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Instead of letting myself wallow, I focused my energy on getting ready. The novelty of a closet full of perfectly tailored designer clothes hadn’t worn off yet. Since most days I was at school and opted for comfortable jeans and blouses, it was exciting to be able to play dress-up again, like I had in Europe. Tonight I wanted to look professional, but still feminine, so I settled on a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress that flattered me without requiring a pair of Spanx in the process. I paired it with some gold earrings and a chunky gold bracelet that I had bought in Vienna.

Since I’d probably be getting home around the same time as Stefan later tonight, I also opted for a pair of skimpy white lace underwear underneath the dress, cut high enough in the back that I wouldn’t have visible panty lines, and a matching bra. He seemed to like lace on me; easier to tear off, it seemed. This set would be mere shreds by the morning. As I applied a finishing touch of mascara and transparent pink lip gloss, I shivered with anticipation.

When I headed outside the building to dial up an Uber, I was surprised to find a car waiting for me. The driver was leaning against the hood, holding a small sign that displayed my name in bold letters.

“My husband arranged this?” I asked the driver as I approached.

“Mr. Zoric, of course,” he said.

Apparently, Stefanhadremembered the event—remembered it enough to send me a car—but couldn’t make the time to go himself. I was touched.

I was also disappointed, even though I knew it was irrational. I was his wife in name (and apparently in bed) only. I should be content with our arrangement and grateful we had such good sexual chemistry, and not expect anything more. I still couldn’t help wishing he was there, though.

Arriving at the event, I was immediately overwhelmed. The alumni hall was loud and packed. I was excited to spend the evening getting to know my professors and the other students, but amid the cacophony I found myself feeling shy. So I grabbed a glass of champagne, hoping I wouldn’t get carded, and then sipped it as I walked the perimeter of the room. Despite getting along with my classmates during school hours, I hadn’t actually gotten to know anyone on a deeper level, so I had yet to find anyone I’d call a true friend.

Most of my free time outside the classroom was spent haunting the gorgeous, gothic Harper Memorial Library on campus. I’d head there straight after my last class ended and study to my heart’s content under the buttressed ceilings, surrounded by medieval-looking stone walls. It was like something out of Harry Potter. Unfortunately, it was also the only library on campus that was strictly for reading, so when I wanted to pore over stacks of linguistics texts, I’d have to visit one of the other libraries. But Harper held my heart, and I felt lucky to be able to work in such a beautiful setting considering all the hours I had to devote to the mountains of homework my professors assigned. The semester was hitting me hard, but I loved every minute of it. Unfortunately, socializing wasn’t one of my course requisites.

Luckily, a few minutes in, my favorite professor showed up and pulled me aside. Her surname was Dhawan, derived from the Sanskrit worddhav, which meant ‘messenger’; when she’d explained this on our first day of class, I’d felt relieved to know she thought of herself as a messenger, bringing knowledge to all of us.

Relief flooded through me. “Professor! I’m so glad to see you. I mean, not in class.” My nerves had me rambling. “Not that I don’t love your class. Which I do, as you know—”

“Of course I do! You’re my best student,” she said, and laughed. “Have you met the dean of the school yet?”

I shook my head, feeling a little nervous. I wanted to make a good first impression.

“Come with me,” she said, leading me across the room. But halfway there, another professor cut in and asked to borrow Professor Dhawan, and I was left to meet the dean alone.

Dean Hutton was an imposing older woman with severe brows, short, dark hair, and a suit cut so sharply it would have given Stefan a run for his money. She was addressing a cluster of people in front of a glass case that gleamed with a variety of alumni awards and trophies. This woman oversaw the entire program I’d worked so hard to get into. I was incredibly intimidated.

I was just about to introduce myself, battling a resurgence of awkward shyness, when I felt a hand on the small of my back and inhaled the scent of a familiar cologne. For a second I was convinced I was imagining things, but when I turned around Stefan was standing there.

He looked polished and confident, just like always, but it was a nice surprise to see how well he blended in with the collegiate crowd. His suit was more subdued than usual, grey instead of black, and he’d traded out the dark dress shoes for brown oxfords. Not that he could ever fade into the background—though he was dressed appropriately, he was still the most magnetic man in the room. But he looked like he belonged there. With me.

“Dean Hutton.” I held out my hand. “I’m Victoria, one of the first years. I wanted to say how excited I am to be a part of the linguistics program.” I turned to gesture to Stefan. “And this is my husband, Stefan.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Stefan said, shaking the dean’s hand.

Was that a smile on his face? It was! Stefan was smiling warmly at the dean, who returned the favor.

“Lovely to meet you both,” Dean Hutton said. “Always glad to meet our new students.”

“Tori’s been singing the praises of your program ever since she started the term,” Stefan said, oozing charm. “I have no doubt she’ll be one of your most dedicated students.”

I blushed. How could I not? Stefan was buttering up the dean like a pro, and all I could do was watch as he talked me up.

“I’ve heard nothing but good things,” the dean said before turning to me. “Your professors are very impressed with your work so far. A genuine thirst for knowledge is something that will serve you well over the next few years. It’s refreshing to see.”

“You’d be hard pressed to find someone who loves language as much as my wife does,” Stefan agreed. “I can barely get her to talk about anything else, but you have to admire that kind of passion. When I was a year deep into my MBA program at U Penn, I found that the one thing…”

He admired my passion. Why did it sound so good when he said it like that?

Something swelled in my chest as Stefan and Dean Hutton talked some more—about me. It wasn’t just the fact that it was flattering, but that Stefan was talking about me like he knew me. Really knew me. And like he was proud of the person I was. Could it be that I was more than just a warm body to him? More than just a contractual obligation?

But all the emotion building up inside me was dangerous—because I knew exactly what it meant.

And I knew that falling in love with Stefan was the last thing I should be doing.