And then I have to hope—pray, really—that in thirty days, after I’ve ghosted her, after the media buzz has died down and we’re allowed to “reconcile,” she’ll forgive me. She’ll understand. She’ll take me back.
I feel like my father. Taking a gamble and losing. Except the stakes aren’t money or pride—they’re the woman I love and any chance we had at a real future together.
Best performance of my life. Here we go.
CHLOE
This morning, I woke up in Brody Kane’s arms thinking maybe we had a chance.
Now I’m hiding behind an ice sculpture at my sister’s wedding, trying to avoid eye contact with him while simultaneously wondering if there’s any possible way out of the disaster we’re both trapped in.
Brody is standing near the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, chatting with his teammate, Tyler, looking unfairly good, gesturing with a glass in a way that suggests he’s telling a story. Our eyes meet across the terrace.
I panic.
I nearly take out a server as I crouch-run through the crowd and duck behind the bar. In hindsight, it wasn’t my best moment.
“Can I help you, miss?” the bartender asks, a pretty redhead in a black button-up uniform.
“Oh no, I’m just hiding from the man who’s probably the love of my life so that I can avoid making decisions that could alter the course of our entire lives, possibly ruining them if I make the wrong one.”
The bartender raises a brow, her gaze skittering over the crowd. “Mr. Handsome, gray suit, chatting near the windows?”
“That’s him.”
She nods. Pours a glass of wine and hands it to me under the bar. “Stay strong, babe.”
There’s no time to enjoy my drink, however, because moments later, someone clamps onto my elbow, hauling me out from below the bar with surprising strength.
It’s Maya—curse that cardio-regimented queen and her vice grip.
“Maya—what’s—” But I can’t get a word in as she drags me toward the staff door at the back of the reception hall.
She pushes through the doors and finally turns to face me. “Chloe Dawson, you tell me the truth this time. Are you in a fake relationship with Brody Kane?”
My stomach drops, and all the air leaves my lungs. I open my mouth to deny it, but looking at Maya’s face—not angry, just concerned—breaks something in me.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
All at once, my sister’s hard exterior, that Wonder Woman shell, evaporates. Her expression softens, and suddenly I’m in her arms, wrapped in a tight hug. It’s unfamiliar territory for us. “Oh, hun,” she whispers. “Tell me what’s going on.”
And so I spend the next ten minutes telling her everything. About our kiss in Barcelona and running into him at Ironclad—how we hadn’t been dating at all when the viral photo was taken—and finally the contract. But I don’t stop there. The words are pouring from me like I’m parched for the truth. I tell her about our date—the real one—and the late-night calls, and falling asleep on the couch together, and about the looming breakup that I can’t seem to find a way out of.
“Chloe, you don’t have to do this.” Her grip on my arm tightens. “Forget the contract. Forget the penalties. I’ll help you—Mom and Dad will help you pay whatever you owe?—”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not? You’re my sister. You think I’m going to stand here and watch you destroy your own happiness because of some stupid contract you signed when you were desperate?”
“It’s not just about me,” I say quietly. “If I don’t follow through, Brody loses everything too. His contract renewal. His career. Everything he’s worked for.” I grab her hands. “I can’t do that to him. Not when I—” I can’t finish. Can’t say Not when I love him out loud.
“So you’re sacrificing yourself to save his career?” Her voice rises slightly, and she immediately lowers it, glancing around to make sure no one heard. “After he got you into this mess in the first place?”
“It’s not like that. It’s more complicated than the article made it seem. We both agreed to this. We both signed.” I squeeze her hands. “Maya, please. You’ve got to trust me on this. Just…don’t tell anyone. I mean it.” I fix my eyes on hers. “Nobody can know the contract is real. Please.”
She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes shining with tears. Then she nods, pulls me into a hug.
“I hate this,” she whispers. “I hate that you’re hurting and I can’t fix it.”
