My heart stutters. My mouth opens—then shuts again. I don’t have a safe answer. Not one that won’t get me in trouble, that is.
God, he’s beautiful. My panties are already damp just picturing the two of us in that bed.
I know I’ll never meet another man like him. I don’t want to say no.
I clear my throat and keep it light, even as nerves twist in my stomach. “Let’s see how it goes.”
I smile, but inside? Panic curls under my ribs. Because I’m not afraid of the bed. Or his body. Or what might happen.
I’m afraid ofhim. And how easily he makes me feel safe. How easily I could get used to him brushing my hair back, holding my hand when I’m scared, and kissing my fears away.
I’m afraid of this luxury, the passion, thisus, and pretending to be the perfect couple because if I let myself settle into this—intohim—I wouldn’t just fall.
I’d crash.
And when this fake marriage ends—like we agreed it would—I’ll be the one standing in the wreckage, trying to remember how to breathe without him.
16
FINN
HERS AND MINE
Pinch at the Blue Line:A defenseman aggressively moves up to keep the puck in the offensive zone—fully committing, even though if they miss, it could lead to a dangerous breakaway the other way.
There’s something addictive about watching Kate take in this new life. Not because she’s impressed by the luxury. She’s not. Well, maybe because it’s pretty and there are so many shiny objects.
But she doesn’t fawn over the thread count or the chandelier in the dining room. She barely blinks at the cars in the garage or the fact that I have a private chef.
She notices the small things—the softness of my voice, the view from the balcony off our bedroom, and the silence of a house that doesn’t creak due to damaged wood.
She looks at luxury items like someone who didn’t grow up expecting anything new or easy. She’s not a gold digger. Hell, if anything, she resists comfort like it’s suspicious.
I could give her everything, and she’d still insist on carrying her own damn bag. But that doesn’t mean others won’t whisper. I know the narrative that’s coming. A Pretty girl. A Quick wedding. A man with a bank account big enough to make headlines.
They’ll call her names she doesn’t deserve. But I know Kate, and she’s real.
In fact, our first day together was everything I hoped for and more.
Kate has this way of doing that—surprising me. Just when I think I’ve figured out what she’ll say, what she’ll want, she says something that reveals some new layer I wasn’t ready for. She says she’s damaged—broken like an old record.
But all I see is a woman clawing her way up from humble beginnings, with a beautiful voice, an armored heart, and hands and a mind talented enough to write lyrics that make people cry.
She’s fire and glass. And I’m already cut open by her.
Sometimes, she disappears without warning. One second she’s laughing with me, the next she’s ghosting through the hallways barefoot with her leather notebook pressed to her chest. She curls up on the couch or the window seat, blocking out the world.
She writes like she’s spilling secrets onto the page before they can bite her.. It’s as if she’s always working.
She’s driven, I’ll give her that. I don’t know if it’s her lyrics or her thoughts— maybe it’s both, but she’s a vision in motion.
If she’s writing a song about us, I selfishly hope it’s about me, and that it’s favorable.
I’m on the patio, pretending to be reading a sports article, but the second I see her, the screen goes dark.
She enters the patio in nothing but one of my button-ups and those legs that undo me. Her hair’s a mess. No makeup. Still, somehow, she’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.
Without saying a word, she walks over to me, climbs onto my lap, and settles into me like she belongs here.
