“Or would you prefer beer?”
“No, rosé is fine, thanks.”
“And how long have you lived here?” I asked.
“Seven years now. Before that, New York. It was hectic and draining. Out here we finally found the peace we needed.”
“I can imagine that’s a big change.”
“We both worked in finance,” Elis said. “That’s how we met. But city life eventually wore us down. The kids were always stressed, and we barely saw each other. Now they’re grown, and when they visit, it feels even sweeter.”
“And what are your kids doing now?”
“Our daughter Anna is finishing her degree in architecture,” Elis said with pride. “And Max is studying cultural anthropology and mythology.”
I frowned slightly. “I’m not sure I know what cultural anthropology really means.”
“It’s broad,” she explained. “The study of myths, their history, and how they shape cultures.”
“That does sound fascinating. You must be proud of them.”
“We are,” Christopher said, lowering himself onto the blanket beside Damian. “But we’d be proud no matter what path they chose—whether it’s trade, construction, cooking. If it fulfills them, it’s the right thing.”
Damian settled in behind me, pulling me between his legs, his arms wrapping around me.
Christopher’s gaze lingered. “You seem different, Damian,” he said, then shot me a knowing look. “What have you done to my brother?”
“She’s enchanted me with her charm, her intelligence, and her uncanny eye for artifacts,” Damian said, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
For a moment, I let myself forget the complications ofus—whateveruswas—and simply lived in it. Even though deep down I knew it would fade, like mist dissolving the instant you reach for it.
As the sun bled into the horizon in shades of orange and pink, we packed up and walked back to the house. Damian held my hand the whole way.
That evening, we gathered around the oak table with a few of Christopher’s close friends.
“Thank you again for the invitation, Christopher,” said Michael Caldwell, sharp in a tailored suit and clearly no stranger at this table. From Damian’s stories, I knew he was one of Christopher’s oldest friends.
Conversation over dinner shifted between current events and family anecdotes. When the main course was served, Caldwell turned his attention to Damian.
“You know, Damian, I hesitated for a long time before doing business with you. Mostly because I’ve heard every story from Christopher. You know I’m conservative to the bone, and, well, let’s just say I despise your liberal lifestyle and the way you’ve treated women in the past.”
Damian, who had just taken a sip of wine, set his glass down and met Caldwell’s gaze. “Yes, I’m aware of that, Mr. Caldwell.”
Caldwell’s piercing gaze shifted to me. “But now that you’ve settled down and gotten engaged, I can see you’ve changed. And I must say, your fiancée is enchanting.” He raised his glass. “To our partnership—and to your marriage.”
The words hit like a slap. I choked. The liquid burned my throat as the meaning sank in. Damian’s hand pressed lightly against my back—soothing on the surface, but wrong at the core—like a gesture rehearsed for show rather than born from care.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his concern polished, practiced. Not a flicker of genuine emotion in his eyes—just that calm, glassy surface hiding whatever lay beneath. Christopher and Elis exchanged puzzled looks, their eyes darting between us, trying to decipher what had just happened.Fiancée.The word echoed, heavy and foreign, like something that had never belonged to me.
My chair scraped back with a sharp sound as I rose. “Please excuse me.”
Each step toward the bathroom felt like a flight, every breath a battle against the vise tightening in my chest. So that’s what this was. No romantic weekend. No attempt to truly know me. Just a damn chess move.
Staring into the mirror, I hardly recognized my own reflection.Fiancée.For tonight. For this deal. A role I hadn’t even been asked to play. And I had believed—so stupidly—that there was something real. A spark. But no. This was strategy. A façade. I was nothing but a propin Damian’s carefully constructed plan. So naïve. And so damn hurt.
“Daisy.” His voice came soft behind me as he stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door.
“You never wanted this weekend with me. You wanted Caldwell—and your brother—to believe you had a stable life, so Caldwell would agree to partner with you.” My head shook of its own accord. “Unbelievable, Damian. Every time I think you’re taking a step toward me, you shove a knife in my back.”
