That night, I dream of him cupping my cheek and praising me in that husky voice.
17
GRACE
February blurs into March. And my ability to avoid Asher and our pending marriage vanishes. Instead, he starts coming home to have dinner with me every night, asking me questions about myself, my family, the farm, all while I squirm. I’ve never been good at talking about myself. I prefer to focus on others, but Asher doesn’t let me get away with that. He pays me too much attention. Constantly bringing home my favorite cookies from the shop near his parents’ house.
We don’t talk about our kiss or practicing chemistry again, but I find him touching me more. Little gestures, like pressing a palm to my back or holding my hand. Like he’s slowly trying to pull down my guard.
I try to lean into it, acting like this is a real thing between us. But touching him, being close to him, it does something to me. And if I want to make it through this year, I need to not fall for my fake fiancé.
I spend most days with Kacey at the coffee shop, attempting to work on my book while she edits videos for her social media. My ideas for a new romance story are adding up, but other than trying to plot, I haven’t had much success actually writing.
Asher informed me I have access to the spa and Celestia studio in our building, so I take up yoga in an effort to prepare for the upcoming retreat with his family. I have to work my way up to Celeste’s signature flow, starting with easy flow.
I do, however, spend far too much time with the wedding planner Asher hired. She's on a warpath to book every vendor. I'm not sure I even want to know how she secured The Plaza after they told us every weekend in April was booked. But somehow, the next thing I know, we have a date.
Our engagement photos are picked up by a few magazines and gossip rags, all of them deeming New York's most eligible bachelor has been taken off the market. Lisette shows them to me, beaming with pride.
We look like a real couple. And so far, everyone seems to be buying the bit.
When my parents fly down to meet Asher after I finally worked up the nerve to tell them I’m engaged, my mother spends a day finding every magazine and tabloid with a picture of us from the different street vendors.
Despite the fact that they are entirely confused about how I went from single to engaged so quickly, they are nothing but supportive. Well, my mom, at least. My dad keeps looking at me like he’s searching for the problem.
Their first night in the city, Asher takes us to a fancy restaurant where my Midwestern family looks entirely out of place.
The hostess leads us through dim-lit corridors where crystal chandeliers drip light like frozen rain. Asher's hand rests firm on my lower back, guiding me past tables laden with silver domes and wineglasses etched in frost.
Mom clutches her purse, eyes wide at the vaulted ceiling painted with golden vines. Dad adjusts his tie, the one he wore to church last Easter, now straining against his flannel shirt.
"This place," Mom whispers, voice threading with awe and unease, "it's quite beautiful."
Asher pulls out my chair first, and I can see my parents watching as he makes sure I'm settled.
"The chef is an old friend," Asher says casually. "His Wagyu is phenomenal."
My dad's eyes light up in surprise. "I've never had Wagyu before…"
I can see the concern in my mom's face; the unsaid words are clear.Because that's a cut of meat we could never afford.
"Get it," Asher says, as if it’s a normal occurrence. "Are you a whiskey man?"
A tiny smile lifts the corners of my father's mouth. "Damn straight." For the man who sounded pissed over the phone that I was about to marry someone he never met, he warms up to my fiancé quickly.
Asher flags down the waiter, "Two Macallan 25's, neat." He looks to my mother. "Linda, do you like white or red?"
Flustered, she answers, "White. Sweet, please."
"Your best sweet white for the ladies," he says, turning back to the waitress, who quickly nods and runs off to fetch our drinks.
Asher reaches over to me, taking my hand in his. It's such a simple gesture that carries so much weight. His touch lights up my body, and my mind melts, feeling safe knowing that he's in control here.
But it also gives off the perfect appearance. The look of two young lovers.
After we're served drinks and Asher talks my father into ordering the Wagyu, he starts asking questions about my father's business. Only, they're not intimidating or judgmental like when his family asked me. They're curious, filled with interest, and every answer sparks a follow-up.
Dad and Asher immediately launch into a conversation about running businesses, even though their businesses are quite different. Mom and I follow for a bit, and then she reaches across the table and pulls my hand into hers.
