My shoes were wrong.

I knew it the second I stepped into the lobby at Crested Towers. The floor was white marble. Everyone else walked without sound. My shoes made noise. They were cheap black flats I bought from Owino market long before I came to Vienna. Fifteen thousand shillings. Now they squeaked with every step.

I should have turned back. I almost did.

But rent was due in three days. My auntie in Vienna was tired of me sleeping on the couch in her small apartment. My mother in Kampala needed money for her shop. My brother needed school fees. I needed this job more than I needed pride. So I kept walking.

The receptionist did not smile. She had blonde hair tied tight and red lipstick.

"Name?" she said.

"Elena Rossi. For the nanny interview. For Mr. Blackwood. Ten o'clock."

She looked at my bag. The zip was broken. She looked at my shoes.

"The Blackwood interview? Penthouse level?"

"Yes."

She pressed a button. "Your ten o'clock is here." She looked at me again. "Take the glass elevator. Thirty floors."

The elevator was all glass. It went up fast. My stomach dropped. I could see the whole city going down. Vienna was covered in light snow. Beautiful. Cold.

When the door opened, the penthouse was quiet. Too quiet. White walls, white floor, big windows. No toys. No photos. Like nobody lived there.

And then I saw him.

Luca Blackwood was not what I expected from the job ad. The ad said a businessman needs a nanny for daughter, good pay, and to live in. I thought he would be older, maybe fifty, with a kind wife.

He was not old. He was around thirty two. Tall. Black suit. White shirt. Sleeves folded. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. He was holding a small girl who was crying hard. The girl had brown curly hair and a pink dress.

He looked at me from head to foot. His eyes stopped on my shoes. I heard them squeak again and my face burned.

"You are late," he said. His voice was deep. Calm. But it's cold.

"Sorry, the tram from Favoriten was late and—"

"I don't like excuses. I like time. My daughter needs someone on time."

The little girl stopped crying for a second and looked at my shoes. Then she laughed.

"Your shoes sing!" she said. She had a small voice.

Luca looked down at her, then at me. He seemed surprised she laughed.

"This is Sofia," he said. "My daughter. She is five."

"Hi Sofia," I said softly. I knelt down so I was her height. My skirt was old but clean. "I am Elena."

"Do your shoes always sing?" she asked.

"Only when they are happy," I said.

She giggled and came out of his arms. She walked to me and touched my handbag.

Luca watched us. His face did not change but his shoulders dropped a little.

"Where are you from? You don't sound Austrian."

"My mother is Ugandan. My father is Italian. I grew up in Kampala. Now I study here. International Relations at the University. I worked as a nanny for two years."

"Why do you need this job?"

I wanted to lie. Say I love kids. But I was tired.

"My family needs money. My mother has a shop. My brother is in school. I live with my auntie here and I have to pay rent. I am a hard worker. I can cook. I can clean. I can teach Sofia. I don't sleep a lot."

He was quiet. He went to the window and looked out. Sofia was now sitting on the floor next to me, playing with the strap of my bag.

"Do you know how to keep secrets?" he asked without turning.

"What kind of secrets?"

He turned back. "I need more than a nanny. I need a wife. For six months."

I thought I heard wrong. "Sorry?"

"My board thinks I am not stable. I work too much. They want a family man to sign a big deal in Zurich. My mother wants grandchildren in a stable home. I need a woman to live here, take care of Sofia, and pretend to be my wife at dinners and meetings. No real marriage. Just contract. Fifty thousand euros for six months. Then you leave."

The room felt hot. Fifty thousand euros. That is more than my mother makes in five years.

"You want me to be your fake wife?"

"Contract wife and nanny. The job ad was not real. This is the real job. Most girls run when I say this. You can run too. The elevator is there."

Sofia looked up at me. "Will you stay? Please? I like your music shoes."

I looked at her. Big brown eyes. Lonely eyes. This house had no toys because no one stayed.

I looked at Luca. He was not cruel. He was tired. Like a man who carries too much alone.

"Does Sofia know it is fake?" I asked.

"No. For her you are just the nanny who lives here. The wife part is only for outside events. You will have your own room. Your own life. Just be there when I need you."

"And no... touching?"

"Only when needed for show. Holding hands at dinner. That kind of thing. Nothing else unless you want."

My heart was beating fast. This was crazy. I came for a nanny job and he offers me a contract marriage.

But fifty thousand euros would save my mother's shop. Pay my brother's school for years. Pay my auntie back. I could finish my degree without fear.

"I have never done this before," I said.

"I know. That is why I am asking you. The other women wanted to be real wives. They saw money. You saw Sofia first. She likes you. She never likes anyone."

Sofia had fallen asleep on my arm. Just like that. Her small head on my shoulder. She was warm.

Luca saw it and his face softened for the first time.

"She has not slept on anyone since her mother left," he said quietly.

"Where is her mother?" I asked.

"Gone. Two years now. She left."

He did not want to say more. I did not ask more.

He walked closer. He did not touch me. He just looked at Sofia sleeping on me.

"If you stay, you start today. I will have the contract sent to you in one hour. You read it. If you sign, you move in tonight."

I should have said I need time to think. Any smart girl would say that.

But Sofia was sleeping peacefully and I was tired of squeaky shoes and broken zips and fear.

"Okay," I said. "I will stay."

Luca nodded. "Joseph downstairs will help you with your bags. How many bags do you have?"

"One," I said.

He looked at me again. Not at my shoes this time. At my face.

"Welcome to Crested Towers, Elena."

And that was how I, with my wrong shoes from Owino market, walked into a contract that was supposed to be fake. I did not know then that fifty thousand euros would not be enough to protect my heart. I did not know that a fake husband could feel real when he looks at you like you are the only quiet place in his loud world.

I did not know that by tomorrow, the whole city would think I am Mrs. Blackwood.