I feel like if I click my heels, I’ll return to Pine Hollow. But I know it’s too late to go back now.
And I’m not ready to go back—not yet.
Then the horde follows us, and I learn something new: Ihatebeing pursued. This feels like reality TV unfolding right before my eyes.
“Kate, look here!”
“Did you really get married?”
“Finn, is it real or just for PR?”
My heart pounds as my eyes skim the sea of strangers. I didn’t sign up for this. Not like this. The paparazzi have a mob mentality, and it’s terrifying.
Finn’s hand stays firm in mine. And when he squeezes, it’s like he knows I need reassurance. He’s calm in the chaos.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, low and steady. I lock on to his voice. “I’ve got you.”
Just like that, he becomes my wall. A barrier between me and the feeding frenzy. A shield in designer shoes.
He shoves through the crowd like it’s nothing. One arm around my waist, the other motioning for security. Cameras flash like lightning. Reporters shout. Someone grabs my sleeve. Finn growls—I’m not even kidding—and the next thing I know, we’re in a dim parking garage, and I’m being gently shoved into the back seat of a black SUV.
The door slams. Silence falls like a weighted blanket.
I look over at him. His breathing is hard, his jaw tight, but his eyes are still scanning the shadows like someone might follow us.
“That,” I say, breathless, “was... too much.”
He looks at me. “You okay?”
“I think I need a drink. Or a sedative.”
His lips twitch. “Wait ’til you see the house.” Then he flashes that sexy smile, and it’s like the last fifteen minutes never happened.
His arms wrap around me, and I slump against him, my ear to his chest. I listen to the steady beat of his heart. All of this is terrifying, but it pales in comparison to the comfort of being in his arms.
Oh boy. This isn’t just any fake marriage.
I’m in over my head. What am I going to do when he makes it feelthisreal? Like he actually... cares?
I don’t know what to do with those thoughts, so I shove them deep down, somewhere I won’t have to look at them.
Twenty minutes later, we pull through iron gates that open like something out of a movie. The driveway winds long and elegant. Themanicured hedges are so neat they probably have a stylist. The lawn looks freshly brushed, like it was told to behave for my arrival.
Then the house comes into view.
Scratch that—estate. I’ve never actually seen one, but if they exist, this is it.
It’s not just big. It’s absurdly beautiful. Stone and glass with sleek, painted trim. The lawn stretches wide, like it’s daring the neighbors to compete. It looks both expensive and heartbreakingly lonely.
“Welcome to Maine,” Finn says as the car slows in front of a curved entryway. “This is home.”
He helps me out of the SUV, and I get my first close-up of the house. My mouth parts, but no words come out. Vaulted archways. Ivy crawling up the side like a work of art. A wraparound porch bigger than my entire apartment. The windows reach toward the sky.
Inside, it’s warm wood and cold marble. Soft lighting glistens off leather sofas. There’s a fireplace large enough to roast a small deer. The floors are so shiny I can see my stunned reflection blinking back at me.
Finn drops his bag at the base of the stairs and turns to me.
“You hungry? Tired? Or just completely freaked out?”
