“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you trust me enough to talk about him.”
Her expression shifts. “I guess I do,” she admits quietly.
That simple confession settles somewhere deep in my chest, in a dangerous territory I’ve spent years avoiding.
For a moment, we sit in silence, and I ignore the fact that this already feels like more than a fake marriage arrangement. More than a business deal.
“So,” I start, swirling what’s left in my glass, “we need to talk about next steps.”
Mya sets her glass down slowly, her lashes flicking up to meet my gaze. There’s a hint of apprehension in her eyes.
“On Sunday, we’ll make our relationship public. The gala is the perfect stage.”
She shifts in her seat, chewing her bottom lip. She looks nervous. I almost tell her we can delay, but she straightens her spine and nods. “Okay.”
“After that, I’ll propose. Nothing too dramatic, but showy enough to make it official. Do you want me to tell you when it’ll happen? Or would you rather be surprised?”
Her lips part, and for a moment she just stares at me. Then, softly, “Surprise me. That way, my reaction will be genuine.” She tilts her head. “Is this weird?”
“Yes,” I admit. No point in pretending.
Mya exhales a short laugh, shaking her head. “I pictured my marriage differently. I imagined real love, a cute engagement filled with little hints of my relationship with my future husband. Dress shopping trip with Tiana. My dad walking me down the aisle. None of this…” Her hand gestures between us. “Was in the script.”
Guilt claws at me. I rake a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Mya. I didn’t mean to take that from you.”
“Don’t apologize. I knew what I was getting into when I said yes. I made the choice, and I’ll stick to it.”
We lapse into silence again. I drain the last of my wine, wishing it would burn hotter, dull the twist in my chest.
Mya pushes back from the stool and stands. “I should get going.”
Every instinct screams at me to tell her to stay. To offer her the guest room, the couch, anything. But I only nod, because wanting more doesn’t change the rules we set.
“Thanks by the way,” she adds as I walk her to the entrance.
“For what?”
“Approving the advance,” she says sheepishly. “I was able to get my landlord off my back.”
“Of course, Mya. I would’ve approved it even if we weren’t in this together.”
She nods.
I grab her coat and slip it around her shoulders, my fingertips grazing her skin, and she shudders.
“Drive safe.”
“Goodnight, Worth. See you on Sunday.”
I watch her walk out, and the hollow ache in my chest settles in deep.
“Do I hear seventy-five thousand?”the auctioneer booms, voice cracking like a whip across the room as he surveys the bidders.
“Eighty!” a man calls from the back.
“Eighty-five. Ninety. Ninety-five!” The numbers climb, each one stoking the room’s energy.
I sit perfectly still, paddle balanced on my knee. I could walk out right now, let someone else take it, but I don’t. I need this one.