She nods but doesn’t speak. Instead, she presses her lips together, then glances around like the minimalist décor might judge her. Silence stretches, and the tension beneath it hums, thick as wire.
“Kamiyah.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Her breath shudders. “I wouldn’t be if I had any other choice. You have to believe that.”
“Believe?” I echo. “You’re asking the wrong man. Your family’s open dislike for mine doesn’t inspire trust.” The onesided feud between our families has been brewing for two generations. A squabble that Priscilla and Maxwell continue to fuel. All because my grandfather fell in love and married her grandfather’s intended bride.
She winces. “Right. Of course.”
I drag a hand through my hair in irritation. With her, I never know what’s real and what’s carefully measured. She’s from the town’s most infamously old-money family—generations of Remington pride packaged into one elegant woman.
And yet… tonight she looks anything but proud.
“Start at the beginning,” I say.
Her throat works as she swallows. “My aunt gave me an ultimatum.”
That prickles my curiosity. “Ultimatum?”
She nods and untangles her fingers long enough to wipe at a stray drop of rain from her cheek.
“Aunt Priscilla… she’s decided that she needs more control over my life.” Her voice dips into bitter imitation. “‘A woman of our standing must secure her future.’”
I snort. “Sounds like her.” The woman once told me I wasn’t ‘appropriate marriage material’ because my family’s money was ‘too new.’ The irony burns. Not to mention, she never misses an opportunity to remind me that whatever fortune my family inherited was stolen from them along with my grandfather’s bride.
“She thinks I’m… not doing all I can to secure our family legacy and your financial future.,” Kamiyah whispers.
“I gather she has a plan for you.”
Her silence is answer enough.
I sit slowly across from her, elbows on my knees. “What does she want?”
Kamiyah hesitates, then meets my gaze with a quiet, raw dread that hits me like a punch.
“She wants me engaged,” she says softly. “Immediately.”
She clears her throat and I realize there is more. “She also wants conservatorship of my future children.”
I blink, stunned for a heartbeat—then the pieces start falling together. Her fear. Her desperation. Her being here. I’m still not sure how I can help. If anything, my involvement will only piss her aunt off. I tilt my head, studying Kamiyah. “You want me to announce a relationship?” I ask carefully. “Pretend we’ve been dating?”
“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “Not dating. She’d never buy that.”
“Then what exactly are you asking from me?”
Kamiyah’s breath stutters. She looks down at her hands, now clutched tightly in her lap. Her lashes tremble, and she inhales slowly—as if gathering the last fragments of courage she has left.
When she looks back up, her eyes shine with that same stormy determination she used to wear when we were younger—when she’d argue politics at holiday fundraisers and claim she never wanted to live under anyone’s expectations.
Her voice comes out as a whisper.
“I’m asking you to agree to a fake engagement.”
My chest goes still.
A fake engagement.
With me.
