But something, something small, softened in his eyes.
“And the idea of being married to you,” he said slowly, “is terrifying.”
I swallowed. “Same.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
The café hummed softly around us, with milk frothing, keyboards clicking, and students laughing over group projects. It felt unreal that we were sitting there discussing something as life altering as marriage.
But we were.
Because his desperation was real.
And my deadline was real.
And somehow, the universe had shoved us into each other’s paths again and again until this moment had become inevitable.
“Ledger,” I said softly. “I’m not asking for an answer right now. I’m not even saying this is the right thing to do. I’m just putting it on the table.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the window, where students walked by in little clusters—laughing, living, oblivious.
Then he turned back to me.
“Let me think about it,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
My breath left me in a rush. “Okay.”
He stood, shaky and uncertain and probably halfway out the door already, in his mind.
“Roxie.” He paused. “If we do this …”
I looked up.
“This stays between us.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
But even as the word left my mouth, I knew it wasn’t that simple. There was no universe where we could hide something as massive asmarriagefrom the people closest to us. Talon would sniff out a lie in minutes. Livvi would take one look at my face and know something was off. And Ledger … well, Ledger wasn’t exactly subtle when he was stressed.
Still, I understood what he meant. He wanted time. Space. A protective bubble before the world started asking questions neither of us had answers to yet.
He nodded once in return—quick, almost nervous—then turned and walked out the café doors into the fading afternoon light.
And I sat there, staring down at the trust fund paperwork, wondering what the heck I had just started.
CHAPTER 7
LEDGER
Two days.
It had been two full days since Roxie Montgomery offered to marry me.
And somehow, the world kept spinning like nothing had happened.
Two days.
Forty-eight hours of trying to think straight.
