He studies my hand for a beat before taking it, his grip firm. Then he smiles. This time, there’s no skepticism in it and I can tell he’s being genuine.
“I look forward to that too, Boone.”
He lets go, turns, and walks out without another word, his boots echoing softly against the floor as the door closes behind him.
I sit back down, alone at the table now, a grin slowly spreading across my face. Because that right there was as close as I’ll ever get to Cain Prescott’s approval. And it’s enough.
Her father? Meh. I’m not worried about him.
Chapter 37: Rosie
There’s less than three days left of being married to Boone, two hours until our staged public blowout, and a week until our trip to Canada. And yet I already feel like I’m running out of time with him.
Which is ridiculous since we had our talk. He wants me to meet his mother. He wants todateme when this is over.
Our divorce isn’t the end, it’s the beginning.
I lean against the bathroom doorway in our New York City apartment, wearing nothing but the silk robe I threw on after round two with him this morning. Boone is standing at the sink, razor in hand, focused on the mirror as he shaves the sharp jawline I’ve kissed and nipped at too many times to count now.
Every time that we’re together, it feels like we’re making up for lost time. Maybe it’s because we both know this thing has an expiration date or maybe it’s because we silently regret avoiding our feelings for so long.
Last night, we barely slept. The moment I walked in from work he was waiting for me, desperate to make up for the time thatwe’ll soon be spending apart. Desperate to avoid all the hard things we know we should be saying.
Yes, I agreed to go to Canada with him next weekend—a demand that should’ve been harder to say yes to than it was. But even with that trip ahead, I can’t shake the feeling that something big is ending between us.
Whether it’s the legal marriage that brought us together in the first place or the private moments that have turned this arrangement into something far more real, there’s been something extraordinary about these last three months. Something that’s fundamentally changed who I am, and how I exist in the world.
And tonight, when we walk into that restaurant and put on our biggest, most important performance yet, it's the start of all that we've quietly built unraveling.
Boone glances over his shoulder, his brown eyes locking on mine. “Hey babe. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod quickly, even though my chest feels like it’s shrinking with each second that ticks by.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” One of the many lies I’ve told him over the past twenty-four hours.
I’m not worried about our future.
I’m not disappointed by how this is ending.
I’m confident we’ll make it.
I like having a plan, and this feels like I’m drowning in uncertainty. Meanwhile, Boone seems fine.
He sets down the razor, pats his freshly shaven face dry with a towel, and turns fully toward me.
I love the scruff he usually keeps, the way it feels against the soft skin on my breasts and thighs, but now, with his jaw smooth and sharp, he looks different. Too put together and perfect.
Like everything else between us is changing in ways that I’m not ready for.
Our PR team gave us strict instructions to keep it casual today. Boone’s wearing one of his long-sleeved, maroon colored Mayhem henleys, a nod to the hockey obsessed narrative they’re pushing, paired with dark-washed jeans.
He looks like the perfect all-American athlete—handsome, grounded, untouchable and completely devoted to his fans.
Meanwhile, I chose a lavender colored sweater dress, the color he once told me was his favorite on me. Because as much as I want to pretend that I’m all business tonight, I couldn’t resist giving into this one last request from him.
He steps closer, his hands finding mine, his touch warm and grounding. “This is the start, not the end, Rosie. Remember that while we’re pretending tonight, okay?”
I nod again, but my eyes dart away from his. Holding his gaze right now feels impossible, like I’m teetering on the edge of falling apart. And when I’m this close to breaking, I do what I’ve always done/ I fall back on the plan, the script, and my professional training.
