“Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
“I’d rather just... talk. Until I’m tired enough to fall asleep.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, turning onto my side to face her, though I could only make out her silhouette in the dim light.
“Anything,” she replied. “Tell me something real. Something you don’t tell people in board meetings or at galas.”
I considered this for a moment. “I’m terrified of ending up alone,” I admitted, the darkness making honesty easier somehow. “Not just without a partner, but truly alone. Noreal connections. Just people who want something from me. Especially when I lose Gram.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Is that why you made the bet? To prove you don’t need real connection?”
“Maybe. Or maybe to prove I can control it. Keep it on my terms.”
“That’s not how it works. Real connection, I mean. You can’t control it. That’s what makes it real.”
“Says the woman who controls every single detail of every single day,” I teased.
“Touché,” she conceded. “We’re both control freaks in our own way.”
“Match made in heaven,” I joked, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry, that was?—”
“It’s okay. We’re good at pretending to be engaged, apparently. Mrs. Albury certainly bought it.”
“We should go into business together. Professional fake couple. We could rent ourselves out for awkward family gatherings. ‘Want to shut up your nosy aunt? Hire us to pretend we’re madly in love and about to elope to Vegas.’”
She laughed, the sound warm in the darkness. “I can see the Craigslist ad now. ‘One slightly used billionaire and his wedding planner available for rental. Good at pretending to be in love, terrible at catching ferries.’”
“Hey, missing that ferry was a strategic decision. All part of my master plan.”
“To what? Get stranded on an island with your wedding planner?”
“Exactly. Mission accomplished.”
She was quiet for a moment, and I worried I’d gone too far. “Callan...” she began hesitantly. “What are we doing?”
“Currently? Lying in bed having a conversation.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, and I could hear the frown in her voice. “This... whatever this is. The island, the boat trip, sharing a bed. It’s not normal.”
“No. It’s not.”
“So what is it?”
I took a deep breath. “I like you, Anica. More than I should. More than is professional or convenient or part of the plan. I like the way you laugh when you think no one’s watching. I like how you plan for every disaster but still roll with the punches when the unexpected happens. I like that you wear La Perla underwear under those business suits but pretend it doesn’t matter how you look. I like that you hate cake but plan weddings anyway.”
“You noticed my underwear?” she asked, her voice slightly higher than normal.
“I notice everything about you. It’s becoming a problem.”
She was silent for so long that I thought I’d completely misread the situation. Then I felt her hand find mine in the darkness, her fingers intertwining with mine.
“I like you too,” she whispered. “And it’s definitely a problem.”
“Because of the contract?” I asked, hardly daring to breathe.
“Because of everything,” she said. “The contract, the bride hunt, the bet. You’re literally paying me to find you a wife, Callan. That’s complicated on a good day. This is... messy.”
“I’ve never been good at staying inside the lines,” I admitted, squeezing her hand gently. “Even as a kid. Always coloring outside them, making my own rules.”
