Seriously—whoisthis guy? First, he kisses me like it’s a game. Then he needs a fake wife. Then he gives me theorgasm of a lifetime.And now? He’slaughingat me.
Sure, I was a willing participant—up until now.
But I’m done. I’m not here to be used by this man anymore.
A long, tense silence follows.
Then, very softly, he says, “Olive… I’m not gay.”
My eyes snap to his.
His voice is low but steady, like he’s saying it more for my sake than his own. “I’ve never been gay. Not even a little.”
I soften at the obvious discomfort behind his words. He must still be struggling to admit the truth—even to me.
“Ash, it’s okay,” I say gently. “It’s not like I’m going to out you or anything. I agreed to be your beard, and I’m sticking with it. But what’s not okay is dragging me around and using me—just because you get some kind of thrill out of it. And in case it escaped your notice? I’m painfully straight. And you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen, so yeah—I can’t exactly resist you.”
…Oh my God. Did I just say that out loud? Abort mission. Rewind time. Cheeks, please stop combusting. Why is my mouth unsupervised? Say something normal. Anything. “Weather’s great.” No—do not say weather. Breathe. Pretend you’re cool. You are not cool. You are a human megaphone for intrusive thoughts.
“What’s a beard?” Ash looks genuinely confused, like he’s never even heard the term before.
I blink. I’m pretending to be married to a man who doesn’t even know the term for what I supposedly am to him. Fantastic.
“A beard,” I say, exasperated, “is someone who pretends to be a romantic partner to hide the other person’s real sexual orientation.”
“That’s a thing?” He still looks bewildered—in a way that’s somehow irritating and kind of endearing.
“Olive,” he says slowly, “let me be very clear. I’m all for people living their truth. And yeah, I get that it’s not easy for everyone to be out, soI can see why someone might hide it. But I’m not hiding anything. I’m straight.”
My stomach drops. “What?” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “You really believed that this whole time?”
I nod slowly, dumbly, my heart thudding in my ears. “But you said—” I scramble to gather my thoughts, trying to recall his exact words. This can’t be real. “You said you don’t swing that way when it comes to women.” It comes out more accusatory than I meant.
Ash drags a hand through his hair and exhales slowly. “I meant… I wasn’t looking for love. For anything real,” he says at last. “Every woman I’d been with—it was casual. Surface-level. Physical. I don’t do messy emotions. No drama. No heartbreak. Predictable—that’s what I wanted.”
“So… not gay,” I murmur, cheeks flushing.
His mouth twitches, and for a second I think he might laugh. “No. Not gay. Not even bi, if you can believe it.”
I tilt my head, still reeling. “Then what was Liam talking about? He said you had some kind of weird love affair with your manager back in the day.”
Ash groans. “God, that again?”
“You’re saying there was no torrid romance with your middle-aged business handler?”
He shoots me a flat look, lifting one arm in a deadpan shrug. “His name is Scott. He’s twice my age and once yelled at me for getting croissant crumbs in his Benz. I lived with him for a few months—that’s probably what Liam meant.”
My brows lift. “You lived with him?”
“Yeah,” Ash says, tone more serious now. “It was when I was struggling with alcohol. Scott basically stepped in to keep me clean. We keptthe drinking problem quiet, so when the tabloids started speculating, we just let them. The ‘secret romance’ story was easier than the truth.”
I fall quiet, absorbing all of it. The part about his alcohol problem lodges in my brain, something to come back to later. But right now, I’m still reeling—trying to make sense of what I just learned.
Ash scoots closer.
“I’m not gay, Olive.” His voice is low, rough with something that feels like restraint. “I’ve wanted you from the moment you assaulted me in Liam’s apartment with nothing but a bath mat and a scowl.”
