I let out a hollow laugh. ‘Just because it’s easy for you, doesn’t—’
‘It’snoteasy for me,’ she snaps, eyes flashing. ‘That’s why I’m here trying to find a solution to this. I thought we were on the same page here.’
Her conviction burns so bright it almost hurts to look at her. She’s armed with nothing but the unshakable belief that sheer willpower can rewrite the world around her. I envy it. I used to think I could be like that, too.
I lean back in my chair, my fingers drumming restlessly against my knee. ‘It’s different for me,’ I say, somewhat defensively.
Imani’s brow quirks slightly. She’s clearly unconvinced. ‘Different how?’
I hesitate. I could lie. Could feed her some vague excuse about the business, or my image, or my family’s legacy. I could use the same buzzwords my father loves to throw around to get what he wants. But the truth is simmering just beneath the surface, and as much as I want to keep it buried, Imani’s gaze is unflinching.
I owe her that at least, don’t I? But how do I explain that I’ve spent my entire life working to earn my father’s love and acceptance, and have always come up short? How do I explain that if I fail this, like I’ve seemingly failed every other task he’s thrown my way, that this might just be it. That this is my last chance to prove I’m worth something to him? How do I explain that, when I don’t even knowwhyI want to prove it to him in the first place but that his approval is like a lifeline I’ve been chasing my entire life?
I decide to settle on a version of the truth.
‘If I don’t go ahead with this, my father will make my life very difficult.’
Imani snorts, crosses her arms tightly over her chest and fixes with me a cutting glare. ‘Just to be clear,’ she says slowly,‘you’d rather actually marry me, a complete stranger, than pretend we’re toxic exes for a few weeks?’
When she puts it like that, I sound like an idiot.
‘You make it sound simple.’
‘Itissimple,’ she insists. ‘We’ve already been over this, Asher.’ She holds up her hand and starts counting off her fingers. ‘We pretend we dated. We pretend it ended badly and we can’t stand to be in the same room as each other. Our fathers panic, realise merging their companies through a doomed marriage is a PR nightmare, and they call it off. No wedding. No deal.Simple.’
I open my mouth to argue, but she barrels on, her words gaining momentum with every breath. She taps her dossier. ‘I’ve already mapped it out: public appearances, controlled leaks to the right people, a few ‘accidental’ run-ins that end in disaster. We’ll stage a few fights, throw in a couple of awkward photos, and BOOM.’ She snaps her fingers. ‘Engagement over. Merger derailed. Fathers suitably chagrined. I don’t see what the problem is here.’
The thing is that her plan relies entirely on our fathers having an ounce of shame between them. And whilehersmight, mine most definitely does not. The Vouvalis name has survived scandals, lawsuits, even a bribery investigation. A few public arguments aren’t going to scare my father off a multimillion-pound deal with Peregrine if that’s what he’s set his sights on.
‘Come on, Asher,’ she pleads with me. Her eyes are wide and she’s looking at me like I’m her lifeline. ‘Please,’ she saysquietly, the word threaded through with a kind of desperation that makes my chest ache. ‘You can’t actually want this. You can’t honestly be okay with marrying someone you don’t even know just because your father told you to do it.’
I don’t answer her straight away. Mostly because I can’t. But also, because if I open my mouth, I’ll have to admit the truth – that I don’t want this, but I don’t see a way around it either. Imani doesn’t understand what it’s like to grow up with a father like mine. To spend years trying to earn something as small and fragile as approval, only to be met with disdain each time. To realise that love in the Vouvalis household is conditional on your usefulness.
‘I just don’t think it’ll work,’ I manage finally. ‘The plan, I mean.’
‘It will,’ she says immediately. ‘You just have to trust me.’ She looks so sure of herself – shoulders squared, eyes clear, lips pressed into a determined line – that for a moment I want to believe her. I want to believe that a few staged arguments and some photo ops could actually undo decades of my father’s ambition.
But I know better.
My father doesn’t back down from bad press or public drama. He thrives on it. And when this plan of hers starts to crumble, as it inevitably will, he’ll find a way to twist it into something useful for him. He always does.
Still, I can’t bring myself to say any of that aloud. I know that if I tell her the truth, that she’s wasting her time, that this plan is doomed from the start, I’ll see that spark in hereyes snuff out, and I don’t think I could stand it. Not when she’s looking at me like I’m still capable of impressing her.
I make my decision then and there.
I’ll go along with her plan, and when everything inevitably comes crashing down on us and we end up right where my father wants us, maybe she won’t blame me. Maybe she’ll think we both tried, but it just wasn’t enough.
Maybe she won’t hate me.
I exhale a slow, shaky breath and say, ‘It’s Lincoln.’
Imani jerks back slightly. ‘Huh?’
‘My middle name. And I’m twenty-eight. Birthday is 16th February.’
Realisation dawns on her face and I’m treated to her smile again. ‘You’re in, then? For real this time?’
I nod. ‘I’m in.’
