Love me well or Love me not

Chapter 1: High Society and Matchmaking

It appears as a strange rictus when the woman to my right smiles at me.

I put on a forced smile and greeted the tall, blonde woman. As autumn draws nearer every day, it's still unbelievably warm in New York. I'm wearing a sleeveless dress, but I still feel hot and stuffy.

I survey the opulent ballroom; everyone seems to be having a great time, with the exception of me. Which shouldn't be surprising; I'm a mere illustrator surrounded by the cream of the crop of New York. These people have known each other for years, running in the same circles, while I'm merely here at the behest of my friend Meredith, the lawyer daughter of a diamond magnate.

Ever since Meredith invited me, I'd been picturing this fundraiser as a tedious occasion for the rich and powerful to show off their wealth and connections. I was right. I grit my teeth as the tall blonde woman attempts to make small talk with me. This isn't what I'm here for, but I must bear it if I want to make any type of headway.

This whole evening is a misery, and all I can do is smile politely and say things like "Mhm" and "Oh wonderful" to cover up my extreme ennui from my partner. I wish she would just quietly sip her whiskey and let me think.

My eyes are searching the crowd for Meredith, she excused herself to go to the bathroom a few minutes ago and hadn't returned yet. I felt like a kid desperately waiting in line at the grocery store for his mother to come back.

The dress feels unnatural to me; it's soft and black, fit for a woman from this world. The only reason I had come to this bloody party was to meet a famous matchmaker Meredith was raving about.

Yet here I was, two hours into the fundraiser, and still no matchmaker. Gustav was renowned for pairing beautiful women with handsome men from elite backgrounds. While I didn't consider myself a beauty, it had always been my dream to surpass my past, and I thought I brought quite a bit more to the table than just physical appearance.

As the blond woman was going on and on about her summer house, I saw Meredith gesturing to me to come over. I excused myself and beelined to her, thankful for the excuse to get away from such inept chatter.

Before I could ask her where she'd been, a man cleared his throat and proceeded to say "Um, I see what you mean; she certainly is an exotic beauty." I turned around to be greeted by a man no taller than 4'11", dressed all in black.

He extended a hand towards me, hoping for a handshake; he quickly withdrew his hand when he met my cold stare. "Oh, excuse me, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Gustav, your friend here, and I suggested you might need my services".

My demeanor immediately changed, and I offered him a warm smile. He suggested we walk together to discuss what I wanted and what I was offering in a partnership.

"I'm looking for someone stable and mature-someone I can get married to and depend on. As long as he can respect me and my boundaries, I'm pretty open to anyone." I say it softly. Passion isn't on the cards for me, but stability and security for life may be.

Gustav turns to face me. "While an unusual match such as yourself may not be what our usual clientele looks for, a different type of client may be suitable for you. I actually have a particular one in mind."

By unusual, he refers both to my ethnicity and my job, which isn't the glamorous type his clients are searching for. His "usual" clients tend towards models, announcers, actresses, and spokespersons, not that there is anything wrong with that. The elite men typically choose women who are already in the eye candy category and know to be seen and not heard.

So by "unusual" client, he means someone within the criminal realm. Which doesn't bother me at all; it adds conviction that I won't fall in love with the man who may soon be my life partner. That wouldn't be the only reason; I would agree to the match, of course.

All these guys from the elite exploit and commit crimes, but hide them with charity and the mask and title society provides them. A criminal is at least more honest about who he is, and that is a quality I enjoy.

I nod slightly to let him know that I agree to the match. He slips me a small envelope, and I open it immediately to check the contents.

As I've heard, Gustav always comes prepared. The envelope encases information about the man I was matched up with as well as the place and time of our first meeting.

I smile slightly; the man looks classically handsome, which is to be expected of an Italian Mafia boss, I suppose.

Tonight has been a fruitful night, I think, as I try to find my way out of the party after thanking Meredith. I need to get back home to check the matchmaking files more thoroughly.

The configuration of the room is very confusing to me, especially since I never had a very good sense of orientation. I stop a server to ask where the door is so I can leave.

"It's over there, miss" he points to the right, "but you won't be able to leave as they've closed the doors for the auction".

My expression may have betrayed my desesperation as he puts down his tray and leads me down a long corridor. At the end of it, we find ourselves in the kitchen. He explains that I can leave through the backdoor.

I thank him profusely before making my way outside, where I'm hit by a small breeze. It is way warmer outside than inside, as I notice as I'm waiting for my Uber.

My feet are starting to hurt, and I just want to get out of this constricting dress. Finally, my Uber appears, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

As soon as I get in, I take off my heels. The elite life really doesn't suit me, I think to myself. Maybe I am making a big mistake by trying to marry into it.

I take out my compact mirror to observe my reflection. The face staring back at me looks so foreign, and the makeup feels like a weird mask I put on for an excentric masquerade. I look closely at my features, recalling when I was called exotic earlier. I hated that word; it made me feel like an animal in a zoo.

It's true that I'm far from a classic beauty; my nose is big, and I have hooded eyes. I think my skin looks quite nice; it's supple and golden bronze. My brown eyes may be nothing special, but I'll always remember my father saying they were the kind of eyes that would trap you forever and that you could never escape from. To this day, I didn't know if he meant that as a compliment or an insult, but even with the incertainty surrounding it, it brought me a certain joy to know I was inescapable.

I closed the mirror and put it back, thinking about my father had soured my mood.

I get out the envelope to get a closer look at my match. When I quickly glanced at him earlier, I could immediately tell he was very handsome. Upon closer inspection, I can see some tiny imperfections. All of the imperfections, including his crooked smile, made him look more approachable.

I quickly scan through the document, informing me of his background. He is a few years older than me, at 35. He has a 14-year-old son too, which makes me sheepishly smile. At least I won't be alone in my new house.

I wonder what was put in his envelope about me. He seems to have quite a lot to boast about, but I'm just a small illustrator with no family background to speak of. I was adopted out at the age of 8 and had no remaining connection to my adoptive father.

Maybe that's why I'm living under a false identity; I've been trying to convince myself of that ever since I started. I assumed another identity, so I wouldn't have any more connections with my adoptive father. He and I had been mere strangers ever since I turned 23, for almost seven years now. I didn't want to be associated with him in any way, and having people snoop into my past would alert him to my whereabouts.

As we draw closer to home, I can feel my eyelids getting heavy. I know I won't be doing any work today.

I go up the stairs to my appartment barefoot, I can't stand these heels, I wonder how chic women do it. Do they just accept the pain forever ? Or is there just something wrong with my feet ?

I quickly undress and slide into bed. As I drift to sleep, the last thing on my mind isn't the image of my handsome future husband. It's a memory about my father, an infuriating one. "A woman like you isn't suited for marriage, my little Minokawa", the words resonnated even in my sleep.