He glances over at me again, like he knows I still have something on my mind but won’t share. “We’re almost there. You’ll like the hotel,” he says, trying to change the subject.
He’s right. The lodge is beautiful. Between the stone and warm wood, soft lighting, and the faint smell of smoke from a massive fireplace in the lobby, it’s exactly what I thought we’d stay in when he said Montana. Our room is on the top floor, with a kingbed, a small sitting area, a fireplace, and a balcony that opens onto a view of the lake and the dark silhouettes of mountains beyond.
“Wow,” I breathe, walking out onto the balcony as he drops our bags by the closet.
“Not bad, right?” he says. “If we’re going to pretend it’s a honeymoon, we might as well get the honeymoon package.”
“Right… pretend,” I echo but only loud enough for me and the sky and stars to hear.
We’re pretending, and I need to remember that, even when my body is very aware there’s only one bed in this room.
I might already be falling.
And I don’t know how to stop.
Chapter Thirteen
SCOTTIE
The ceremony itself is a blur—Corey crying, his bride crying harder, the pastor making jokes about fishing season like it’s a universally understood calendar marker. I hear some of the words, but most of my focus is pointed directly at the woman next to me.
I keep catching myself glancing sideways at Katerina and thinking things a man in a fake marriage probably shouldn’t be thinking. Like how impossibly gorgeous she looks today. And how she somehow looks even more married than she did on our actual wedding day.
She holds herself with an effortless, elegant control that only comes from years of being trained to be perfect in public. Her posture is flawless, her expression a little harder in that Russian ballerina way she has about her, but it’s softer now than when we first met on that tarmac. Her fingers curled lightly around mine as if we’ve been doing this forever.
Every time someone walks past us after the recessional, they do a little double-take. At her, then me, and then us. Probably wondering what the hell someone as gorgeous as her is doing with me.
I stand straighter without even meaning to. Having a woman of Katerina’s caliber on your arm does that to a man.
As the guests file toward the reception hall, her eyes sweep over the crowd as if she’s cataloging every detail of the day. She’s naturally composed, walking into a room like she owns it. Like everyone in it owes her money. But today? There’s something softer underneath. Something I’m seeing in flashes—the real her. The one I get only glimpses of, like breakfasts in the penthouse, or when she’s stretching in the living room, or how she looked in the kitchen with my mom yesterday. Even the way she stared out at the stars last night on the balcony of the honeymoon suite.
The path to the reception hall winds through a garden, and she glances back at me again.
“You’re quiet,” she says softly.
“I’m thinking.”
“About whether this will count as brunch, lunch, or first-dinner?”
I grin. She’s being sassy, and I like it. “Cute…” I say. “No, though that is a good question now that you bring it up. But I was thinking about how I’m glad you’re here… with me. And not because I need to scare off the sourdough bread lady.”
She laughs, and seeing her throw back her head just a little when she does it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and carry her off somewhere so we can be alone. So I can have her laugh and her smile all to myself. I’m realizing that the more time I spend with her… the more time I want.
“I’m really glad I’m here too,” she says back and then blinks, like the words surprise her.
And maybe they surprise me too. My family can be a lot, but she handled them like a pro yesterday.
The reception hall looks like someone’s Pinterest board exploded—in a good way. Twinkle lights. White draping. Candles flickering on every table. The kind of wedding aesthetic Juliet could pull off with a blindfold on and one arm tied behind her back in a hurricane, but still really nice.
We weave through the tables, and I spot our place cards immediately. My name, thenKaterina Easton…then Anika Jeeter.
I stop mid-step.
“Oh,” I say under my breath. “Great.”
Katerina follows my gaze, then lifts a brow. “Anika?”
“My mother’s Hail Mary matchmaking attempt before you,” I say dryly.
