He was quiet for a minute, and I was starting to regret bringing up the whole exchanging an expensive dress to pay arrears utility bills when he shifted in his chair. “If it would be helpful, we could revisit the payment terms of our agreement. Perhaps so you receive a portion earlier than planned.”
I shook my head. “No. We have an agreement.”
“Yes, we do. One that can be easily amended.”
I looked him in the eye. “We have a deal.”
He wanted to say more. I could tell. But he didn’t. Maybe that was because he could tell I wasn’t going to change my mind. It was strange how we already seemed to know each other after really only just meeting. Maybe that was the benefit of approaching a relationship from a position of reason instead of emotion.
When the waiter approached the table again to take our order, I stole a look at Max while he was distracted. He was in another dark blue suit, complete with a vest and white button-down shirt. His face didn’t show a hint of a shadow, like he’d just shaven, and his eyes were bright, like sleepless nights didn’t make frequent visits at his place as they did mine.
He was easy to look at—handsome in such a way it was hard to glance away. He smiled easily, seemed at ease in any situation, and I sensed he possessed a brand of loyalty that was rare in this world. I could sense that in what I’d read from his biography, as well as what I’d read between the lines.
I didn’t know why I felt a pull toward him, but I did. I’d accepted that. But just because I’d accepted I was attracted to the man I’d agreed to marry didn’t mean I needed to act on it. Actually, I’d never been so adamant against acting on anything in my life.
I didn’t care if my whole body felt like it was about to rip apart from the tension, I would not act upon that attraction. Never.
It helped that I was certain he was in no way attracted to me. Nothing like harsh reality to bring a girl back to her senses.
“Excuse me?” I called as the waiter turned to leave.
“Yes, ma’am?” He turned and waited.
“I haven’t ordered yet.” Because I was too busy checking out my future husband.
“I ordered for you. I got you the special like I got myself,” Max said.
I felt my eyes narrow, but I didn’t aim them at him. He’d probably like it. “I don’t want the special,” I told the waiter. “I’d like to order the . . .” I hadn’t looked at the menu. I hadn’t even seen one. What did a place like this serve? That I would actually eat? That I could pronounce without sounding like a hillbilly?
The waiter waited patiently for me.
Max, not so much. “Go with the special. You’ll like it, trust me.”
This time, I did aim that glare in his direction. “I’ll have the hamburger,” I told the waiter. “Please.”
“The hamburger?” He sounded stumped.
Across from me, Max was fighting another one of those damn infuriating smiles. Arrogant asshole.
“We don’t have a hamburger on the menu, ma’am . . .”
As the waiter struggled to find the right way not to piss me off, Max lifted his hand. “Talk with Jean-Luc. Tell him Max Sturm’s guest would like to order a hamburger.” As he said it, Max’s smile went higher. “I’m sure he’ll be able to figure something out.”
The waiter looked between the two of us, still confused, before nodding and rushing away.
“So the Max Sturm name carries a lot of clout in this upper circle?”
He tipped his hand back and forth. “Enough to special order a hamburger at least.”
“Unbelievable,” I said under my breath as I folded my napkin into my lap.
“You don’t even know what the special is.”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Then why did you order something else instead of asking? I eat here twice a week—I know what’s good.” Max settled back into his chair, getting comfortable.
“Because it was ‘special’ ordering it all on my own and not having someone order for me.” I peaked an eyebrow and waited for his rebuttal.
“You are willfully independent.”
“Good, you’re figuring that out sooner rather than later. It will make our whole fake relationship that much more authentic.” When I wet my lips, his eyes dropped to my mouth. An expression that looked almost painful formed.
“Your independence.” He stared at my mouth one more second before diverting his stare out the window again. “Is it by choice or circumstance?”
I struggled not to shift in my chair. “Both.”
He sighed just loud enough for me to hear. He was obviously not used to people responding to his probing questions with vague answers. “Let me rephrase—how did it start out? By choice or circumstance?”
Sighing, I answered, “Circumstance.”
I was bracing for him to probe further down this unpleasant path when he cleared his throat. “Do you have any questions about anything you read in my file?”
I focused on the flickering candle between us. Over the past five days, I’d gone through his file numerous times. I’d reread certain parts so many times they were committed to memory. I had a million questions for him. A hundred follow-ups to each one of those.
Instead of listing them off one by one, I went with the one most pressing, and most relevant, to our situation. “Why are you so desperate to get a green card?” My eyes narrowed on the dancing flame. “Your family, your home in Germany . . . it all seems idyllic.”
“I love my family and I love Germany, but here, this is home.” Max motioned out the window at the darkening city of Portland. “I knew it from the first time I visited with my family the summer I was fifteen. I was born and raised half a world away, but when I stepped foot in America, it was like I’d finally come home.” He was still staring out the window when he leaned in closer. “Wouldn’t you do just about anything to stay in the place you call home?”