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The pieces were finally falling into place, though they only sent more questions bubbling to the surface. “You mean the trust you’re supposed to be pouring into Bennett Entertainment?”

“That’s it.” She picked up her wine, tipping the glass against her lips until it was empty. “The plans have already been drawn up. Dad is ready to change the trust terms and free up the capital as soon as the license is signed.”

In the end, it was almost disappointing. She was doing it for money, just like me, but somehow, the revelation didn’t warm my opinion of her. “I hope you would at least have some of that money to use for yourself.”

“There would be plenty,” she told me with a snicker, smirking as she leaned against the back of her chair and folded her slim arms. “And whatever I give you, I’ll make back in profits. Oh, did your mother not tell you that part?”

There was something almost nasty in her voice as she explained, “That’s a condition too. A percentage of the profits on all shows produced over the course of our marriage in exchange for giving you the money to stay afloat. And no…” she added almost the nanosecond an idea occurred to me, “… if you initiate a divorce, that doesn’t get you off the hook. It’s twenty-five years in that case.”

And there I was, thinking it couldn’t get worse. This was essentially a loan Christian Lawrence was extending or a prison sentence—twenty-five years to life.

Fuck me.

“It doesn’t have to be bad,” she insisted as I pondered the hell I’d been thrown into. “I don’t expect fidelity so long as you don’t expect it from me. This is a business proposition. And if you want…” she added, “… you could have a seat on the Board of Dad’s casino. That’s totally on the table. We can make this look good. Plenty of couples do.”

I wasn’t surprised when Winter’s face filled my mind’s eye. She came up at random moments, but especially when I imagined going through with this sham marriage. How could I explain it to her, and why did it seem so important that I should? I didn’t owe her a damn thing.

“Don’t let your pride get in the way of a good thing,” she concluded. “Pride doesn’t pay the bills.”

Her cynical advice bounced around in my head after we parted ways outside the restaurant. I couldn’t bear having to look Sebastian in the eye when I felt so much like somebody had kicked the shit out of me, so I headed out rather than ducking in to say goodnight.

The worst part? When I looked at it the way Isobel had explained, it wasn’t easy to come up with reasons why our marriage would be a bad idea. She didn’t expect me to be faithful. As far as I was concerned, we didn’t even have to live together—she could have her apartment, and I could have mine. It meant keeping the business going, not to mention keeping Mom off the streets. The guilt trip she had laid on me did its job. She could have taken the easy way out and liquidated the company upon Dad’s death, and that would’ve been the end of it. But no, she had kept it running for me, and the least I could do was make a sacrifice for her.

Besides, I had plans—a new era, something of my own. I couldn’t do that with a failed company under my belt.

Something told me I’d want to drink tonight, so I had left the driving up to Uber. Sitting in the back of a stranger’s car on the way back, the lights washed over me, creating the sense of evening daylight I had come to depend on. I had grown up here. It was in my DNA. I belonged in this town, and Bennett Entertainment belonged to me.

The only thing I’d have to give up was my pride. I would have to face my friends, who would be understanding enough, but I would be embarrassed, anyway, because it would mean compromising my principles—giving in.

The plan was always to return to the Luxor rather than going home. I had rehearsal notes to go through and progress reports from the set crew. Yet rather than go straight up to my suite, I headed for the theater. I needed to remember what this was all about. Why I would consider agreeing to an embarrassing, pitiful arrangement like the one laid out for me during dinner?

Entering from the lobby, I opened one of the doors at the far right of the theater and saw the stage wasn’t empty, as I’d expected. A handful of lights illuminated a tall, slim blonde currently in the middle of a complicated routine.

Music played up there, probably from her phone. I recognized it immediately after hearing it repeatedly during rehearsals—the first act finale, which Winter had gone through countless times earlier in the day. Something about it wasn’t quite working. The energy wasn’t there, a sense of vitality, urgency. There was no connection. I’ve seen it happen before when choreography that had worked in the past wasn’t coming across anymore for one reason or another.

Now, it looked like she was working on some minor tweaks. Her focus was deep enough that she hadn’t noticed me coming in, so I had the pleasure of watching her move fluidly, unbothered, flowing with the music. I missed being able to watch her dance. Why had she stopped? Strange how I had never thought to ask her that, but then she wasn’t exactly forthcoming when we first met at lunch. The time for clearing all of that up had passed, and we had rolled straight into work.

I wanted to know now because she was just as good as I remembered, even while slowly working her way through a number. Every movement was precise, yet it all seemed to flow spontaneously from her. She was magic, making me forget to breathe.

I couldn’t do anything but crave her.

She stopped, hands on her hips, bent slightly at the waist once the song ended. That was when she noticed me, straightening up with a gasp.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” I called out, slowly walking down the aisle. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“So you decided to give me a heart attack instead.” There was humor in her voice, but exasperation rang out louder.

“That looked good.” The closer I came to the stage, the more she narrowed her eyes. “But isn’t it a little late? There must be somewhere else you would rather be.”

“I do, but I would’ve spent the whole time with my head here, so I figured I might as well try to work out a few tweaks before going home.”

“It was worth the time you’ve spent.” I climbed the stairs alongside the stage until we were finally on even footing. Her apprehension was clear. Her body tensed, and her gaze became wary. “I admire your dedication.”

“What are you doing here?” she countered, her blonde head tipping to the side. “Don’t you have plans tonight? I thought I heard you mention something about going out to dinner.”

“Dinner is over.” This was the most we’d said to each other, personal or otherwise, in a week. There was still obvious tension hanging between us, but she was here with me. She hadn’t run away. I had no idea why that seemed so important, only that it did.

“If it’s that late, I should get going.” It was only a matter of time before she decided she couldn’t handle any more. As I watched, she picked up her bag from where she’d left it on the floor and dropped her phone inside. “I think I have things under control.”