“Okay, let’s go over it one more time,” I say, straightening my posture. My tone shifts into that lawyer cadence I know so well, the one that keeps me in control.
Boone watches me carefully, searching my face for cracks. I’m sure he can tell the subtle shift in my voice means I’m shutting down. Closing in on my emotions until I can process them later when it’s safe and I’m alone.
I barrel forward, clinging to the logistics of our plan like a lifeline.
“We step out of the cab and go straight into the fight so that it looks like we were arguing in the car. Loud enough for anyone nearby to catch it. We have the photographer stationed outside to snap a few candid photos and a videographer. Don't look at them. We can’t make it look obvious that we know they’re there.”
He nods, but his hands tighten around mine. I wish he’d let go. I wish he’d give me space to think, to process, to come to terms with the fact that this version of us is ending.
But he hasn’t done that for the last twenty-four hours. He hasn’t let any distance open up between us despite my attempts. He held me all night. He made promises I don’t know whether he can keep, or I should let myself believe.
And while he’s been steady and certain, my defense mechanisms have been screaming at me tolook out!Every old insecurity clawing its way to the surface, urging me to brace for impact. To prepare for the crash landing I’ve learned to expect when things are going a little too well with a guy.
“Then we’ll fight on the sidewalk for a minute,” I continue, forcing my voice to stay even. “Once we’re inside the restaurant, we’ll keep it going just long enough to make it believable. Then I’ll storm out, and we’ll leave separately. It’s clean, simple, dramatic enough to make headlines.”
Boone’s grip softens, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles. “And after that?”
I hesitate, my throat tightening. “After that…” My voice falters, but I pull it together before continuing. “After that, we move forward. We stick to the plan.”
His lips tilt downward like he wants to argue, but instead, he nods. “Okay, Rosie. We keep to the plan.”
I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Because no matter how flawless the plan is, no matter how good we are at pretending when the cameras are rolling, the truth is that tonight will break something between us.
And I’m terrified it’ll be the one thing that I can’t afford to lose.
“You’ve got your bag packed, so you’ll be set to call Penn and crash at his place tonight. Remember, we have to make this believable, or the judge will figure out we faked the whole marriage just to fix your reputation and win the case. It’s too late for him to overturn anything, but we can’t afford a public scandal that says you fake married your lawyer’s sister for clout. And if my father thinks there's something real between us...” I trail off because my promotion is also still on the line.
I don’t know what my dad would do if he found out that I was actually in love with Boone. Because that’s what this is… love.
I’ve never felt it before, but I’m certain of it now.
“Mhm,” he hums, his fingers sliding from my wrists to my hips. They curl possessively, digging in just enough to make me shiver as he pulls me flush against his front.
“Boone, I’m serious. We need to focus.”
“I know,” he says, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “I’m just having a hard time imagining not living with you for a whole week until we're in Canada together.”
My head finds his chest as I let out a small sigh. His hands stay firm on my hips, grounding me, but then one moves, sliding up to tip my chin until I’m looking straight into his eyes.
His lips meet mine in a kiss that feels like reassurance and regret all at once. It’s tender and unhurried.
His eyes flick to the clock on my bedroom wall, then back to me. “We’ve got time.”
“Boone—”
He doesn’t let me finish, guiding me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed. I fall onto the mattress, and his hands are already at the hem of my dress, shoving it up around my waist.
“We’ve got time, baby.”
My protests fade as his hands skim across my thighs, and my fingers tangle in his hair, soft from the shampoo and conditioner that we now share just like everything else.
Boone started using mine weeks ago, claiming he never gave a damn about that kind of thing before, but now he loves catching traces of my rose scent when he skates as the wind blows through his locks.
It was one of the most romantic things a guy had ever said to me.
“I like that you think of me while you're out on the ice,”I’d said. And he'd responded with,"I didn't need the shampoo for that, you're always on my mind."
Swoon.
