chapter 3
956 Words
Chapter 3
His grandfather joined them in the sunlit breakfast room. The old man beamed at them like he was witnessing a love story unfold. He was genuinely happy.
“You know,” he said, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin, “Nathaniel hasn’t smiled this much since he was fifteen. That was when he won a scholarship to London and ran away from every emotion.”
Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Isabella chuckled. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh, don’t let the sharp suits fool you,” the elder Grayson said. “He’s a softie when he lets himself be.”
Isabella glanced at Nathaniel. His jaw tightened, but his eyes weren’t angry. Maybe a little... vulnerable. Something she hadn't expected and just maybe it was a beautiful sight to see.
After breakfast, Nathaniel led her back to the lounge, his pace brisk.
“You’re good at this,” he said once the door closed behind them.
“What? Eating croissants and smiling?” she asked obviously confused.
“No, being convincing.” His voice was quieter now.
Her brow arched. “You say that like I haven’t always been convincing.”
He studied her. “What’s your real story, Isabella?”
She stiffened. “We all have layers. Maybe I’m not ready to unwrap mine.”
For a moment, they stood there, watching each other like rivals. But beneath that, something pulsed curiosity, tension, something deeper.
He took a step closer. “I’m just saying, if we’re going to lie together, I’d like to know what parts are real.”
She swallowed hard. “You first, Grayson.”
He didn’t reply.
Because maybe he wasn’t ready either.
Later that afternoon, Isabella wandered into Nathaniel’s home office. She had no intention of snooping until she saw the photo on his desk.
Two young boys. One clearly Nathaniel. The other his brother?
She picked it up just as Nathaniel walked in.
“You don’t knock?” He questioned with his jaw clenched.
She held the photo up. “Who’s this?”
He hesitated. “My brother. Adam.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she answered.
“You weren’t supposed to.” He snapped.
She set the frame down gently. “What happened?”
He sighed. “Car accident. Years ago. I was the one driving.”
The words were so heavy, they sucked the air from the room.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Nathaniel turned away, tension in every line of his back. “It’s why I buried myself in business. Guilt makes a good motivator.”
It made sense now the cold exterior, the need for control, the fake marriage to please a dying man.
And yet, despite it all, Isabella stepped closer.
She didn’t touch him. She just stood beside him.
Letting silence fill the space between their truths.
Letting something real slip quietly between the lies.
But later that evening was more party, it seemed like elderly Grayson loved parties. She entered the ballroom shimmering with gold accents and clinking glasses. Isabella adjusted the neckline of her navy-blue dress, the one Nathaniel had picked out. He said it brought out the color in her eyes. He hadn’t smiled when he said it, but she remembered thinking: that might’ve been yet another compliment.
Tonight was a Grayson Foundation gala, and everyone who was anyone in New York’s elite was here including the press. Isabella’s stomach fluttered, not with nerves, but with the weight of playing perfectly in front of so many eyes.
Nathaniel reached for her hand as they descended the stairs. It was smooth, natural. A real couple move. Except this wasn’t real.
Or was it?
“You okay?” he murmured.
“I should be asking you that. You’re the one pretending to be in love with me.”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go of her hand either.
They danced once, posed for too many photos, and exchanged pleasantries with guests who were curious about “Mrs. Grayson-to-be.”
Isabella slipped away to the balcony after an hour, needing air. Most times, it gets suffocating being around people for too long. Nathaniel followed minutes later, two glasses of champagne in hand.
“Didn’t take you for the brooding type,” he said, handing her a glass.
She sipped. “I could say the same. You don’t strike me as a man who escapes his own party.”
“I don’t throw these for fun. It’s business.”
“Everything’s business with you.” She replied taking a sip.
He leaned on the railing beside her. “And what’s everything with you, Isabella?”
She hesitated. “Survival.”
Their eyes met again. And it felt like the walls between them were softening.
“You’ve been through something,” he said, more statement than question.
She gave him a sideways glance. “Haven’t we all?”
“I’m trying, you know,” he said after a pause. “To make this tolerable. Maybe even decent.”
She exhaled. “Why does that sound like your version of romance?”
He chuckled deep and real. “Because maybe I forgot how to do it the right way.”
She turned to face him. “Then let’s learn together.”
She wasn't sure who was talking, whether it was the alcohol or her delusions that the man before her was Samuel, her ex-boyfriend.
But he claimed her lips, softly.
The moment stretched. Her heart thudded. His hand found her waist again.
And for the first time since they’d signed the contract, this kiss wasn’t about pretending.
It was about possibilities, about hope.
Or maybe it was about two broken people choosing to try.
- Writer
