He still imagined their future.
Celia was something separate.
A complication.
An indulgence.
A person with whom he could temporarily escape the expectations attached to his work and his impending marriage.
He understood that this distinction would sound absurd if spoken aloud.
So he never spoke it to Iris.
With Celia, he used different language.
He described the engagement as a commitment that had become entangled with business.
He complained about Richard’s interference.
He suggested that Iris sometimes treated him as a project she wanted to manage.
Celia listened.
She had seen Iris at the office.
Elegant.
Composed.
Respected by everyone.
She disliked how easily Iris occupied rooms that Celia had spent years learning to enter.
At first, Celia told herself she was merely attracted to a man who happened to be unavailable.
Then she began imagining him leaving Iris.
She asked when he would tell her.
Adrian said the timing was impossible.
A major acquisition was nearing completion.
Richard was negotiating succession arrangements.
The board was discussing Adrian’s incentive package.
The wedding had already been announced.
Celia accused him of making excuses.
He told her she did not understand the stakes.
She understood more than she realised.
She simply wanted to believe the stakes would eventually favour her.
Iris noticed the first change at Christmas.
Adrian had always enjoyed spending time with her family.
That year, he seemed unusually attentive to Richard.
At dinner, he asked detailed questions about the company’s ownership structure.
He wanted to know how Richard intended to handle succession.
Whether the family trust would retain majority control.
Whether the expansion subsidiary might eventually become independent.
Richard answered cautiously.
Later, while the others were opening presents, Adrian followed him into the study.
Iris noticed.
She found them examining a chart of the group’s shareholding arrangements.
Adrian looked up.
“We were discussing the expansion business.”
“On Christmas Eve?”
Richard laughed.
“Some men cannot be separated from their work.”
Iris smiled.
She did not think much of it.
After Adrian left the room, Richard looked at his daughter.
“Has he spoken to you about ownership?”
“A little.”
“How much?”
She frowned.
“Why?”
Her father glanced toward the doorway.
“He’s interested in acquiring a substantial personal stake.”
“That seems reasonable if the subsidiary succeeds.”
“Potentially.”
Richard folded the chart.
“But he has begun treating future compensation as though it’s already been earned.”
Iris looked at him.
“Then tell him that.”
“I have.”
Her father studied her.
“I’d like you to be careful.”
She smiled faintly.
“With Adrian?”
“With anything that asks you to confuse love and obligation.”
The proposal came the following February.
Adrian took Iris to Florence, where they had spent their first holiday together.
He arranged dinner in a private room overlooking the Arno.
The windows stood open to the evening air.
A pianist played somewhere below.
After dessert, Adrian took a velvet box from his jacket.
Iris stared.
He smiled nervously.
“I had a speech.”
She laughed.
“Have you forgotten it?”
“Most of it.”
She reached for his hand.
Adrian looked at her.
