That’s absurd. This is a professional arrangement. A transaction. And yet… I remember the way she looked at me lastnight. The way her hands framed my face. The way she kissed me like it meant something.
— Jane is not a subject for your analysis, Alistair.
— No. She’s a remarkable woman who deserves better than a husband who runs at the first sign of difficulty.
The words hit like a punch.
Because he’s right.
I ran.
— You know nothing about our situation, I say, my voice rough.
— I know you’re terrified, he replies simply. Terrified because for the first time in your life, you’re not in control. This woman makes you feel things you didn’t plan for—and instead of exploring them, you retreat into your neat little world of numbers and contracts.
I stare at him, stunned by his accuracy. How can he see so clearly what I refuse to admit?
— If Jane were my wife, he continues, casually but with an edge in his eyes, I wouldn’t have left her alone the morning after our wedding. In fact, I probably wouldn’t let her out of bed for at least a week.
A sharp, irrational wave of jealousy surges through me.
— Don’t talk about her like that.
— Like what? Like she’s desirable? Because she is. Those expressive eyes, that mouth that always looks ready to deliver something cutting… not to mention her figure?—
— That’s enough! I snap, louder than intended, drawing curious glances from nearby tables.
Alistair smiles, satisfied.
— You’re jealous. Which suggests your feelings go well beyond a simple arrangement.
I go still.
Is it that obvious?
— What are you talking about?
— Spare me the outrage, Callum. Rumors travel fast in certain financial circles. I don’t know exactly what pushed you into this—some inheritance clause, a persistent grandmother, a ticking deadline? Either way, you suddenly find yourself married to a stranger. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
I drag a hand over my face, suddenly exhausted.
— You’re exhausting.
— People gossip, but there’s no proof. And after seeing those photos… if this is an arrangement, you’re both far better actors than I thought.
His words drag me back to the wedding.
Was any of it just performance?
— It’s not that simple, I murmur.
— It never is, he agrees, unexpectedly serious. That’s why men like you and me prefer equations and contracts over relationships. They’re predictable. Controllable.
Of all the people who could force me to confront reality, I never imagined it would be Alistair McKenzie.
— Careful, McKenzie.
He lifts his teacup, never taking his eyes off me.
