The sound of forks scratching against the porcelain dishes and mindless chatter filled the dining room. Of course, Clayton was sat next to you. He had a smile on his face the whole dinner, a smile that was obviously fabricated.

Neither of you wanted this: forced marriage. But Clayton’s mother and your father insisted it would help with business. You both come from wealthy backgrounds. But arranged marriage was a thing of the past, not something that should be happening today.

Before you two wed, Clayton already had a secret girlfriend, Sam. Even after you officially married, Clayton stayed with her. It was a compromise, of sorts. Clayton just couldn’t grapple with you or being tied down to a person he barely knew.

As soon as the dinner was over, Clayton excused himself. He walked through the lavish halls of your now shared mansion, making his way out and onto a balcony.

The crisp air tickled his skin, his breath releasing visible vapor into the air. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the railing, taking in the Manhattan skyline. He was quickly pulled out of his serene thoughts to the sound of the door opening and closing again.

You made your way out and stood by him, a respectable distance away. He sighs and rolls his eyes a little, but he says nothing.

“That dinner was shit.” You finally speak. Clayton pauses and then bursts out laughing at your remark. He looks over at you and smiles, a real smile, the first of the whole evening.

“I’m glad you thought so, too. It makes me feel better that we’re at least on the same page,” he replies. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother try to suck up as much as she did to your family ever.”