Page 54 of The Substitute Fiancée

“I’ve been buried in meetings,” I say. “But we’re almost ready for the IPO.”

“That’s great news. You must be so relieved.”

The conversation falls flat, and the silence becomes uncomfortable. It’s as if we suddenly don’t know what to say to each other anymore.

I try, awkwardly, to restart the conversation.

“Have you heard from your family?”

She shakes her head, her gaze sad.

Idiot. What possessed me to ask that?

“No, nothing,” she answers. “But you know what they say—no news is good news.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. And that’s what worries me.

The car stops in front of the restaurant I reserved. An upscale place, exactly the kind of establishment where our “relationship” will be noticed and talked about.

A hostess asks for our name and leads us to our table. Along the way, I recognize a few familiar faces—investors, competitors, journalists—whom I greet with a simple nod. I place a possessive hand at the small of Sam’s back, playing the part of the devoted fiancé.

Dinner is delicious—seared scallops, line-caught sea bass, vanilla mille-feuille—but Sam barely speaks, and our conversation feels forced, mechanical. Between each course, the silences stretch, heavy. I sense the discomfort but don’t know how to defuse it. At this rate, no one will believe we’re in love.

But is that really what matters?

Sam absently pushes her food around her plate, her gaze lost somewhere beyond me. Away from me.

“Can I ask why you look so sad?” I finally say.

A bitter smile tugs at her lips.

“You promised that nothing would change between us,” she replies calmly, but with unmistakable reproach. “But that’s not true. You’ve already put a wall up between us.”

Her words hit me like a slap. I wasn’t expecting that. And yet, I know she’s right. Before I have time to react, to explain myself, she stands and excuses herself to go to the restroom.

I remain frozen for a few seconds, her accusation echoing in my mind. She’s right. I created distance. Out of caution. Out of fear. Out of cowardice, maybe. And by doing so, I hurt her. And myself.

Without thinking, I get up and follow her.

I catch up with her in the deserted hallway leading to the restrooms. The velvet-paneled walls muffle the sounds of the restaurant. My hand closes around her wrist, stopping her. Too fast. Too instinctive.

“Wait,” I say.

She stops but doesn’t turn around.

Slowly, I close the distance between us and make her face me. Tears stream silently down her cheeks, and the sight shatters my heart—something inside me breaks. I did this.

“Sam…”

“Let me go, Alexander. Please.”

But I can’t. Not like this. Not with that broken look she’s giving me. Not when everything is finally out in the open.

And before I even realize what I’m doing, I lean in and capture her mouth.

Her eyes widen in shock, but she doesn’t push me away. On the contrary, her whole body responds, pressing against mine. The kiss we share is hungry, desperate. Her lips part for me, and she lets out a soft moan when my tongue meets hers. Everything I’ve tried to suppress this past week explodes all at once. There’s only her. My lips devour her, trail down to the hollow of her neck, where I feel her pulse race. She grips my suit, pulling me closer. We are nothing but burning fever, need, and surrender. And the terrifying knowledge that nothing will ever be the same.

I come to my senses, though. We’re in a public hallway, for God’s sake. Anyone could see us. I gently pull away, breathless. Reluctant.