But it’s not my call to make. As much as I want to shield her, protect her from him—this is her life. Her pain. Her battle.
“Reality calls,” she mutters, voice low and bitter as she peels herself off the couch, her warmth vanishing from my side.
I hate this.
I hate that look in her eyes.
I hate that just one name on a phone screen can undo hours of peace, of softness. It’s like watching someone flip a switch inside her. Because I know the kind of conversations that number brings. The weight. The manipulation. The shame.
I run a hand down my face and try to breathe.
When she returns, the light in her eyes is dimmed.
“Everything okay?”
She hands me back the cellphone. “He says he has an important event to attend tomorrow night, and I need to be there. He’s sending a jet for us in the morning.”
I curse under my breath, then take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “It’ll be okay. Are you ready to put up with me for a month?”
She leans against the couch and gives me a look that cuts me deep.
“I don’t know if the month with you… or without you will hurt more.”
Fuck. If she only knew—she’s not just in my veins.
She’s the damn blood keeping me alive.
Chapter 11
Isabel
We slept poorly—or maybe it's better to say we didn’t sleep at all. We talked through the night, tangled in sheets and whispered fears, trying to shape the right words for what this thing between us has become.
What to tell them.
What to show.
How to convince everyone we’re in love, even when the truth is messier than a headline.
But those two days?
They were my heaven.
And now that we’re back in London, I feel like I’m gasping for air, like someone’s dropped me into a world made of glass where one wrong word will make everything shatter.
My heart beats faster every time Nathan looks at me like I’m more than just part of a plan. Like I’m his. And I’m terrified that this pact—this beautiful, aching lie—might backfire and take pieces of me I’ll never get back.
We arrive at the brunch five minutes early. Grace insisted on hosting at the Kensington club they’re so fond of, claiming it’s ‘classier’ than any place I suggested, and honestly? I don’t have the energy to fight it. I walk in hand-in-hand with Nate, every step rehearsed, every glance designed to scream we’re madly in love.
We find them at a table tucked into a corner with fresh tulips in a vase and polished silverware that could probably double as weapons if the conversation turns hostile. Nate’s father greets us with a polite nod. My own father is already halfway through a mimosa. Grace, however, doesn’t bother hiding the sharp once-over she gives me.
“Isabel,” she says with a disappointed look. “Nathan.” She looks at our joined hands and I haven’t missed that little smile.
“Good morning, everyone.” I channel every ounce of charm I can muster. “We wanted to share some important news.”
“Oh?” Grace arches a brow, sipping her coffee.
Nate squeezes my hand beneath the table. “We wanted to clarify a few things,” he says, calm but firm. “We’re aware you’re still mad at the way we left and that this happened fast. But the days we spent away gave us clarity.”
