The ride by the elevator seemed to be longer than it was.
Lena was standing alone in the mirrored room with her hands firmly closed before her and soft instrumental music played in the background in a humming fashion. Every new floor was signaled by a gentle chime, a reminder of the fact that she was going deeper and deeper into the world she had come to know and closer to the world of something unknown, fabricated and even threatening.
She looked once more into her mirror. Her hair was cut back, her clothes were plain and neat, but again, not to appear as though she was trying too hard. Still, her eyes betrayed her. Something there was strain, and fright, and a purpose within her that she had never thought had taken so strong root in her body.
It is merely a set up, she told herself. Nothing more.
The lift decelerated, and came to a halt.
The doors slid open.
Lena went out into an inner passage which resembled the door to a luxury hotel suite rather than an apartment. The floor was soft to her feet, the light to her eyes soft and diffuse. There was but one door, high and sturdy, at the extreme end, which was smooth and spongy.
The door opened before she had time to second guess herself.
Nathaniel Ross was there, right as she had thought him and not at all like she thought him.
He was even taller than she had imagined he would be, and his presence stuffed into the doorway without difficulty. His shirt was sharp white and the sleeves were rolled up, with the neck open a quarter of an inch so as to hint at his having been late at work. His black hair was somewhat messed, as though he had put one hand into the middle of it several times. The expression was restrained, the eyes were keen and evaluative as they looked on her.
They both were silent a moment.
Oh, the surprise, he said finally, with his low and even voice.
Lena looked at him unblushing. And you have to be the man who despises them.
Something amusement perhaps played through his eyes.
Go in, said he, and get away.
The apartment was flung open before her, and wide and spotless. The skyline of the city was framed by floor to ceiling windows, which shone like constellation lights against the darkening sky. All the space was deliberate and designed and even a bit cold as though comfort was second to control.
Nathaniel shut the door behind her, and pointed in the direction of the living room. My mother is like that, able to organize things without permission.
I never pushes her, Lena said lowly. I am here because I have been obliged to listen.
This time he examined her more closely. Not as a man does with a romantic interest, but as a person does with a variable that he has not done any planning about.
You know this is not real then, he said.
"Yes," Lena replied. And I have no business here to make a feign.
It won her a still another glance, and a sharper one. He approached the windows placing one hand in his pocket as he stared at the city.
She told me little enough, he said. Only that I should be seeing somebody who could help to unravel a problem.
Lena hesitated. "And what problem is that?"
Nathael, slowly turning back to her. "Perception."
The term hung between them.
My personal life, he went on, has become an issue of discussion among those who believe that stability should be of a given appearance. Investors. Board members. Friends in the family who like to conjecture.
So, you boys need a girlfriend, said Lena.
"A partner," he corrected. "The distinction matters."
She nodded. "And I need money."
The sincerity was bitter, yet liberating.
The lips of Nathaniel tightened in a kind of smile. At least we are not lying to one another.
They were seated opposite each other on different sides of a long couch with a glass table between them as some sort of boundary that was never meant to be crossed. Nathaniel clasped his hands together, and sat back but watchful.
The compensation was explained to me by my mother, he said. She must have agreed on what was expected as well.
"She did," Lena replied. "Public appearances. Controlled interaction. No emotional involvement."
"And discretion," he added. "Above all."
"Yes."
There was an impressive silence that was stifling yet not oppressive. Lena now was keenly conscious of him of the silent self-confidence with which he moved, of how, without ever seeming too long in one place, his eyes never missed a thing.
"What made you say yes?" he asked suddenly.
The interrogative startled her.
She could have lied. She might have provided something abstract in the nature of opportunity or experience. Instead, she chose the truth.
"My mother is sick," Lena said. "And I ran out of options."
Nathaniel replied not at once. When he did, his voice was less harsh.
"I see."
She waited for pity. It did not, and she was glad of that.
This arrangement, he said, will be half a year. You will live there in the meantime. Appear with me as need be. Adhere to a program that will be given to me by my assistant.
"Live here?" Lena repeated, startled.
"Yes."
This was not included in the preliminary conversation.
Necessary, Nate, it is necessary, said Nathaniel. Separate homes raise eyebrows. This eliminates them."
Lena's pulse quickened. To coexist with someone under a single roof had not been a part of her psycho-psychological conditioning.
"And privacy?" she asked.
"You'll have your own room. Your own space. I have no desire to go over boundaries.
She believed him, something she did not know what about the manner in which he said it, firm, almost defensive.
"Then we're clear," she said. This is a collaborative relationship based on limits.
"Exactly."
He stood, extending his hand.
She became hesitant a second, and took it.
His hand was warm and firm, his touch short but solid.
You are welcome to a scheme of which neither of us had made any mind.
Later that evening Lena was lying awake in a guest room which was not a guest room at all. Its bed was big, the sheets impossible, the silence something strange. Nathaniel was up somewhere down the hall, she knew. It was something she did not even understand that she could sense it.
She gazed and thought of everything on the ceiling.
This was expected to be easy. Temporary. Controlled.
But still in the present moment she experienced the least attraction towards something unforeseen. Not attraction, exactly. More like curiosity. A silent question that was shaping in her mind.
Who was Nathaniel Ross underneath the scheme?
And how many years would either of them pretend that it was not an already unnecessary risk to fall in love with each other?
One promise at least Lena gave herself as sleep at last overtook her.
She could not forget what she came here to do no matter how compelling the act had become.
Since it was not the intention to fall in love with him.
Sleep did not come easily.
With a turn, Lena lay on her side, then on her back, and the unknownness of the bed and the silence of the city outside the windows kept her consciousness on its alert. The room had a slight odor of fresh linen and something sharper and cleaner than the first, a smell that reminded her that she was not in her old apartment, where everything was known and remembered. Here, there was not her possession and the next six months this would be her home.
She considered her mother, lying in a hospital bed miles away, knowing nothing of the deal Lena has just struck. The pangs of guilt gnashed at her heart, but she had to breathe despite them, and they were acute. This was not betrayal. It was sacrifice. At least, that is what she said to herself, looking at the darkness.
Some kind of light distance sound came to her ears. Footsteps. Measured and unhurried.
Nathaniel.
The wisdom fell down over her in such a clear concise manner. She did not have to look at him to tell that he was working on his own lack of sleep, that he was, most likely, going over the evening with a cold criticalness with which he dealt with all other facts in his life. She was curious whether he was already regretting he had accepted this, whether he regarded her as an inconvenience already.
Somehow, the thought would haunt her rather than haunt her.
She turned her eyes and made attempts to be practical. Tomorrow, schedules, meeting assistants, staff, who would know her name and her position without ever knowing her, would come. She would need to know how to stand next to Nathaniel without leaning over him, how to smile without showing too much, how to play him the role of woman who was in his world.
Fear of failure at the act was not a major issue to her.
It was succeeding too well.
Due to the fact that even at this moment even under the pressure and under the threat, there was a silent consciousness that was evolving, a feeling that something was already slipping over her barriers with respect to this man. She had observed it in the manner his voice had mellowed as she talked of her mother, in the guarded nature he wore like a suit of armor but not pride.
Lena pulled the blanket nearer to her.
This was not love. It was circumstance. Proximity. A common deception that had to be united in order to live.
The next day, she would rise and start her part in which she had accepted to play. She would be reminded of the rules, the boundaries, the plan tomorrow.
But by the middle of the night, when all the city was breathing beyond the windows and Nathaniel was up somewhere outside the walls, Lena could not get rid of the sense of the fact that the worst thing about this set-up was not about appearances.
It was the silent times, when there was no voice of plans, too much room of heart to speak.