“It’s not… we didn’t…” I wave a hand helplessly. “This isn’t a romance. It’s a legal solution.”
“Sure,” Isla says lightly, “it can be both, though, you know. You don’t have to pick one or the other.”
“A physical relationship would complicate things,” I insist. “We agreed that this is temporary. Once I get my visa renewal and my grandmother blesses us… We’ll quietly get divorced and go our separate ways.”
No one argues out loud.
But the looks they exchange say enough.
“Then why are you blushing?” Peyton asks.
“I’m not blushing.”
“You totally are,” Penelope says.
I take another sip of wine purely to have something to do with my hands.
The worst part is… they’re not entirely wrong.
Living with Scottie is complicated.
He’s kind in ways that catch me off guard—remembering what kind of tea I like, buying chamomile because he heard me mention it once, standing between me and my father’s shadow without hesitation. He listens, actually listens, when I talk.
He treats me as if I’m not a strategic asset. Like I’m not a bargaining chip.
Like I’m just… a person.
It’s dangerously easy to get used to that.
To want it.
To want him.
And it’s not like I’ve been saving my virginity for a specific reason. I’ve just never been close enough to anyone.
And maybe that’s always been my problem. Never letting anyone that close.
By the time I get back to the penthouse, it’s after eleven. My legs are heavy, my head pleasantly fuzzy from wine and sugar and yelling at Canadian referees on the television.
The apartment feels different from how it did this morning. It doesn’t feel as empty. Like some of the camaraderie from Penelope’s living room followed me home, and the idea that all of Scottie’s things live here, too. Knowing that this is where he calls home also makes it feel fuller than it is.
I wash my face, change into pajamas, and crawl into bed, but my phone lights up with Scottie’s name on the screen.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi. Are you back home yet?”
“Yeah, I got back a little while ago. I’m just getting ready for bed,” I tell him, a small part of me wishing he were already back home.
“Good. I’m glad you made it back safely.Did you watch the game?
My lips curve. “I did.”
“And?” he asks. “What’d you think?
“You were… very good.”
I can hear a light chuckle under his breath.“Very good…? That’s it? That’s what I get from my own wife? Ouch.”
