Because the truth is, fake is the word I use to make this whole thing bearable. It’s a shield I can hide behind, a line in the sand I can pretend exists. I didn’t agree to this because I care about business, or reputation, or whatever the hell I claimed at the time. No, I agreed because the thought of anyone else standing next to her—holding her hand, sharing her life—sits in my gut like a rock.
I don’t want her to belong to anyone else.
I glance at her, and she’s staring back, waiting for me to respond, completely unaware of the storm she’s kicked up in my chest. It’s always been like this with her—effortlessly stunning, endlessly exasperating. I remember that first time we played this game. The words just flew out of my mouth. It was as if I could trust her and it didn’t matter what she asked I would answer until she asked for that kiss.
I shake the memory off, but it’s too late—it always is. It’s been following me since that day, trailing behind me like some invisible thread I can’t cut. And every time I’ve seen her since, it’s been the same: this irritating, impossible pull that tugs me closer no matter how hard I fight it.
Protective, I tell myself now, as if that’s all it is. That’s a word I can handle. It’s practical, logical even—something I can blame on instinct or obligation. But deep down, there’s nothing practical about the way I feel when I’m around her. It’s in the way I notice the exact shade of her eyes when the light shifts.
It’s in the way I keep finding reasons to be near her.
And it’s in the way I’ve started to think of her as mine, even though I know she isn’t—she can’t be.
“It’s fake,” I repeat, softer this time. Like I’m trying to convince myself.
She arches an eyebrow, as if she can hear the lie buried under the words.
And maybe she can.
Before she can say anything I take my turn. “What’s your favorite color?”
She groans. “You’re supposed to ask real questions.”
“That is a real question,” I argue, smirking. “You didn’t say they all had to be deep and meaningful.”
“Fine. Green,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I tease.
She ignores me, pointing at me with narrowed eyes. “Truth: Have you signed the prenup yet?”
I lean back, smirking. “Obviously, since it’s already executed.”
Her lips twitch like she wants to scowl, but she doesn’t.
I grin wider. “Though, you never talked about the amendment . . . I take it you agreed to it since as I mentioned, it’s signed and executed.”
Her brow furrows. “What amendment?”
Oh, so this is why she hasn’t freaked out just yet, huh? I take my time sipping the tea, letting the anticipation build. Then I finally say it.
“I extended it.”
Her eyes snap wide. “Extended what?”
“Two years instead of one,” I say smoothly, enjoying the way she gapes at me. “We’ll be married for two years.”
Her jaw drops. “Two years? Ledger, I said one year. That was the deal.”
“You didn’t read the fine print?” I ask innocently. “You really should read contracts more carefully, darling. Once we’re married, we’re going to have to figure out how to ensure you check the small print and all.”
She sputters for a moment, her cheeks flushing with equal parts frustration and disbelief. “Why would you do that?”
I shrug, giving her my best devil-may-care smile. “Two years gives us more time. Time to make this believable. Time to make sure Maple Haven is stable. And time for us to . . .” I trail off, letting my eyes linger on hers. “Enjoy all the benefits of being married.”
Her mouth opens and closes like she’s trying to form a response, but all that comes out is a strangled, “Benefits?”
I lean forward, letting my voice drop just low enough to make her blush deeper. “All the benefits, Galeana. You know, the ones you agreed to.”
