Ayira Okumu glared at Steven Machel as he sipped his neat whiskey. He wore all-black; black jean pants, button up dress shirt and slip-on loafers.

Unlike him, she couldn't appreciate the relaxed ambience of the Josslyn Hay executive lounge. A typical Victorian gentleman's lounge at Runda's Lord Erroll Gourmet restaurant with a drinking saloon. The walls; mahogany and the furnishings antique.

"Ayira, are you even listening to me?"

He had been going on and on about his latest business conquests. To describe Steven as egomaniacal would be like commenting the sky is blue. He grew up around flatterers who complimented all the nonsense he spewed. He exuded it.

On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, Ayira accompanied her father for a gathering at the Machel house where she met Steven.

His mother was a Malay native from Madagascar who worked as the ambassador for the consulate of Madagascar in Nairobi. His father, Jeremiah Machel, hailed from a fourth-generation real estate family who ventured into the lucrative tea business in the 90s.

"You remember Steven?" her father had introduced. "You used to chase each other around the compound when you were young. He left to spend time with his extended family in Madagascar."

He was no longer the little boy she chased; the boy with peculiar eyes. He was a man; well-built and tall, with a sandy complexion- smooth and tawny. His eyes were gorgeous brown and spangled with green, the exact replica of his mother's.

Ayira clung by his side the rest of the evening. She was young and he was different – intriguing. He had been in the Military of Madagascar. It was a mandatory clause in his grandfather's will if he wanted to run the family business. The only time he let down his stoic façade was to laugh at her horrible jokes.

He was fluent in English, Kiswahili, Kikuyu, Mandarin, and French. Since he had spent a great amount of his time in Madagascar, he preferred to speak in French. Lucky for her, she had taken French classes all through middle school. When he spoke, it was with certainty and conviction. A multilingual millionaire with a soldier's stance, Ayira couldn't resist him.

That was five years ago. She wished her betrothal to him had happened after that night, but Ayira knew better. Their families had plotted ways to solidify their ties long before they were born. An alliance guaranteed their personal wealth and more power.

"You've not been listening to me."

"I have."

"Excusez-moi." He waved at Saul, the butler who had served them for the night. "Pourriez-vous nous apporter l'addition, s'il vous plaît?"

"Juste une minute." Saul adjusted his bowtie with a smile. There was an eagerness in his demeanour meant to please Steven. "Vous avez aimer le repas?"

"Oui, bien sûr. Mes compliments au chef!"

Ayira took a sip of her wine as Steven and Saul chatted a bit before Saul left to get their bill.

"Tu vas bien?" Steven asked her.

"Ça va." She accompanied her response with a practised smile.

He reached across the table and took her hands. He scanned her, making her tremble and yearn for their once uncorrupted passion. "Mon chérie, I want you to marry me soon."

She pouted. "What do you mean soon?"

"You'll graduate in May, what do you think of a June wedding? Your father and I agree that it's time we started preparing."

"June? Wait... wait... My father?"

He cracked his knuckles. "Yes."

"Wow!" Ayira breathed in an audible gasp, working to achieve the right amount of wistfulness in her tone. "You've been discussing our future with him without running it by me first?"

To her surprise, she caught him off guard. "I thought you understood the deal of our relationship?"

"Deal?" she gasped.

"That's not what I mean, you know that. You're overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting. I thought we're getting married because you love me, not because of a deal."

"I do love you."

Ayira scoffed, bundling up the napkin from her lap. She wiped the corner of her mouth and flung it onto the table. "You have a funny way of showing how much you love me."

"You're being unreasonable."

"Unreasonable?" She sucked in the air and shoved her chair back, standing. She picked up her handbag. "Everything you've been doing tonight; the smooth talking, the overcompensation... it's all for a show. You've been buttering me up for this? I must seem so stupid to you."

Steven grabbed her arm before she turned to leave. Her heels scraped the tiled floor. He held her close before she fell. "We've been engaged since we were born. Our families have tied their plans to our marriage. The wedding is inevitable."

Her laugh was to mock him. "My father preaches to me about mediocrity, yet he wants me to marry you?"

Steven shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of where to put them. "I'm mediocre?"

"You want to ride my back to gain more power." Ayira crossed her arms over her chest. "It might surprise you, but I don't want power."

"Wow!" He clapped. "And here I thought I was marrying a robot. Who would have known my fiancée had a backbone?"

"One of us has to have one."

He searched her expression. "You're acting like a child."

Silence.

"We used to be happy," he said.

"Wasn't that enough?" she questioned. "Why did you ruin it? Why did you became a pawn in their game?"

"You need to trust me."

Stiff, Ayira took a step away from him. "Don't do that."

"Don't do this, not here and not tonight." A solitary wind trotted in through an open window and brought a chill with it. They stood in the middle of the empty lounge, watching each other. "It's been a long year. All I wanted was to have a relaxed evening with the woman I love."

Ayira covered the space between them. She sought his eyes. "If your inheritance wasn't tied to our marriage and I was simple a girl, not the daughter of an Attorney General, would you want to marry me?"

It took him a minute to say, "It's not that simple."

"What's not that simple?"

Steven slid his finger under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. "It doesn't matter. What matters is what's right for our families. The survival of my grandfather's legacy rides on our marriage. I'm responsible for millions of people who depend on me to do my job. That's what matters."

Before she could twist her head away, his mouth came down over hers. The hold he had on her dripped with a sickly sweetness. It was like eating something unhealthy but savouring it anyway. She parted her lips and her body pressed against his. Ayira wound her arms around his neck and let him take possession of her mouth, of her senses.

His arms fell away from her. Breathing hard, they stared at each other. "You might hate me right now, but I've done this for you."

"For me? How is this for me?"

"When are you going to realize that I love you and everything I do is for you? You're the one who is restless, Mon amour, always looking for something else. I am right here."

Ayira scoffed.

"You need to tread carefully. The decisions you make will affect your father's political survival. You know what he is like, you can't be a threat to his future."