Everyone gets what they want, except I’m starting to realize I don’t actually know what I want anymore.
“There’s something else,” Carson says, pulling out his phone. “I’ve been monitoring the online conversation about your relationship, and there’s been a shift. People aren’t just interested in your business success anymore. They’re invested in your personal happiness. Look at this.”
He shows me his phone screen, which displays a blog post titled “Why Ben Lawlor and Freya Hull Give Us Hope for Love.” I don’t want to read it, but Carson starts reading aloud anyway.
“‘In a world where celebrity relationships seem calculated and fleeting, Ben Lawlor and Freya Hull remind us that real love still exists. Their story—childhood friends who found their way back to each other—feels authentic in a way that’s increasingly rare. Watching them together, you can see the genuine affection, the easy comfort, the way they look at each other like they can’t quite believe their luck.’”
He looks up at me expectantly. “Do you see what this means? You’ve transcended being just a business figure. You’re becoming a symbol of authentic love and commitment. That’s incredibly powerful from a brand perspective.”
“I should get back to work,” I tell him, gesturing vaguely at the papers scattered across my desk.
“Of course. But Ben? This is really working. Whatever you and Freya are doing, keep doing it. The public is completely invested in your story.”
After Carson leaves, I sit down at my desk and try to focus on what I need to, but the words might as well be hieroglyphics. All I can think about is the way Freya looked last night when I stepped away from her, and the silence from her phone today.
If I had it to do over again, would I make the same choices? Would I still think that business considerations outweigh everything else? Would I still convince myself that protecting our friendship is more important than exploring what we might be together?
I’m still brooding over these questions when another knock interrupts my thoughts. Anthony enters with his usual buttoned-up composure, but I can tell from his expression that this isn’t a routine check-in.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks, closing the door behind him with more care than usual.
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
Anthony rarely looks uncertain, but he does now, fidgeting with the tablet in his hands. “I wanted to talk to you about the wedding. And about why you’re doing calisthenics in a three-thousand-dollar suit.”
“I changed clothes.”
“The point stands. Ben, I’ve worked for you for three years. I’ve seen you go through a lot, and you don’t get rattled easily.”
“I’m not rattled.”
“You’re working out in your office because you can’t focus on actual work. You’ve been staring out the window for twenty-minute stretches when you think I’m not looking. And you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
Well, that about sums it up. I should have that partial glass wall replaced.
I want to deny it all, but Anthony’s observational skills are one of the reasons I hired him. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that I’ve never seen you like this, and I’m worried you’re in over your head.”
“Anthony…”
“It’s not too late to back out,” he says quietly, settling into the chair across from my desk. “I know this deal with Red Dawson is important, but there have to be other ways to secure it. Other landowners, other opportunities.”
I lean back in my chair, studying his concerned expression. He’s one of the few people in my life who knows about the fake engagement, and he’s been uncomfortable with it from the beginning.
“You think I should call off the wedding just days before it happens?”
“I think you should consider whether this arrangement is worth what it’s costing you.”
“What’s it costing me?”
“Your peace of mind, for starters. Your friendship with Freya, possibly. And maybe your integrity.”
The words hit harder than they should because they’re true. This whole situation has been eating at me for weeks, and it’s only getting worse as we get closer to the wedding date.
“The wind turbine deal alone is worth fifty million annually,” I say, falling back on the business case that got me into this mess. “That’s not including the potential for expansion, the technology licensing opportunities, and the industry partnerships it could lead to.”
“And is that worth losing Freya?”
