CHAPTER 14: CHAPTER 14:PERMISSION GRANTED

Alexia pov:

The waiter appeared out of nowhere, hovering at the edge of our table. "Good afternoon, sir, ma’am. Would you care to order?"

I glanced at the menu he handed me and immediately regretted it.

Who the hell pays this much for a salad?!

"What would you recommend?" I asked, keeping my cool while clutching the menu as though it might explode.

The waiter blinked. "Perhaps the duck confit or the wagyu steak—"

"Water," I interrupted quickly. "Just water for now."

"Sparkling or still?"

I shot him a look. "Sparkling."

The waiter hesitated, then nodded politely before turning to Mr. Almond Milk. "And for you, sir?"

He didn’t even look at the menu. "The usual."

Of course, he has a ’usual.’

Once the waiter disappeared, I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. "So, what’s this about? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who takes random strangers to lunch."

"You’re not just anyone," he said simply, leaning back in his chair. "You’re my fiancée."

I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t fall out. "Oh, please. That’s rich—coming from a guy who proposed to me in the middle of a street like a lunatic."

His expression didn’t waver. "You agreed, didn’t you?"

"Yeah, about that..." I fiddled with the napkin in front of me. "I’m starting to think this is a really bad idea."

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly stubborn math problem. "Then why are you here?"

His question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t have an answer. Why was I here? It wasn’t because of the money, no matter how tempting it was to dream about leaving behind my ratty apartment and stupid budgeting. No, a part of me was here because of him.

Because I had questions—questions only he might have the answers to.

Instead of answering, I crossed my arms and scowled. "Because you told me to be here. Don’t act like I came skipping in because I wanted to."

He looked at me for a long moment before he finally leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I need something from you, Alexia. And you need something from me."

"Oh, this is going to be good," I muttered. "Let me guess—you need a fake wife to keep up appearances or fend off some evil in-laws?"

His lips curled into a humorless smile. "Something like that."

I scoffed. "You know this sounds insane, right? Marriage? To someone you barely know?"

"I know enough about you," he replied, and his tone was so calm that it sent a shiver down my spine.

I stared at him. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"

"That you’re stubborn. You don’t like being told what to do. You’re broke, but you’re too proud to admit you need help. You’ve been backed into a corner, and this is your way out."

I opened my mouth to argue, but damn it, he wasn’t wrong. Still, I didn’t like the way he said it.

"Well, congrats, Sherlock," I snapped. "You’ve figured me out. Gold star for you."

He ignored my sarcasm. "Here’s the deal: Marry me, and I’ll make sure you never have to struggle again."

I narrowed my eyes, my voice dropping to a whisper. "And what do you get out of it?"

His expression didn’t change. "That’s for me to know. For now, all you need to decide is whether or not you’re in."

I leaned back, my mind racing. He was hiding something, that much was clear. But at the same time... this wasn’t just about me anymore. He was part of my past life. He had answers—answers I needed.

And for now, that was enough to keep me in the game.

"Fine," I said finally. "I’ll marry you."

His gaze didn’t waver. "Good choice."

Yeah, let’s see how long I’ll call it a ’good choice.’

"So, as for the marriage, it’s going to be legal," he said, leaning back in his chair like he was negotiating a business deal and not discussing our impending life sentence.

"Alright," I muttered cautiously, waiting for the catch.

"You are not to interfere with my affairs. And nobody—nobody—gets to tell you what to do apart from me, especially my family members. You’re not allowed to befriend any of them. Got that?"

I blinked. Wait... what?

"So, let me get this straight," I said, leaning forward slightly. "I have full permission to be bitchy to everyone?" My tone was skeptical—I mean, we were talking about his family members after all. Moms, dads, siblings—the works. This had to be a joke.

"Yeah..." Aiden shrugged casually, his expression as serious as ever. "You just be you. After all, that’s why I’m marrying you."

I froze.

Is anyone else seeing how strange this is?

I can be rude to his mom, his dad, and his siblings, and this guy is just... okay with it? No protests? No "please respect my dear mother" nonsense? Instead, I get a free pass to unleash all my pent-up attitude?

Oh, this is the biggest red light if I’ve ever seen one.

And you know what?

I definitely like it.

What? Don’t judge me. I hate being told what to do. I hate pleasing people. And, most importantly, I’m not about to start fake-smiling just because someone is technically my in-law. Nope, not me. So yeah, it looks like Mr. Almond Milk Guy just secured himself a wife.

The man has no idea what he’s getting into.

Grinning wickedly, I sat up straighter, squared my shoulders, and turned to find the waiter lurking nearby. He’d been hovering ever since I sat down, probably wondering why someone in a hoodie and sweatpants was allowed in this restaurant at all.

Well, watch and learn, buddy.

"Excuse me," I called, signaling him over with the perfect amount of princess-level entitlement.

The waiter raised an eyebrow as he walked over, clearly expecting me to order the cheapest thing on the menu. His face screamed: She can’t afford a salad.

Boy, was he about to be surprised.

"I’ll have the filet mignon, medium-rare," I announced with confidence. "With the truffle risotto. And pair that with a bottle of Château Margaux 2005."

There was a pause.

The waiter’s eyebrows shot up so high, I thought they might disappear into his hairline. He blinked at me, then looked to Aiden for confirmation, probably assuming I had no idea what I was saying.

Aiden, for his part, didn’t flinch. He simply leaned back in his chair, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"She’s ordering. Bring it."

The waiter’s jaw almost hit the floor, but he recovered quickly, muttering a hurried, "Right away, ma’am," before scuttling off to place the order.

I sat back triumphantly.

Aiden tilted his head, watching me with what I could only describe as... curiosity. Like he was analyzing me, trying to figure out if I was being serious or if this was some kind of performance.

"You know your food," he remarked finally.

I flashed him a smug smile. "What can I say? I’m a woman of culture."

He didn’t need to know that this wasn’t exactly my first high-class meal. I may be living off five bucks and questionable tap water now, but once upon a time, exquisite dining had been my everyday reality. Forks, knives, spoons—don’t even get me started on how to butter bread properly. Table etiquette was practically drilled into me in my princess days.

So yeah, to anyone watching me now—especially that waiter—I was about to disappoint the hell out of them. I wasn’t going to wolf down my food like they assumed I would. Oh no.

When the food was finally delivered (and boy, was it a scene—the waiter made it look like he was presenting an offering to a queen), I picked up the cutlery like a pro. My movements were graceful, polished—like I’d been doing this for years. Because, well, I had.

I could practically feel the waiter staring, stunned that a hoodie-clad "peasant" like me could handle an expensive meal like a socialite.

Yeah, take notes.

The pièce de résistance? I looked up at the waiter and added, "Oh, and Swamp Dragon 2nd Edition Private Reserve, please."

He blinked. "...Swamp Dragon 2nd Edition Private Reserve?"

"Yes."

He hesitated like he wanted to argue but ultimately left without a word, probably too afraid to question my very deliberate request. I caught Aiden smothering a chuckle, though he said nothing.

What? At the time, I was still in a bit of a bad mood. Rich jerk or not, spending his money meant nothing to me if the food was going to cost half of someone’s yearly salary. I wasn’t about to pretend to be grateful.

But hey—if I was about to get married, I might as well enjoy my single life while it lasted, right?

So there I sat, eating my expensive meal like I owned the entire damn restaurant, the rich fool across from me watching every bite with that same unreadable expression.

Whoever said getting engaged wasn’t fun clearly hadn’t met me.