Wilby says, “This is me. I will see you all tomorrow. Good night.”
Silvie smiles. “Good night, Wilby. Thanks for all your hard work.”
He nods at all of us, and the door closes. Wilby disappears into his building, and we pull away again. It’s just her father and us now.
Silvie rests her head on my shoulder, her voice soft but electric. “Tomorrow’s going to be...big. I’ve worked hard for this for years. I can’t believe it’s finally here. Thanks to you.”
I tighten my grip on her hand, grounding us both. “You did it. You built this with every late night, sacrifice, and hard choice that led youhere. I’m proud of you and happy to help you.” I lift her knuckles and kiss them. “You’ve got this. And you should be proud of yourself.”
Her dad says nothing. He’s reading something on his phone, but I can feel him listening. He looks up and tells the driver to drop us off, and then he’s going back to the office for a while. Silvie says nothing, just looks out the window. I wonder how her and her dad are doing now that they talked on the plane. Wilby was a genius bringing pizza and cards. For a while, they seemed almost normal. Just a father and daughter playing cards and eating pizza. We all had a lot of laughs, even Charles. It gave me hope that they can work things out. I don’t know them or how their relationship works, but I hope they can get to a good place.
She lays her head on my shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I wonder if she’s made for this place and not Coconut Beach. And I can’t help but wonder what that means for us.
The elevator doors open, and her penthouse almost makes my brain short circuit. She has the entire top floor of the building, and if I had to guess, it’s probably well over five thousand square feet. This is far from my small and cozy cottage back in Coconut Beach.
Her penthouse has floor-to-ceiling windows, and city lights that pan out all around us as if they’re part of the decor. I wonder what the views look like during the day. Despite the penthouse’s grandeur, it still very much feels like Silvie. Warm and intentional. Warm lamps cast a glow throughout the penthouse, and throw pillows fill the couch with cozy throws. Everything smells fresh and clean. This is Silvie. She may have money, but this is her space, and I like it. It feels like her and what she would pick out. Whites and beiges and soft blush tones. Plush couches that somehow look elegant and nap-approved at the same time. It shouldn’t feel cozy, but it does. Like someone thought about comfort instead of just appearance.
“Wow,” I say before I can stop myself. “This is gorgeous. Great place.”
She kicks off her heels, getting comfortable. “Thanks. I’ve actually been thinking about selling it.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised, and glance around. “Well, with the view, it’s probably going to sell quickly. It’s nice.”
She glances out at the view. “No, I mean the building.”
I freeze. “Wait. You own the whole building?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I used my inheritance for investment properties.”
She says this so casually, as if she doesn’t own hundreds of millions in investment property.
My laugh comes out, full of disbelief, and I shake my head. “We come from two different worlds, Silvie.”
She grins and flops on the couch. “Nah. We’re in the same world. This one is just...weird. I prefer your Coconut Beach world.”
I relax hearing her reassurance.
She flips her hair, watching me. “Besides, it’s probably yours now, too. I think it’s community property.”
“No, thanks. I’m all set,” I say with a grin. “I also don’t think that’s how that works.”
She shrugs. “It might.”
Plus, I signed everything Wilby gave me to sign from the lawyers. I’m not interested in any of her assets. I’m not this level of rich, but I do okay. I’m actually really good with finances, too. I just don’t own buildings.
I hope she doesn’t really think I need that from her or would want any of her assets. “I don’t need a building. Like I said. All set. Thanks.”
I laugh again at the ridiculousness of it and suddenly realize that the two worlds are definitely different kinds of normal.
Fake marriage, I remind myself. This isn’t real. I don’t have to make sense of it. She just needs my help.
“It’s only seven thirty,” she says. “Let’s put on comfy clothes and order pizza from my favorite pizza place.”
I relax a little bit at that. “I like that plan.”
I carry our bags into her massive bedroom that overlooks another view of the city. “Wow,” I whisper, standing and taking it all in.
We change and meet back in the living room. Silvie has an additional bathroom and closet that’s bigger than my whole cottage.
