It won't last. This fragile peace is built on deception, and eventually the truth will come out. Eventually everyone will know what Rhett and I really are to each other, and they'll judge us for it.
But for tonight, I let myself pretend. Let myself laugh at Colt's ridiculous story and accept Emma's invitation to come see the horses tomorrow and feel Rhett's solid presence beside me on the couch.
For tonight, I let myself believe this could actually work.
Even if I'm terrified it won't.
Chapter 5 - Rhett
By nine o'clock, Emma's falling asleep on Tucker's shoulder, and the evening is winding down. People start gathering their things, saying their goodnights, drifting back to their own cottages. I watch it all happen with a strange mix of relief and anxiety churning in my gut.
We made it through dinner. Claire made it through dinner. No one called us out on our bullshit, no one asked questions we couldn't answer. But sitting here next to her on the couch, I can feel the tension radiating off her body. She's been performing for hours, and she must be exhausted.
Hell, I'm exhausted, and I actually know these people.
"I should probably head back," Claire says quietly, setting down her mostly full mug of paint-thinner coffee. "It's been a long day."
"I'll walk you," I offer immediately, then worry that sounds too eager. Too desperate. "I mean, it's dark. And you don't know the ranch layout yet. Easy to trip over something."
"That would be nice," she says, and I can't tell if she actually wants my company or if she's just being polite.
We say our goodnights to everyone still in the living room. Wade and Sierra are cleaning up the kitchen, Mason's already headed out, and Boone gives me a long look that I deliberately ignore. He knows something's off. He always knows.
The night air hits us as we step outside, cold enough to make me wish I'd grabbed a jacket. Claire wraps her arms around herself, and I fight the urge to offer her my shirt. That would be weird. We barely know each other. Even if we're technically planning to get married.
Jesus, this is so fucked up.
We walk in silence toward her cottage, the only sounds the crunch of gravel under our feet and the distant sound of cattle settling for the night. The moon is nearly full, casting everything in silver light. It's beautiful, the kind of night that usually makes me appreciate living here.
Tonight, it just feels heavy with all the things we're not saying.
"Your family is really nice," Claire says finally, breaking the silence. "They made me feel welcome."
"They're good people," I agree. "The best, actually.”
She nods, staring at the ground as we walk. "I kept waiting for someone to ask a question I couldn't answer. To catch me in the lie. It was exhausting."
"I'm sorry." And I am. Sorry for putting her in this position, sorry for not having a better plan, sorry for being the kind of desperate that leads to hiring a mail order bride. "This wasn't fair to you."
"You didn't force me to come here," she says. "I made that choice. I'm just... I'm not good at lying. Never have been."
We reach her cottage, and I stop at the bottom of the porch steps. This is where I should say goodnight and leave her alone. Give her space to process everything that happened tonight. But I don't want to leave. I want to know more about her, want to understand who she really is beyond the few facts I gleaned from her profile and our brief messages.
"Can I ask you something?" I say before I can stop myself.
Claire turns to face me, hugging herself against the cold. "Okay."
"Why did you really say yes? To my proposal, I mean. You could've kept looking, found someone closer to your age. Someone less... damaged." I gesture vaguely at myself, at all my invisible scars.
She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face in the moonlight. "You want the honest answer?"
"Always."
"Because you were the only one who messaged me who seemed real," she says. "Everyone else on that site, they had these polished profiles and perfect photos and messages that sounded like they'd been copied and pasted to twenty different women. But you..." She pauses, choosing her words with care. "You seemed like someone who was just as lost as I was. Just as desperate for something real. And your photos showed the real you… You looked tired. Lonely. Like you'd given up on finding someone the normal way."
My throat tightens. "That's exactly what I was."
"I know. I could see it. And I thought... maybe someone who's been through shit would understand that I've been through shit too. Maybe we could figure it out together instead of pretending we're perfect people having a perfect romance."
