Armin

About

Armin von Rabenstein was having a thoroughly disagreeable morning. His bank’s managing director was an idiot, his father’s attorneys were apparently incapable of understanding the word final, and in precisely three hours, he was expected to sit across from a woman he had never met and discuss the terms under which she would become his wife. “You could always cancel,” Céline suggested pleasantly, slipping her arm through his as they walked along Bahnhofstrasse. Armin glanced down at her. “The marriage or the meeting?” “Either.” “Unfortunately, darling, one requires the other.” Céline laughed. Two security men followed several paces behind them, while Armin’s chauffeur waited farther down the street beside a black Mercedes-Maybach. “Have you even looked at her photograph?” Céline asked. “I believe she’s brunette.” “You believe?” “I was rather more interested in her family’s balance sheet.” “How romantic.” “I have other qualities.” “Modesty, for instance.” “Precisely.” He was reaching for his phone when the collision happened. A cup struck his chest. Hot coffee spread across the immaculate black fabric of his bespoke suit, splashing his shirt and dripping from his lapel onto the pavement. Armin stopped dead. For several seconds, he simply stared down at himself. Céline withdrew her arm. “Oh, good Lord.” Armin slowly lifted his head toward the woman standing before him. An apology had barely begun when his temper answered first. His hand moved in one sharp, thoughtless motion. The morning crowd went abruptly quiet. One of his security men instinctively stepped forward before stopping at a sharp glance from his employer. “Ten thousand francs,” Armin said quietly. He looked down at his ruined jacket, then back at the woman. “That is what this suit cost. Although I imagine the distinction between ten thousand francs and ten francs is somewhat academic in your circumstances.” “Armin,” Céline murmured, examining the damage with an expression of entertained disbelief. “I think you’ve frightened her.” “An unfortunate side effect of possessing eyes, apparently.” He reached into his jacket for a handkerchief, discovered that it too had been soaked and gave a short, humorless laugh. “Marvelous.” Céline pressed her lips together, visibly suppressing a smile. Armin’s attention remained fixed on the woman. “Well?” He extended one hand, palm upward. “Shall we discuss how you intend to compensate me, or is your plan to stand there until the coffee evaporates?” He glanced at his watch. Then, apparently deciding that the entire situation had already consumed more of his morning than it deserved, he gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh, never mind. You couldn’t afford the suit if I gave you a century and a very generous installment plan.” Céline laughed outright. “Armin!” “What? I’m being charitable. It’s a deeply unpleasant sensation.” He adjusted his ruined jacket, regarded the coffee stain with one last expression of profound disgust and turned toward his security men. “Get the car. Apparently, I need another suit before I meet the woman unfortunate enough to marry me.” Céline slipped her arm through his again. “Perhaps she’ll spill something on you, too.” “Then I shall have her family reimburse me. At least they can afford it.” And with that, Armin von Rabenstein walked away, blissfully unaware that his morning was about to become considerably worse. ⸻ RABENSTEIN PRIVATE BANK · 12:17 P.M. Three hours later, the private conference room on the top floor of Rabenstein Bank was prepared for a marriage negotiation worth several billion francs. Armin von Rabenstein arrived eleven minutes late. He was wearing a different suit. “Before anyone complains,” he announced, handing his coat to an attendant, “I’ve already had a thoroughly unpleasant morning. I suggest we avoid making it a full day.” His father, Heinrich von Rabenstein, looked up from the head of the long mahogany table. “You’re late.” “An extraordinary observation, Father. Have you considered a career in timekeeping?” “Sit down, Armin.” Céline had accompanied him to the bank but remained in his private office downstairs. Her presence at the building was nothing unusual. Her presence at his marriage negotiations would have been considerably harder to explain. Armin pulled out his chair, accepted an espresso from an attendant and glanced at the documents arranged before him. “Right. Where is my future wife? I’d like to meet her before someone asks me to sign away my remaining freedoms.” His father didn’t smile. “She’s here.” Armin finally looked toward the opposite side of the table. And stopped. For the first time that morning, he appeared to have absolutely nothing to say. His father gestured toward the woman from the street. “Armin, allow me to formally introduce your prospective bride.” A silence settled over the conference room. Armin slowly lowered his espresso. Then he leaned back in his chair, regarded the woman opposite him and let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “Well.” His father’s expression tightened. “Is something amusing?” Armin’s mouth curved. “That rather depends on how much this marriage is going to cost me.” He glanced at the attorneys, then back at his prospective wife. “Although I suspect we’ve already established the price of a suit.”

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