Fake marrying my new boss

He needs support

*Will*

"I feel numb. Nothing feels real. Not the chair beneath me, not the glass of water cradled in my palm, not the man sitting across the desk from me. His mouth is moving; words spill out in a language I know, yet I can’t muster the will to engage.

Vera is dead. My only sister. My dearest friend.

I think I’m in shock. Medically, I believe this is shock. I’ve felt it once before… when I was seven years old and something terrible happened… or almost happened, but Vera, my fierce protector, stood between me and the darkness like a lioness guarding her cub.

My sister saved me that day. My amazing, fearless sister.

"Mr. Lund?" A gentle hand squeezes my shoulder, pulling me from the depths of my thoughts.

I glance up, trying to anchor myself in the present. I’m not a child anymore, sitting in front of the wood-burning stove. Vera isn’t at my side. Instead, it’s Kiera, the new secretary, her face etched with concern as she sits beside me.

Her hazel eyes, warm and filled with empathy, rest on me, and I notice the way her fair skin is sprinkled with freckles that dance across her cheeks and nose. Normally, she wears a kind smile that seems to ease the tension in the room, but now her expression is anything but relaxed; she looks worried, anxious even.

I get the sense that she only acts meek and tongue-tied around me. I’ve seen her with the other secretaries… laughing, joking, effortlessly charming. I’m not surprised she feels different in my presence; I have that effect on people. My long silences and awkward demeanor unsettle them. I can’t help but think I must make her uncomfortable.

Yet, in this moment, her steady grip anchors me, tethering me to this room and this reality. "We have to decide what we're doing here," John Wilkes states from across the desk. His voice is calm, but I can't shake the dissonance of seeing him here. How did he get here? “William, what do you need from us?”

"I have to go to Denmark." The words tumble out of my mouth, almost foreign to me. I wonder how long I’ve been sitting here, lost in a fog.

Chris Smith, our CFO, stands at the desk, his brow creased with worry. "We can get you on a flight tomorrow… or I can check where the jet is and how long it will take to get it ready."

I can only stare at the glass of water in my hand, lost in a haze of confusion. Where did these people come from? They weren’t here when the phone rang. Did Kiera call them?

"William?"

Kiera’s voice breaks through my stupor. "The hospital said his niece is still in critical condition," she explains softly, turning to me, her hazel eyes filled with such genuine concern. “How old is she?"

I swallow hard, the numbness creeping deeper. "Nine."

Every face in the room falls, the air thick with unspoken fears.

God, help me. Does Frida know her mother is dead? Who told her? She’s an ocean away, lying in a hospital bed, facing her own pain. The poor little lamb.

I glance at Chris, who shifts uneasily on his feet, as he speaks on his phone. He clears his throat, a sign that he’s about to step into action, despite the heaviness of the moment.

“William, we can have the company jet ready in three hours,” he says, his voice crisp and authoritative. “You’ll be in Denmark early tomorrow morning.”

Three hours. I force myself to breathe, trying to process the reality of it all. I’m going to Denmark. My sister is gone, and I have to face her daughter. My heart races at the thought of little Frida, alone and afraid.

“Are you going alone?” Kiera asks, her tone worried.

“How about that friend of yours…” John says, looking thoughtful. “David, right? Maybe he can accompany you?”

I shake my head, the motion feeling foreign. “David doesn’t have a passport. He wouldn’t be able to make it in time.” The thought of going through this alone is unbearable.

John leans back, assessing the situation with a well know pragmatism. “You might need someone to help with paperwork and all of that,” he says, glancing at Chris. “But it’s hard for the company to spare anyone right now, especially with the merger looming.” His brow furrows, clearly weighing the implications of sending someone overseas at a time like this.

But the weight of impending tasks feels so far removed from the reality of my loss. I want to scream that I don’t care about the merger or the company obligations. I just want to be there for Frida, to hold her and reassure her that she’s not alone.

Before I can voice any of this, Kiera speaks up again, her voice steady yet soft. “I can go with him.”

It’s a surprise that pulls my gaze back to her, and I see the conviction in her hazel eyes. “I have experience with kids,” she continues, her tone firm. “If you need someone to help with Frida… I can do that. I want to help. And I think the company can do without me.”

The room falls silent for a beat, and I can feel the pulse of time ticking away as John and Chris exchange glances, both surprised and impressed. “That’s… actually marvelous,” Chris finally says, his voice tinged with relief. “You’d really do that, Kiera?”

“Yes,” she replies without hesitation, her expression resolute. “I can help navigate whatever needs to be done while he’s dealing with… everything else.”

I feel a swell of gratitude wash over me, mingled with disbelief. Kiera, who has so far seemed so timid around me, is suddenly filled with a fierce resolve. Perhaps she recognizes the enormity of the situation, the weight of responsibility that has landed on my shoulders. And in that moment, I realize I do need someone… someone who can help me with the logistics, the paperwork, and most importantly, someone who understands children and can help Frida through this unimaginable loss.

“Okay,” I say slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. “That would be… good.”

John nods, a hint of approval in his gaze. “Then it’s settled. Kiera, you’ll accompany William to Denmark. I’ll have the travel arrangements finalized immediately.”

As Chris steps out to make the necessary calls, John lingers a moment longer, looking me in the eye with a seriousness I haven’t seen before. “You’re doing the right thing, William. Family comes first. We’ll manage without you here for a couple of days.”

“Thank you,” I manage, feeling the weight of his support.

Once he leaves, it’s just me and Kiera again, the air in the room shifting as we share an understanding glance. “So,” I begin, my voice lightening a bit, “what do you know about Denmark?”

“Besides the fact that it’s cold and has great pastries?” She chuckles, the sound surprising both of us. “Not much, to be honest. I’ve never been. I did not even know you were Danish.”

I nod, “Well, it’s not America.”