Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“What if the complication is mutual?” Her voice is almost teasing again, but vulnerability edges it. She’s brave. She’s offering trust on a platter. And I’m torn between wanting it and safeguarding her from myself.
I glance at the locked balcony door—habit—then back to her. “We’re on a mission. Until it’s over, I need clear lines.”
Her shoulders drop. It’s not disappointment, more like resignation. She swallows, nods once. “Okay, then. Couch it is.” She turns, but I catch her hand almost without thinking.
Contact detonates. Her skin is warm, pulse fluttering beneath my thumb. She looks up, eyes wide in the low light.
“I want you to know,” I say quietly, every word weighed, “that line isn’t about how I feel. It’s about keeping you safe, here”—I tap my temple—“and here.” My free hand presses over my sternum. “You deserve strategy, not impulse.”
She studies me, expression softening. “Thank you. And…for the record, I feel it too.”
I release her hand before my resolve fractures. She pads to the bed, climbs in, arranges pillows. Lamp clicks off; darkness settles, punctuated by the rustle of sheets.
I stretch out on the couch with my knees bent, my shoulder already protesting. I face the room, eyes adjusting, ears tuned to every building creak, but awareness keeps looping back to the steady cadence of Charlotte’s breathing. Threat index remains low; emotional index, dangerously high.
Minutes, maybe hours pass. At some point her voice drifts through the dark, soft and half-asleep. “Asher?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for being my safe zone.”
The words land deeper than any bullet ever could. “Always,” I whisper.
I stare into the dark, body alert, heart unarmored. A line exists between us for now. It’s an honorable, necessary line. Tonight I guard that line. Tomorrow? Unknown. But as long as she’s safe, the mission holds.
And I’ll endure any couch in the world to keep it that way.
6
Charlotte
The garden is as picturesque as ever, the sunlight filtering through the trees, casting everything in a golden glow. Perfect weather for a casual tea with the ladies. Too bad my stomach’s in knots. The men have all disappeared for their round of golf. It’s probably some excuse to plot business deals while pretending to care about their golf scores. And I’m left here with my mother, Nancy Sinclair, and, of course, my grandmother.
I’ve been dreading this.
“Charlotte, dear,” my grandmother says, her sharp eyes gleaming as she stirs her tea, “tell me more about your fiancé.”
And here we go.
I smile, even though I can feel the weight of her gaze like she’s picking me apart piece by piece. “What would you like to know?”
She hums thoughtfully, tapping her spoon on the edge of her cup. “How did you two meet? You’ve been so secretive.”
“Well,” I begin, my mind racing for the backstory Asher and I agreed on, “we met at a charity event a few months back. It was one of those fancy parties where everyone’s pretending to be interested in the auction. Asher was—”
“Outside,” my mother interjects, clearly trying to help. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Yes,” I say, grateful for the assist. “Outside. We were both trying to escape the crowd, and we just... hit it off.”
My grandmother raises one perfectly arched brow. “You hit it off? And now you’re engaged?”
I nod, keeping my smile steady. “When you know, you know.”
She takes a sip of her tea, watching me over the rim of her cup like a hawk. “And you’re happy?”
The way she asks the question makes me pause. It’s not judgmental exactly, but there’s something there. I force another smile. “Yes, very happy.”
For a moment, she says nothing, just studies me with those sharp eyes. Then, finally, she nods. “Good. I look forward to seeing the two of you together.”
I breathe out a silent sigh of relief as the conversation shifts to more general topics. Nancy starts talking about her recent trip to Europe, my mother chimes in with updates on her charity work, and I sit back, trying to relax.
But it’s hard to relax when I know that Wade’s out there, somewhere. Probably plotting something.
The tea drags on for what feels like hours, but eventually, the ladies start to scatter, and I excuse myself, needing a moment to clear my head. I wander through the garden, my thoughts racing, when suddenly I hear footsteps behind me.
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Wade.
“Charlotte,” he says, his voice slick and cold, “we need to talk.”
I stop, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew this was coming, but I wasn’t ready for it.
“Wade,” I say, turning to face him. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
He steps closer, too close for comfort, his gaze hard. He’s always been this way. Overbearing, like he owns you. “You need to call off this ridiculous engagement.”
I swallow, trying to stand my ground. “I’m not calling it off.”