— Of course, Ewan smiles, clearly unconvinced. That must be why your face turns red at the mere mention of your “arrangement.”
— It’s the whisky, I mutter.
— You’ve barely had a sip.
I set my glass down a little too hard.
— Jane is interesting—and attractive, I admit. But there’s nothing between us beyond clearly defined mutual interests outlined in a contract.
— A contract. How romantic, Ewan mocks. I’m sure Shakespeare is rolling in his grave with excitement.
— Romantic relationships are overrated, I shoot back. Look at what happened with Heather.
Ewan grimaces at the mention of my ex.
— Heather was an opportunist who saw you as a ticket to life in a castle. Jane seems different.
— Different how?
— More genuine. Less calculating. And definitely more fun.
I think of my conversations with Jane—her way of standing up to me, her humor in the face of adversity. She’s certainly different from any woman I’ve dated.
— Maybe, I concede. But that doesn’t change the fact that our marriage is temporary.
— If you say so, Ewan replies skeptically. But let me ask you this: did you include a clause in your famous contract for what happens if one of you develops real feelings?
I stiffen. Of course we included a clause for that. It was one of my first concerns—establishing a clear protocol in case of “emotional complications.”
— Naturally. It’s a standard precaution, I reply, a bit too formally.
Ewan studies me with renewed interest.
— Fascinating. So you anticipated that possibility. Now let’s see… Who are you protecting with that clause, Callum? Jane—or yourself?
— That’s ridiculous.
— Is it? You’ve always been cautious, methodical, forward-thinking. If you included a specific clause about feelings, it means you consider that risk real. The question is—for whom?
I hate it when Ewan does this, when he cuts through my carefully constructed defenses with a few well-placed observations.
— You’re overanalyzing, I say, standing to pour him another drink. It’s a simple business arrangement.
— You said the same thing about your jazz record collection, and yet you nearly cried when I dropped your Miles Davis vinyl.
— It was a limited edition!
— And Jane is a one-of-a-kind person, he counters. Careful not to confuse the container with the content, my friend.
I sigh, frustrated by his persistence.
— What do you want me to say, Ewan? That I’m secretly falling in love with the woman I hired to pretend to be my fiancée? That’s absurd. We’ve known each other for two weeks.
— What would be absurd is pretending it’s impossible for two people forced to share daily intimacy for a year not to develop real feelings.
— You read too many romance novels, I grumble.
— And you don’t read enough, he shoots back. Look, I’m not saying you’re in love. I’m just saying you should be open to the possibility.
