The billionaire's misjudged bride

THE PERFORMANCE

Harper was still fixing an earring when Dawson knocked once and walked in without waiting for an answer. He was already dressed and checking his watch.

"You'll sit beside me," Dawson said. "Don't talk about money, the wedding, or your family. If someone asks how we met, just say it was at a charity event."

"I remember, Dawson," Harper said.

"Remember it tonight especially." He looked at her the way he always did when he was still deciding what he thought of her. "This dinner matters. If people believe the marriage is real, they'll stop asking questions."

"They're just people, Dawson," Harper said.

"They talk to each other," Dawson said. "One bad moment tonight becomes a rumor by next week."

The car ride was quiet. Dawson checked his phone twice. Harper watched the city pass by the window and tried to guess what she might get asked tonight.

The dinner was in a private room downtown. Ten board members sat around a long table, mostly talking about business, numbers Harper didn't understand. She smiled when she was supposed to smile and said little, just like Dawson told her to. His hand rested on the back of her chair most of the night.

Partway through the meal, a woman across the table set down her wine glass and looked straight at Harper.

"So how did you two actually meet?" the woman asked.

"At a charity event," Harper said.

"Interesting. Dawson's usually so private about things like that. "The woman smiled, but it didn't look warm. "He's known for taking his time before settling down. Some of us weren't sure he ever would."

"Not long," Harper said. "Sometimes you just know."

Dawson's hand went still on the back of her chair.

The woman looked at them both for a moment, then laughed lightly and picked her glass back up. "Well, I guess Dawson proved us all wrong."

The talk at the table moved on. Under the table, Harper felt Dawson's hand find hers for a second, a quiet thank you, before he let go.

Later in the meal, Harper noticed Dawson's water glass was still full. His jaw was tight through a whole conversation about a merger. His hand gripped his own knee under the table, where no one else could see it.

He was nervous. Really nervous, not just pretending to be calm like he usually did.

Without thinking, Harper put her hand over his, the way she would for anyone who looked like they needed to be steadied.

Dawson went still. He looked at her, his jaw loosening for a second, and then his hand turned under hers and held on until the table's conversation moved somewhere else and there was no more reason to keep holding on.

Neither of them said anything about it for the rest of dinner.

By the time the board members started saying goodnight, Harper's face hurt from smiling and her feet hurt from shoes she wasn't used to. She shook hands with people whose names she already forgot.

In the car after, Dawson looked out the window instead of at her.

"You did well tonight," he said.

"You keep saying that like you're surprised," Harper said.

He didn't answer right away.

"Should I be offended," Harper asked, "that you keep expecting less from me than I give you?"

Dawson turned from the window. For a second, it looked like he was about to say something real.

"Goodnight, Ms. Sinclair," he said instead, once they reached the house, and went straight to his study for the rest of the night.

Harper was halfway up the stairs when the front door opened behind her, and Sofia's voice carried through the hall, tight with surprise.

"Mr. Carlisle. Your grandmother is here."

Harper stopped and turned. An older woman stood in the doorway, coat still on, eyes moving slowly from Harper to the empty stairs behind her to the closed study door down the hall where Dawson had already disappeared.