When In Rome ...

The meeting did not end abruptly, but rather fizzled out. Voices grew quieter, projections faded, holographic planes collapsed like exhausted arguments that had been set aside for later. Men stood up, shook hands, patted each other on the shoulder, and smiled professionally. A few Americans ordered the women kneeling at the side to stand up and took them into the next room. Marie saw this, but refused to think about what would happen there.

Jenkins gave her a brief, piercing look as he walked away—half appraising, half disapproving. She knew that he did not accept her and never would. The fact that she, a woman, was sitting at the conference table, albeit only on the edge and in her subordinate role, was a thorn in his side that he was determined to remove.

To distract herself, she meticulously reviewed the files, checked the minutes, and proofread the latest changes in the documents. By the time she had finished, it had become quiet around her. She was just about to get up.

“Marie. One moment, please.”

Marie flinched. She hadn't noticed that Étienne was still in the room. Or had he come back to see her?

“Yes, of course. I'm just finished and was about to go to my room to rest a little.” She remained seated and looked at him.

Étienne chose the chair right next to her. He took off his e-glasses, placed them carefully on the table, and made sure the audio and video functions were turned off. A clear signal that this was not going to be an official conversation. He leaned forward, one elbow on the edge of the table.

“You did well today.”

“Thank you.” She looked at him intently. What was he getting at?

“I know this must be challenging for you,” he continued. “You're having a hard time getting used to American culture, the unfamiliar customs, and the special atmosphere.”

Marie remained silent. She waited for him to explain more precisely what he was getting at. She suspected that he expected her to behave in a very specific way without explicitly saying so.

“You know why you're here?” He looked intently into Marie's eyes, as if he wanted to read her thoughts.

“Because I'm a woman.”

He twisted his mouth almost imperceptibly, as if a model student had unexpectedly given a stupid answer.

“Because you're a symbol.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“A symbol of openness. A symbol of our goodwill to understand each other better. Europe wants to build bridges.” He paused briefly. “We want to reach out to the Americans and show them that while we don't approve of their social system, we don't have to impose our moral values on them.”

Marie looked at him thoughtfully for a long time. She felt heat rising to her cheeks and feared that her ears were glowing red, as they always did when she was wrestling with an inner conflict. Her delegation leader was asking her to ignore her socialization, experience, and convictions and accept the oppression of women in the US. Could she do that without betraying herself? Without betraying all women—here and in Europe?

Finally, she straightened up.

“These values are not negotiable ideas. They are inalienable fundamental rights.”

Étienne stood up. He looked down at her. And in his gaze, Marie saw something she hadn't expected: there was no anger or contradiction, but disappointment.

“Marie,” he sighed softly and somehow wearily, “we are here to secure European interests. We are seeking access to resources, economic stability, and political influence. The European Union wants to conclude this trade agreement before the Canadians do. Or the Mexicans, the Chinese, or India. And yes, we will pay a price for that if necessary.”

She swallowed. “And that price are the rights of women in this country? Or… my rights?”

He raised a hand reassuringly. “All I ask of you is that you recognize that different societies have different priorities. Si fueris Romae, Romano vivito more!”

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, Marie translated in her mind.

“You want me to fit in and submit to men,” she said sarcastically. “Was one night enough for you to fit in so well yourself?”

His voice took on a sharp tone. “I am leading this delegation and am responsible for the outcome of the negotiations. I will do everything in my power to make them successful. And I expect the same from you.“

She laughed briefly and unconvincingly.

“You're intelligent,” he added. “I trust you know the difference between personal dislike and political necessity.”

“And if I can't?”

His expression became sad. “Then you're in the wrong place in my delegation.”

It was not a threat, just a statement.

Marie nodded. She felt smaller than ever before.

After he left the room, she stared at the door that had closed automatically behind him for a long time.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she should adapt. Adaptation did not mean surrender.