Pauline's office is subtly expensive-- the sort of place you work at if it is very very important that you show old money that you too are used to having money.  

"Welcome, Alexander! I hope we at Billionaire Marriage Brokers will be able to make a successful match for you and your husband-to-be."

He refrains from expressing his opinions about the name of this company. "I hope so too." 

"First, you'll have to sign this non-disclosure agreement, of course. Basically, you're agreeing that you cannot mention anything you learned at this session to anyone except your prospective husband. If you decide to go through with the agreement, then we'll give you a broader NDA, of course."

The nondisclosure agreement uses a lot of legalese, but the upshot of it is that Billionaire Marriage Brokers's lawyers make more in a week than Sasha does in a year and if he tries any funny business they will destroy him. 

What the hell. It's not like he has anyone to talk to anyway. He signs. 

"Great! And here's the file. I'll give you a minute to look over it, and then you can ask me any questions you have."

Lev Aarons. Sasha might have heard of him, and might even recognize the face, depending on how often he reads about tech. Billionaire Marriage Brokers's name is mostly marketing fluff, but Lev is the real deal, one of the youngest billionaires in the world. He founded Yenta, which is best-known for using the world's first successful dating-site algorithm. Sasha's probably used it for hookups. 

Professionally taken photos that don't stop him from looking profoundly uncomfortable. Personality test: 95th percentile openness, 90th percentile conscientiousness, 5th percentile extroversion, 60th percentile agreeableness, 99th percentile neuroticism. Daily life: he works ninety hours a week, half on Yenta and half on the Aarons Foundation, which gives money mostly to global health and development, but also to pandemic prevention and the development of lab-grown meat; in his spare time he reads science fiction novels and comics; there is a notable absence of any reference to friends. Expectations for his partner is mostly a list of 'no's: Sasha will not be expected to exercise, to maintain a certain weight, to go to parties, to help with the business, to talk to Lev's family, to feign interest in Lev's hobbies. The "no" box on "have sex" is circled with particular enthusiasm. There's a big line through the entire appearance section of his preferences for his partner. In messy handwriting, the section about desired personality says:

-Kind
-Smart
-Likes books
-Gives good hugs

and then a fifth item that was scribbled out.

That's....a relief. A long series of reliefs. Lev Aarons could probably date anyone he wanted, and he goes for "smart" and "gives good hugs"? How hard is that to find?

Not that Sasha's complaining, of course; Lev Aarons — Lev, just Lev, he's marrying the guy, referring to him by full name is weird — doesn't care about most of the things that would make the idea of an arranged marriage to a random billionaire a terrible idea. Hopefully he doesn't mind if Sasha sleeps around but if Sasha's expected to be celibate than whatever, it's still a good deal, how many people would check "no" for maintaining a certain weight? 

He'd signed up for this months ago, because BMB — he refuses to use the full name — paid a ridiculous amount for two days of interviewing and photos. He hadn't expected anything to happen, there aren't that many billionaires in the world and most of them are not into weird trans nerds who are cagey about politics, but if he had been expecting anything this is miles better than what he would have expected. 

He probably should have questions other than "When do I start?" 

"Well, there'll be a week to see if you suit each other, then a six-month trial run, and then you can get married! He's requested two weeks' notice to get the place you're staying ready. He's paid for our pampering package to get you in tip-top shape for your trial period, but added the note that you should only do it if you want to and he wants you to be comfortable."

So there are expectations about how he'll look, but Lev doesn't want to think of himself as the kind of person who has rules about his partner's appearance and weight, so he's not saying so. That's..... worse than he'd hoped but still strictly better than he'd expected. 

"Sure, why not. Put my best foot forward, and all." 

"Great! Do you have any other questions for us, or should we talk about your compensation?"

"I don't have any other questions, no." 

"Okay! So you'll get twenty thousand dollars at the end of the weeklong trial, one hundred thousand dollars after six months, and one hundred fifty thousand dollars per year thereafter. Of course, all your routine living expenses will be covered. If you have urgent expenses, you can get half of your first week's compensation up front."

Holy fucking shit. 

He mentally calculates how much he'd need to stay in a hotel for two weeks. "I don't need half upfront but a tenth —" 

"Very good, we can do that. --Just between you and me, I don't normally recommend that our wealthy clients show our non-wealthy clients their request lists. It can put the relationship off on the wrong foot to know that the wealthy client requested a certain race or size or hair color. But he insisted for transparency reasons."

...huh. 

Maybe Lev did mean exactly what he said when he circled "no" on all the expectations. 

"Thoughtful of him." 

"Well! If you don't have any other questions, time to take you to book your appointments and then you can sign your paperwork!"

The pampering package apparently includes a daily personal trainer session, a weekend afternoon with a personal shopper, four spa afternoons, a doctor's visit, and a haircut and wax right before the big day.

...he realizes after two and a half minutes of trying to figure out how to schedule around the amount of time he'll need to set aside for this that he has the resources to take days off, now. 

"What do you even do with a personal trainer," he says, not really expecting an answer. 

"He will customize your exercise routine to make sure you're at your physical best!"

Rejected responses include "And there's going to be results in two weeks, huh," "It's so cute that you think I have an exercise routine," and "Rich people." 

He instead goes for a very neutral "Kay." 

The paperwork he has to fill out once his appointments are scheduled is slightly terrifying!

The prenup says that he knows he is going to earn $150,000 per year of marriage, that he definitely does not expect any more money, and that he understands that he is definitely not going to get 50% of Lev's wealth at any point.

The non-disclosure agreement says that he can talk about his relationship with his friends and family, but if he talks to a journalist about any of it, or talks to someone who will talk to a journalist about it, then he will have to pay an eye-popping sum, and if he mentions that they met through Billionaire Marriage Brokers to anyone he will have to pay an even more eye-popping sum. 

Billionaire Marriage Brokers has hired a lawyer whose job is to explain every. single. paragraph of these agreements to him. 

He does not expect any more money than that. He frankly doesn't know what he'd do with 50% of Lev's wealth. He doesn't have friends or family to talk to about his marriage and he has zero interest in journalists. Thank you lawyer for explaining all of this. 

Then he can leave with a check for $2500 ("just to be on the safe side") and Pauline's personal cell phone number ("in case you think of any more questions").

Holy shit holy shit. 

He finds the cheapest hotel that's within walking distance of work and checks in for two weeks and drops his bag on the floor and flops on the bed (his! his and only his! for two weeks!) and stares at the ceiling. He gets a healthy amount of sleep, for once. 

Work is so much less stressful when he doesn't have to find someone to take him home at the end of the night. Who would have thought. 

The personal trainer is excessively perky and deeply concerned about Sasha's posture. About ten minutes into their first session, he steps back and says "you don't even know how to breathe." He spends most of his time trying to get Sasha to exercise tiny muscles that he didn't even know that he had and making tiny adjustments in how Sasha stands and sits that barely feel any different.  

He has an unlimited budget to buy clothes with the personal shopper. The personal shopper is mostly interested in helping him explore his own sense of fashion, whatever that means to him! She informs him that he's a true winter and flattered by black and intense blues and purples. 

The spa afternoons feature a massage, a facial, a manicure, and a pedicure. 

The doctor gives him a complete physical, then asks if he intends not to be on testosterone or if the doctor should write him a prescription.

No one misgenders him. 

Having a medical professional not misgender him is a new and vaguely-unsettling experience. The reason he's not on testosterone has nothing to do with whether or not he wants to be but he likes his body the way it is (this is not strictly true but "it would be nice if my back didn't hurt" is not something testosterone will fix.) The tiny adjustments apparently help, when he remembers them; waking up not in pain is a brand-new experience and one he's enjoying the hell out of. 

He winds up with a lot of cool purple and dark red and silvery grey and deep blue and almost no black, soft fabrics and sweaters that are big enough to fall off his shoulders. He gets more sleep than he's gotten in what probably isn't actually forever but sure does feel like it. His bruises heal and disappear. 

At the end of the two weeks, the personal trainer gives him a workout plan and his card and says "I think if you keep working with me your back will stop hurting in six months, but obviously that's up to you and Lev."

He goes to a salon for a haircut and waxing if he wants it and a last manicure and pedicure.