I eye myself in the mirror, making sure my bra is fully covered. I don't know why I even bother, my parents are going to hate this dress anyway. It's a blue, off-the-shoulder gown reaching just below my knees. They won't mind the length, but they'll hate that I paired it with matching stilettos and left my shoulders completely exposed. In my opinion, it looks elegant, but they won't see it that way.

I don't know what Sainte's going to think of it, and I'm not sure I really care, either. It's my parents that are concerned about his opinion, not me. But if he has a problem with me showing a bit of skin, then this isn't going to work out. I'm not going to dress like a nun just because he's the boss. If he doesn't like it, I can just leave.

I'm not sure what to expect tonight. It's going to be awkward, I know that much. Me and my parents, and him and his parents, all together in one place, with one goal in mind. I have no idea how he feels about it, let alone his parents. My father is friends with Roberto, but I've never met him, and I've never met Sainte. I'm not even sure how much he knows about me. Was this arrangement his idea? Was it his parents, or mine? Does he even want this? I don't even know if I do. It's just what's expected of me. It's my duty. And I'm willing to try.

A loud knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. I grab my lipstick off the bed, hurrying to finish getting ready before I'm dragged out of here. The person knocks again.

"I'm coming!" I call.

"Sofie?"

Wait. I know that voice. I open the door carefully, just in case I'm mistaken. But I'm not. Jordan Makris is standing before me, a sweet grin on his face.

"Jordan, hey," I greet. He looks completely different than he did 5 years ago. He's much more adult. He's grown into his oversized ears, and his eyes don't bulge out as much as they used to.

"Welcome back to San Fransisco," he smiles. "It's good to see you again."

"Yeah, it's been so long! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out driving some kids around?"

"Nope, I've been promoted."

"You have?"

"Yep, I am now you're very own personal chaperone."

"Chaperone?" I snicker. That's just a fancy word for a bodyguard.

"That's me," he nods. "Escorting you from A to B and watching your every move."

"Great," I respond sarcastically. "I love that."

"And right now, it's my duty to get you to the dining room."

"Its time, huh?"

"What are you doing here, anyway? I didn't think I'd ever see you back in this town."

"Oh, you don't know?" I scowl. Is this supposed to be a secret?

"Are you coming to work for the family, too?" he asks. "Nobody really gets to have dinner with Sainte unless it's important."

"Yeah, it's just... business," I respond.

No one in this universe wants an arranged marriage. They just don't. They want to be swept off their feet, fall deeply in love and have an everlasting, passionate relationship. But that's not what's going to happen to me. I'm not expecting it to. I'm not expecting to fall in love. I'm expecting us to test the waters—to see if we can get along well enough to build a life together. Love is no guarantee. Some are lucky, but others do it purely for the business.

Jordan leads me down the stairs, and through the hallways until we reach a set of French doors at the back of the house. He pulls one open, revealing a large dining room. A very formal, almost antique looking dining room. It's like something from a Disney movie.

There's a long table in the centre of the room, with red padded chairs around it. The floors are hardwood, but there's a rug beneath the table. Above it, are two crystal chandeliers. There are a couple of paintings on the wall, framed in gold. There's even a fireplace, and candles decorating the table.

The only thing ruining the image is the sight of my parents looking up at one of the paintings. Roberto Sainte stands beside them, with a younger girl on his arm.

Roberto is the first to turn to me, but I'd rather he didn't. His face is wrinkled, but there's also a large scar from his forehead down to his cheek. His eyes are far too close together, and his lips thin and pursed.

"Sofia Delfino," he says. "It's nice to see you again."

"It's nice to see you too," I smile. I walk over to him, wanting to give him a polite handshake, but he leans in to kiss my cheek. I follow suit but make it quick.

"You've grown up quite a bit," he eyes me up and down. I squirm beneath his gaze but try not to make it obvious.

"And you are?" I turn to the woman beside him. She has to be about my age. She's flawless. Perfect skin, flat stomach, and naturally tall. Her black hair is tied up into a tight ponytail, showing off more of her facial features.

"Margot," she smiles. "Nice to meet you, Sofia."

"It's Sofie, actually," I correct. She's young. Maybe she'll actually respect my wishes.

"Come, have a seat," Roberto says.

I nod, abiding by his words. He pulls out a seat for me, and I take it. It's right beside the head of the table, and I assume Roberto will sit there, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls out a chair for his girlfriend next to me and then sits himself down at the other head. My parents sit down on the opposite side of the table.

Looks like I'll be sitting next to Sainte. And I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. This whole situation is unfamiliar.

At this point, I just want my questions answered.

"Have you settled in yet?" my mother asks.

"I've started unpacking, but it'll take some time to get used to," I say. I didn't bother packing all my things. I left half my wardrobe in New York, knowing there's a higher chance of me returning there than staying here.

"What room were you given?" Margot asks.

"Uhm," I frown, confused by her words. "Just upstairs down the third hallway."

"Those rooms aren't bad," she says. I'm not sure how to respond, so I just smile and nod.

We don't sit in silence for long, though. As soon as the door handle turns, everyone stands up. I follow suit, unsure of how to act. I suddenly feel anxious. My heart is thumping in my chest and the air feels sparse. I'm not ready for this.

But I don't have a choice.