— Keep your voice down! I hiss. These walls have ears.
— And you brought her here, into hostile territory, without backup? That’s like throwing a lamb into a pack of wolves!
— Jane can handle herself perfectly well, I protest. And she’s not without support. Keira knows.
— Keira! he exclaims. Your sister, who finds it hilarious to put people in embarrassing situations for her own amusement? That support?
I grit my teeth, knowing he’s not wrong.
— Look, it’s not like we had a choice. The terms of the will are very clear: either I get married before I turn thirty-three, or the family business goes to Lachlan.
— Ah, your favorite cousin, Ewan says dryly. I hear he managed to lose fifteen thousand pounds on horse races in a single afternoon. I see your motivation.
— Exactly. I can’t let my family’s legacy fall into his hands.
Ewan leans back in his chair, studying me carefully.
— All right, motive’s clear. But why her? Why Jane Carter, specifically?
It’s a good question—one I’ve asked myself more than once. I met Jane through a professional contact who assured me she was desperate to get away from Hollywood after her media scandal. She needed money and a fresh start; I needed a woman willing to play my wife for a year. On paper, it was a perfectly logical arrangement.
But there’s something else. Something in her direct gaze, in the way she’s both vulnerable and strong, that struck me from the moment we met.
— She was available, I say at last, choosing the simplest answer.
— Available, Ewan repeats, clearly unconvinced. That’s all you’ve got to say about the woman you’re marrying the day after tomorrow? She was “available”?
— And qualified, I add. She’s an actress. She knows how to be convincing.
— Oh, I noticed her powers of persuasion when she nearly set the ballroom on fire with her “performance.” And by “ballroom,” I mean your crotch.
I rub my face, suddenly tired.
— Look, it’s temporary. One year, at most. Just long enough to satisfy my father’s will and secure my position at the head of the company. Then we’ll divorce quietly, she’ll go back to her life in Los Angeles, and I’ll continue mine here.
— A year sharing your home, your life, and your name with a woman you barely know, Ewan repeats thoughtfully. And your grandmother doesn’t know about the expiration date, I assume?
— Of course not!
Ewan takes a sip of whisky, then studies me over the rim of his glass.
— And you—what do you think?
— About what?
— The potential evolution of your relationship.
I let out a short laugh.
— It’s a business contract, Ewan. Not a fairy tale.
— Life has a strange sense of humor sometimes, he counters. And I have to say, for a purely professional arrangement, you two have remarkable chemistry.
— Chemistry? I repeat, frowning. What are you talking about?
— The way you look at her when she’s not paying attention. The way you rushed to help her when she fell. Your hand on hers just now…
— I’m playing my role, I say defensively. We have to be convincing.
