He did not corner me behind a curtain or remind me what the marriage supposedly required.
He waited.
That restraint did not erase the cruelty I had heard at the church door.
But I noticed it.
I had become very good at noticing what men did when they lost control.
Klaus had become vicious.
Peter became careful.
Late in the afternoon, I found him alone near the balcony doors.
His tie was loosened.
His champagne remained untouched.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
“If you refuse consent today, the refinancing pauses.
That won’t destroy us immediately.”
“But?”
“But uncertainty spreads quickly.
The board will question my judgment.
Lenders will question the board.
By Monday, people who were eager to finance us may suddenly become cautious.”
“And if I called the debt?”
Peter met my eyes.
“You could cause severe damage.”
He did not flatter me.
He did not threaten me.
“What would you do if our positions were reversed?” I asked.
He considered it longer than I expected.
“The man I was this morning?”
“Yes.”
“He’d use the leverage.”
“And the man standing here now?”
Peter looked toward the ballroom, where our families were pretending everything was perfect.
“He’d ask whether destroying something is the same as controlling it.”
That answer stayed with me.
I looked at him.
“I’m not going to call the debt.”
His shoulders loosened, but only slightly.
“I’m also not approving anything today.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
“And the marriage contract changes.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“How?”
“No private decisions about my life.
No treating me as a piece of corporate furniture.
No assumption that five years means you own my time, my loyalty, or my silence.”
“You know I can’t unilaterally rewrite a signed agreement.”
“Neither can I.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“So we negotiate.”
“Yes.”
“Together.”
“That is usually how negotiation works.”
His smile grew by a fraction.
I hated that I noticed.
Then his expression became serious again.
“And if I refuse?”
