“Obviously,” I mumble, looking down at the case, my irritation fading as the rings come into view.
Each one is unique, nothing like the cookie-cutter designs you’d find in a chain store. Some are delicate, with intricate filigree, while others are bold and modern. A few feature small, unexpected stones—sapphires, emeralds, even one with a deep, crimson garnet.
“These are . . . impressive,” I admit grudgingly.
“Only the best for Mr. Timberbridge,” Mr. Gallagher says smoothly, folding his hands in front of him.
I ignore the flattery toward my brother, my eyes catching on one particular ring. It’s simple but striking: a band of platinum, curved in a way that makes it look almost organic, like it was shaped by hand. Nestled in the center is a small, oval sapphire, the color deep and rich, like the midnight sky.
“That one,” I say, pointing to it.
Mr. Gallagher lifts it carefully, holding it up so the light catches the sapphire’s facets. “A beautiful choice. Understated, but full of character.”
I nod, a strange tightness settling in my chest. “She’ll like it.”
Will she? I don’t know. But it feels right—like something that belongs to her.
Then I pick up what will be our wedding bands. Platinum, simple. As Mr. Gallagher packs up the rest of his pieces, Mal watches me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“You do know this is fake, right?” he asks.
I shrug, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Yeah. You’re the one who told me to make it look real. I’m just playing the part.”
“Yeah,” he says, his gaze sharp. “But I’m starting to think you’re forgetting this istemporary.”
I don’t say anything, because what the hell am I supposed to say? That I added a second year to the prenup because I couldn’t bring myself to settle for just one? That I don’t even know why I did it?
That I’m not sure what I want, except for more time?
More time with her.
What does that say about me?
“I’ll handle the rest,” Mal says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Just don’t screw this up, Ledger.”
He says it like something very important depends on this and I want to learn his angle, but it doesn’t matter. I want what Galeana is giving me . . . two years of her. After that I’ll figure out what to do with my life.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mutter, grabbing my jacket as I head for the door.
As I step outside, the cool air hits me, clearing my head. I stare down at the driveway for a moment, rolling my shoulders and letting out a slow breath.
This is happening.
In four days, I’ll be standing at an altar with Galeana Monroe, sliding a ring onto her finger, and pretending that this marriage is anything other than a business deal.
But as I climb into my SUV and pull out of the parking spot, I can’t stop picturing her face when she sees that ring.
And I can’t stop wondering what the hell I’m doing and trying not to think how fucked up my life is. I have no career and no future. This pretending buys me two years. I should at least be honest with myself. It has nothing to do with how beautiful Galeana Monroe is and everything with how fucked up my life became when I lost everything.
ChapterEighteen
Galeana
By Thursday morning,the once-empty mansion has turned into Grand Central Station. Delivery trucks are lined up along the driveway like we’re hosting a royal gala, and the inside of the house is an explosion of chaos—florists, decorators, and people in crisp polos who keep asking me where to put things.
I haven’t even had coffee yet, and I’m one misplaced rose centerpiece away from snapping like a brittle breadstick. This is worse than my other wedding—at least then I had some illusion of control. This time? Teddy, who I’m convinced should be CEO of Maple Haven and my life, is running the show remotely, coordinating every move with that unnerving calm of hers. Meanwhile, I’m here, barefoot in a house I barely recognize, flinching every time the doorbell rings.
And then the doorbell rings. Again.
