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She leans forward, showing me a glimpse of her lace bralette she’s wearing underneath the vest top. “Don’t tell me. You’re in love with me already and want to marry me for real.”
I laugh, but it’s a little too loud because Max grunts from the rows ahead of us but snuggles back into his hoodie—no suits on this flight. “Hear me out,”
“Oh God,” she gasps.
“No, I’m not in love with you. But I think we can help each other.”
Chapter 16
Harrison
Zoey’seyeswidenandshe flicks her frantic stare around the plane, as though me asking to marry her will somehow summon her protective brothers. “Sorry?” she whisper shouts. “Say that again.”
“Marry me for real this time.”
She groans, frustrated or confused, I can’t tell. “Harrison, you don’t mean that.”
I run my damp hands through my hair, so I don’t have the urge to pull her onto my lap and whisper this conversation into her ear.
“I do. We can help each other. You need access to the rest of your trust fund, and I want my ex to get the message that I’ve moved on. It’s a win for us both. Plus, you don’t know this, but I’m a pretty good boyfriend, so I’ll make a great husband.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, with all that modesty, I don’t doubt you.” Zoey looks at me with curiosity but also something else. “I don’t want you to do this just because you think you can help me.”
“I’m not. This will help me too. Think about it, we both win from doing this.”
The way she assesses me has me shifting in my seat, sweat forming at the base of my neck. She’s trying to get a read on me. I hope I’m not showing her how nervous I am. It feels like I might be signing a death certificate with her brothers, but I push that to the back of my mind for now because I want to help her, and I need help too.
She picks up her water bottle, takes a sip, then places it back on the seat next to her before she speaks again. “Why do I want to say yes?”
I lean forward, finally taking her hand in mine. “Because I’m making an offer you can’t refuse. Plus, you can have your own mountain man at your beck and call, for a while, at least.”
Her gaze continues to linger on my face. I don’t know what she’s searching for, but I know that I can reassure her. “Look, you don’t have to say yes. I’ll carry my broken heart back to London, but I think one year is doable. It’ll give us enough time to make sure your parents buy that we’re married for real, and it isn’t a rouse. We can sort out specifics later, but I think you know this is the best way to get what you need.”
“What about what you need? It feels one sided. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Shadows of doubt play across her face, and I suddenly have the urge to comfort her, to touch her and smooth the lines on her forehead.
“If my ex sees that I’m serious with someone else, she’ll leave me alone. She’ll have to and Zoey,” I sigh, looking at our connected hands. “I need peace. It’s been over a year since shit went down and I’m fucking tired.” I remove my hand from hers and drag it down my face, feeling that heavy weight again. I just want to feel like I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder, and Zoey can help me. “Plus, you’ll get your money for the shelter.”
She sighs, her bottom lip whitens from her teeth digging into it. “We don’t know each other that well,” she finally says weakly.
“I know enough to know that I like you. Living with you for a year? Piece of cake. Pretending to be your husband? Easy as pie,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“If I say yes, will you stop with the old man food metaphors?”
“If you say yes…”
She narrows her eyes at me, but a smile plays on her lips. “Can I think about it?”
I smile, hoping that this is what we need to solve both our problems. “Absolutely. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Like I said, this is for both of us and if at any point, even before the marriage, you don’t want to do it, we don’t.”
She nods once and smiles at me. “Okay.”
And I let out the world’s longest sigh at the idea that Zoey might, very soon, be my wife.
Back home, everything is the same, but it feels different, which is probably because I’m more… relaxed than I was before I left.
I drag my case into my bedroom and begin unpacking, throwing things into the wash basket and tucking shoes away. When I turn into my walk-in wardrobe, my mind wanders to what would happen if Zoey said yes. Would she want to live here? Would she take the spare room? It’s probably for the best, considering this is all a rouse, but maybe her clothes should be in here in case anyone visits. If they see our things are not together, they might suspect us.
So, feeling hopeful that she will agree to my proposal, I remove some of my clothes and make space for Zoey in my wardrobe. Is it presumptuous of me to make room even though she hasn’t said yes yet? Probably, but I like to plan and stay ahead of things.
