“This whole fake marriage thing,” I continue, throat tightening. “Maybe I should’ve said no.”
The silence stretches between us, taut and brimming.
He exhales slowly. “If I could take it back—the media part, the chaos—I would.”
I glance at him. His profile is sharp in the fading light, jaw tight, eyes shadowed.
“But for what it’s worth… there’s no one I’d rather be fake engaged to. I’m so fucking glad it’s you, Olive.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
He continues, eyes on the sea. “You didn’t deserve any of this. I should’ve protected you better.”
“You tried,” I say, softer now. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” he says. “They came after you because of me. Because I’m in the spotlight and I dragged you into it. You were just living your life, doing your job, being amazing with those kids. And now you’re paying for my mess.”
He turns to face me fully. His eyes are dark, stormy, full of something that looks like guilt and regret tangled together. “I’m sorry, Olive.”
And I know he means it. Every syllable sinks into my skin, into the ache I’ve been carrying in my chest since this morning.
“I know,” I whisper.
“I just…” I swallow hard, my voice catching. “I liked my quiet life, you know? It wasn’t exciting, but it was mine. I liked being anonymous. I liked being invisible.” I think of my blog—how I’ve never told anyone I’m the one behind it.
Ash stays quiet, and for a second I think he’s going to let the silence stretch between us again. But then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and rough.
“I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry I turned it upside down. But maybe... maybe it’s time people see who you really are. How incredible you are. Not as some rockstar’s fiancée—but as you.”
He reaches out, lacing his fingers with mine. And for a moment, that’s all we are— Two people on a quiet cliffside, trying to hold on to something real in the middle of all the noise.
20
ASH
Doggy Style
We pull into the driveway in silence. The kind that isn’t cold, just… heavy. Like the air after a storm. There’s still lightning in the distance, but it hasn’t cracked yet.
I cut the engine and glance over. Olive stares ahead, jaw tight, hands folded in her lap like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“Do you maybe want to watch a movie together?” I ask quietly.
She turns to me with a tired, gentle smile. “No… I think I need a little time to myself. Just to think. I hope that’s okay.”
I nod, even though every part of me wants to say no.
“Of course,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ll be around if you need me.”
“Thanks, Ash. For today. For getting me out of there.”
I nod again, gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring me. “Always.”
We walk inside, and she disappears into her room. She says she needs space—but all I want is to be where she is.
A while later, I hear her pad back out and curl up on the couch. She doesn’t say anything—just tucks her legs under herself, blanket over her lap, hair twisted into a messy knot.
Before I can speak, Margot materializes from the kitchen like a benevolent wraith, a water bottle in one hand and a rolled yoga mat in the other. “Phone,” she says, palm out. Olive blinks. “I’m—researching."
