Chapter 9 The Fake Relationship Proposal
1573 Words
Gabrielle
The drive back from the gallery was a blur of golden afternoon light and my own scattered thoughts. Nathaniel's revelation kept replaying in my mind—the gallery, the job, the quiet way he'd arranged everything without my knowing. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my bruised wrist throbbing a dull reminder of Vance's visit.
By the time I pulled into Oak Manor's driveway, the sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon. Caleb's car was already parked in its usual spot, and I found him in the study, pacing back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low and clipped—the voice he used when dealing with difficult business negotiations.
He ended the call as I entered, his eyes immediately scanning my face, then dropping to my wrist. His expression sharpened.
"What happened to your hand?"
I pulled my sleeve down instinctively, forcing a casual shrug. "Nothing. I bumped it against a shelf at the gallery. Clumsy me."
Caleb's gaze lingered, unconvinced, but he let it go for the moment. "You're back early. How was your day?"
I settled into the leather armchair across from his desk, suddenly exhausted. "It was... eventful. We need to talk about the gallery, actually."
Caleb's expression flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or wariness. "What about it?"
"Nathaniel told me today. He owns it. The gallery I've been managing for three weeks—it belongs to him." I watched my brother's face carefully. "You told me you were the investor. You let me believe I was working for you."
Caleb exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. He moved to the window, his back to me. "I was going to tell you. Eventually."
"Eventually?" I heard my voice rise. "Caleb, I've been reporting to Nathaniel for three weeks, complaining to him about inventory issues and client requests, and all along—"
"I know." He turned to face me, his expression softening. "And I'm sorry. But you have to understand, Gabby. When Nathaniel heard you needed work, he approached me immediately. He didn't want to make it awkward, and neither did I. You'd just left Vance—you were fragile. We thought it would be easier if you didn't feel... obligated."
"Obligated?"
"To Nathaniel. To me. To anyone." Caleb crossed the room and crouched in front of my chair, his eyes earnest. "You needed something that felt like your own. A fresh start. And yes, Nathaniel bought the gallery three months ago, but I've also invested in it. I have a stake. So technically, I wasn't lying—I just... omitted a detail."
I stared at him. "You two planned this together."
"We wanted to help." He reached for my hand—the uninjured one—and gave it a squeeze. "That's all. No strings, no expectations. Nathaniel just wanted you to have a place where you could rebuild your confidence. And I wanted you close enough that I could keep an eye on you."
A strange warmth spread through my chest, despite everything. He thought of that? The gallery? Before he even knew I needed a job?
Why did Nathaniel care about me so much?An inappropriate hope stirred within me.
I shook my head, dismissing the implication.
He's just being kind. A family friend looking out for his best friend's sister. That's all.
I didn't want to dwell on the flutter in my chest whenever I thought of Nathaniel's steady gaze, his quiet competence, the way he'd stood between me and Vance without hesitation. It was gratitude, I told myself. Simple gratitude for a man who'd shown up at exactly the right moment.
But the thought wouldn't leave me alone.
I tried to steer the conversation toward safer ground—about the gallery's upcoming exhibition, about the new security system Nathaniel had promised. But Caleb wasn't distracted. His eyes kept drifting to my wrist, which I'd unconsciously tucked under my thigh.
"Gabby," he said, his voice suddenly quiet, "let me see your hand."
"It's fine, really. Just a bruise."
"Show me."
There was no room for argument in his tone. I hesitated, then slowly extended my arm. Caleb took it gently, pushing back my sleeve. The bruise had deepened into an ugly purple-black ring around my wrist—clear evidence of someone's grip.
His jaw tightened. "That's not from a shelf."
I looked away. "Caleb, it's nothing—"
"Don't." His voice was dangerously low. "Don't lie to me. Who did this?"
I felt the weight of his stare, the protective fury building behind his calm facade. I'd hoped to keep this from him, to handle Vance on my own terms, but there was no hiding now.
"Vance came to the gallery today," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
Caleb went very still. "He touched you."
"He grabbed my wrist. That's all. Nathaniel showed up before it escalated, and Vance left."
"That's all?" Caleb repeated, his voice rising. "He put his hands on you—in your own workplace—and you're telling me that's all?"
"Caleb, I'm fine. Nathaniel handled it. He threatened to call the police, and Vance backed off."
My brother was already reaching for his phone, his fingers shaking with barely contained rage. "That bastard thinks he can threaten you, harass you, physically assault you, and just walk away? After everything he's already done?"
"Nathaniel said he'd handle the security—"
"Security isn't enough." Caleb was dialing furiously. "I'm calling our lawyers. I want a restraining order filed tonight. I want him to know that if he comes within a hundred meters of you, he'll be arrested so fast his head will spin."
"Caleb—"
"No." He held up a hand, his eyes blazing. "This isn't negotiable, Gabby. Five years, I watched you give everything to that man. I bit my tongue because you loved him, because you asked me to trust your judgment. But this? This ends now. He doesn't get to hurt you anymore."
I watched him pace the study, barking orders into the phone, and felt the familiar weight of my brother's fierce protectiveness. For years, I'd resented it—had seen it as interference, as a lack of faith in my choices. But now, in the aftermath of Vance's cruelty, I understood it differently.
Caleb had seen the cracks I'd refused to acknowledge. He'd watched me pour myself into someone who didn't deserve it, and he'd let me make my own mistakes because he knew I'd needed to learn for myself. But when it came to real danger, he never hesitated.
He ended the call and turned to me, his expression softening. "The lawyers are on it. We'll have the paperwork filed by morning."
"Thank you." My voice came out smaller than I intended.
He crossed to me, pulling me into a firm embrace. "You don't have to thank me. You're my sister. I'd burn the world down for you. You know that."
I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, and let myself feel safe for the first time all day.
"Now," Caleb said, pulling back and holding me at arm's length, "go get some rest. You look exhausted."
I nodded, too tired to argue. But as I climbed the stairs, my phone buzzed with a message.
—Can we talk? The old oak tree at the edge of the property. When you have a moment.
—Nathaniel.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, my pulse quickening. After everything that had happened—Vance, the gallery revelation, the warmth in my chest that I refused to name—what could Nathaniel possibly want to discuss?
I changed into a sweater and made my way down the back path toward the old oak tree. The sun had nearly set, painting the sky in deepening shades of violet and amber. The summer air was warm against my skin, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass.
Nathaniel was leaning against the trunk of the oak, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He turned as I approached, and even in the fading light, I could see the serious set of his jaw.
"Thanks for coming." He gestured to the wooden bench beneath the tree. "I know today was a lot."
"It was." I sat down, keeping a careful distance between us. "What did you want to talk about?"
He was quiet for a moment, gathering his words. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, deliberate.
"I have a problem. My parents are pushing me to settle down. My mother has made it clear that if I don't bring someone home by the end of the year, she'll take matters into her own hands—meaning she'll start arranging introductions. It's exhausting. I can't focus on work, on anything."
I blinked, caught off guard. "I'm sorry. That sounds difficult. But what does that have to do with me?"
Nathaniel turned to face me fully, his golden eyes steady and unwavering. "I have a proposal. A mutually beneficial arrangement."
I felt my pulse quicken. "What kind of arrangement?"
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice dropping low. "We pretend to be together. You play the part of my girlfriend—fiancée, eventually—and I'll handle your ex. Legally, physically, whatever it takes to keep him away from you."
- Writer
