mr. Sun would be formidable.” Eileen tilted her head, a distant glaze coating her eyes. “Growing up, I remember him so stern.”
“He was strict,” I confirmed. “But he had a soft side, too. He only showed it to me and Mom. What else do you remember about him?”
“I remember he adored you. He always spoke about you to my dad.”
Eileen met my eyes, turning serious. Her manicured fingers sank into the red velvet of the upholstered seat she occupied.
We were both trying to share a tender moment.
And failing miserably.
She fidgeted a bit. “I always listened, because I knew they both wanted us to marry each other one day.”
Silence crackled between us.
Filled with tension and trepidation.
My meeting with Eileen Yang was always destined to happen. Now that it did, we had a decision to make.
In our circles, people frowned upon lengthy dating periods. Loyalty, commitment, and preservation of bloodlines mattered most.
“I will never love you.” I rested my ankle on the opposite knee, lounging back in my seat. “And I will never touch you, either. Not to kiss you at the altar. And certainly not to impregnate you. In fact, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever feel comfortable enough to hug my own spawn.”
Not true, I reminded myself. Not if Farrow cures you.
Maybe one day—far, far, far down the line—I’d feel comfortable enough to hold my future spawn’s hand when we crossed the street.
“Affection does not…” I cleared my throat. “…come naturally to me.”
As I said the words, violent flashes of memories attacked me.
Burnt flesh.
Blood everywhere.
Screaming.
The scent of seared skin assaulting my nose.
Dad, Dad, Dad.
This was why I needed to put up with Octi. To fix the damage Dad had left behind.
Eileen nodded, staring at her hands. Her fingers tangled with one another. Long and narrow, like the rest of her bone structure.
We’d make fine-looking children, no doubt. And they wouldn’t be dumb. Always a nice bonus.
“I want to try sex.” She peered around as if someone could pick up her whisper without piercing her personal bubble. “See if perhaps it could grow on me with time.”
“You still can.” I pushed the saucer in. “As long as you’re discreet, I don’t mind if you take on a cinq-a-sept lover. Provided he or she is willing to sign all the necessary paperwork.”
I refused to be a laughingstock, but I didn’t expect my future wife to sit around cross-legged, just to appease my phobias, either.
Eileen tapped a beat on her knee. I found that little quirk annoying.
I wondered if Farrow had quirks, too. If so—what were they? Nothing would surprise me. Including killing puppies.
“I’m okay with that. Does that mean…?”
I nodded. “Insemination. If we decide to sign this deal.”
She sighed, nodding to herself. “This is actually very comforting. Sex was the one thing that always stood in my way of starting a family. Every time I tried to date, I’d end up tumbling into bed and stopping before we actually did it. Regardless of how intellectually attracted I was to him, it never felt like what my sister described. It felt… almost nonconsensual.”
“Well, this won’t be an issue for us, because I don’t want your body.”
She divided a mooncake in perfect quarters with the tine of her fork. “Then, what do you want?”
“Your cooperation. For you to co-parent my children. Wear my ring. Stand by my side during social functions. We can be cordial. Friendly, even. After all, we’ll have much to share—children, goals, wealth, power.”
Eileen smoothed her dress. “Just not love.”
I nodded.
She drew in a breath.
Did she have to breathe so loudly? How did she expect me to tolerate her existence when everything she did got on my nerves?
“Are we actually considering this?” Eileen asked, re-tucking her hair behind her ears. “I mean… forgive my directness, but should two people this fucked up reproduce, anyway? I know we look good on paper…”
“But paper is just a paper,” I finished for her. “Easily destroyed.” I’d contemplated this before and came to the same conclusion every time. “My children won’t be miserable. I’m like this because my circumstances made me like this. Take away those circumstances, and I’d be as horny as every other sleazeball in this country.”
Eileen winced at the crass words. “And we take this secret to the grave?”
“Does it matter? Most marriages in this tax bracket are a contract between two acquaintances who once upon a time enjoyed screwing one another. If anything, since the only exchange of bodily fluids will happen in a medical setting, we’ll be the least filthy couple in this town.”
She nodded, pushing back her shoulders. “I want to continue working.”
It felt too soon to lay down her terms and conditions. At the same time, it was exactly what I’d craved.
Someone who saw marriage as a business opportunity.
Eileen pushed away her plate, getting down to business. “I love my work. I know my mom told yours that I want a sabbatical—”
“Work as much as you want.” I raised one palm up, stopping her from launching into a speech. “With the exception of the last trimester of your pregnancies. My heirs must be taken care of and arrive in Like New condition.”
This was the only part of reproducing that actually made sense to me. Creating a genetically superior workforce from scratch to continue my business after I croaked.
After all, I couldn’t drag the money into Hell with me in a Louis Vuitton carry-on.
I added, as an afterthought, “The less I see of you, the better. No offense.”
“None taken.” She regarded me. “I have money, but…” she trailed off.
“But not my level of money. I dug into your finances during the background check.” I produced my phone and pulled up my contract app, setting the device on the table. “You come from a family of six with most of the inheritance passing down to your brothers. I’ll give you assets in the neighborhood of twenty million, but you’ll sign an iron-clad prenup.”
“Of course. And it will include some of my own conditions regarding my lifestyle budget and charities of choice.”
“Agreed on principle, subject to changes and fine print. My wife must be appointed to the boards of some companies I own.”
“The time commitment?”
“Three hours per week.”
“I want compensation for my time in the form of an apartment of my choosing in Shanghai.”
“Done.”
Another pause.
If this was everything Dad wanted for me, why did it feel fundamentally wrong?
“I want no more than two children. Three is too many and might interfere with my career.” She cocked her head to the side, studying the ceiling as if trying to fleece every demand she could think of from her brain. “And a wet nurse for each child. Up to twenty-four months. I refuse to raise IQ-deficient idiots.”
“Not a problem, so long as we split custody if you plan to continue practicing in New York.”
Mom would want to see her grandchildren on a regular basis. And that would tear her attention away from me.
Two birds. One stone.
Plus, I still held on to stupid hope that Dad wanted me to have a family for a reason that didn’t include saddling me with unnecessary bills, headaches, and sleep deprivation.
“This sounds acceptable enough.” Eileen inspected my face, possibly for signs that I’d run out the door. The only person I wanted out the door was her. “And… you’re sure you’ll be okay with this arrangement?” She tapped her knee again. Tap, tap, tap. “That you won’t suddenly decide you want love and teddy bears and all that nonsense. My sister says every man ends up only wanting one thing. Se—”
“Money,” I finished for her. “The rest of life’s vices bore me. I won’t change my mind.”
“That reminds me—separate beds?”
“Separate wings.”
“Am I really that unattractive to you?”
“It’s not you, Eileen. It’s me.”
Actually, it’s you, too. For being my mental clone. I already have sex with myself. It’s called masturbation.
Silence engulfed us.
With nothing more to discuss, I stood, brushing away wrinkles on my trousers. Eileen mirrored me, rising to her full height.
I imagined I’d one day resent the way she wore her lips—pursed in the shape of an asshole—because her expression was eternally sour.
I saved the contract draft on my app, eager to escort her off the premises. “I’ll have my people contact yours for further negotiations and instructions.”
“I don’t have any people.” She air-quoted the word with her fingers. “But yours can reach me on my cell. How about we shake on it?”
And then, without an ounce of consideration for how nauseating her touch was, she forced her hand into mine and gave it a firm, wet, hot squeeze.
Immediately, acid churned in my stomach.
I stood frozen for a moment, stunned and appalled, my gaze pinned hard on the spot where our flesh connected.
My arm had gone slack, my hand limp in hers.
I hated how pathetic I looked.
How pathetic I felt.
My mouth hooked into the shape of a scream, but nothing came out.
Let go of me.
Stop touching me.
Just fucking leave.
Bile traveled up my throat.
I swallowed it down, everything rigid except the arm she’d taken.
The contract. The marriage. The promise. I wanted to forget them all. To wash away my entire encounter with this inconsiderate imbecile.
But Dad.
Dad, Dad, Dad.
All my effort concentrated on waiting for Eileen to withdraw her hand first instead of jerking it away.
When she finally did, I nearly keeled over with nausea. The whole thing lasted less than two seconds but felt like an entire day.
Eileen pressed her thumb onto a cluster of mooncake crumbs she’d spilled on her dress, sprinkling them into her unfinished teacup without a care in the world.
Then, she reached into her wallet and fished out a business card from its depths, pressing it into my hand again.
More touching.
Great.
“Call me.”
“Argh.” My throat clogged up with a scream. I could not produce actual words. “Leave.”
Not exactly polite but the most I could manage.
“Sure. I’ll show myself out.” Eileen’s eyes ping-ponged between me and the conservatory door, as attuned to my misery as a prostate exam. “I’ll send you some Shanghai apartments via email. Please be sure to star me as a primary contact.”
My fingers curled into a fist, the unmistakable burn of human flesh spreading across my skin where she’d touched.
It felt like I’d been sullied. Marked, stained, and contaminated. An allergic reaction if I’d ever felt one.
My windpipe narrowed. I couldn’t breathe. It still felt like she was touching me.
I needed to get her off, get her off, get her off.
And finally—goddamn fucking finally—Eileen vanished out the open double doors.
Just in time to miss her future husband collapsing onto the hardwood planks.
