Contracted to Desire

Practice Makes Perfect (Apparently)

Chloe wasn’t sure which part was more ridiculous: the paparazzi tailing them, the designer dress clinging to her in all the wrong-right ways, or the fact that she was holding hands with Damian Blackwood like they were the hottest couple in Manhattan.

Spoiler: they were not.

Well—technically, now they were.

Damian’s hand was warm. Solid. His grip wasn’t too tight, but it wasn’t loose either. Like he’d done this before. Like it meant something. It didn’t.

Except, it did a little. But only because she hadn’t held hands with anyone in… God, how long had it been?

He leaned in as they exited the car. “Smile,” he murmured against her ear, and she wanted to elbow him in the ribs for the way her body reacted to his breath, just his breath, ghosting across her skin.

“I am smiling,” she said through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the camera flashes already sparking near the steps of the gala venue.

“Right,” he said, voice all velvet and mockery. “Just not with your face.”

She shot him a look. “You said this was a charity event. Not a circus.”

He squeezed her hand lightly as they stepped onto the carpet. “In New York, they’re the same thing.”

It was surreal — the way people turned, the buzz that rippled through the crowd. Chloe was used to being noticed in meetings. Sometimes even envied. But this? This was a performance. People weren’t seeing her. They were seeing Damian’s fiancée.

And weirdly, she was okay with that. It was easier to pretend she belonged in this glittering mess when she could hide behind the fiction.

A photographer called out, “Chloe! Over here! Damian, give us a kiss!”

She stiffened. Damian didn’t. He just turned to her like it was nothing.

“Are you okay?” he asked under his breath, hand still steady on her waist.

“I didn’t know kissing was on the itinerary,” she said, voice dry, even as her heart skittered against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

“We said we’d make it convincing,” he murmured.

“And you just happen to be good at staged romance?”

He looked down at her. That unreadable, unreadable expression in his eyes again — like he was two seconds away from either biting her lip or telling her she had something in her teeth.

“I’m good at things that matter,” he said. “And right now, this matters.”

Then, slowly — like she was something fragile he didn’t quite know how to hold — he cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed just under her jaw, and it wasn’t fake. It couldn’t be. No one fakes that thumb-stroke.

Her breath hitched. She hated that he noticed.

Their lips met — soft, slow. Intentional.

It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t rushed.

But it unraveled something in her.

He kissed her like he was memorizing it. Like he was setting a baseline for all future lies they’d have to tell. And somehow, it felt more intimate than anything she’d ever done with someone she actually cared about.

When he pulled back, his thumb still resting at her jaw, she couldn’t look at him right away. Not with her face flushed, not with her body still buzzing from a kiss that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

“Convincing enough?” he whispered.

She stared straight ahead. “I don’t know. Should we try again? Just to be sure?”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “You’ll be the death of me, Chloe Ramsey.”

And then he guided her up the steps, hand still holding hers like it belonged there.

⸻

Inside, the world dulled to a golden hum — champagne, strings playing soft classics, people mingling in formalwear.

But Chloe was still caught in the kiss.

Still trying to figure out whether the tremble in her hands was nerves, adrenaline… or want.

They found their table. Damian pulled out her chair like a gentleman, then sat beside her instead of across. Of course he did. Closer meant more eyes on them. More whispers.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter now.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re still touching me.”

He looked down at where his hand had naturally settled on her lower back. He didn’t move it.

“That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”

She turned her head. Met his eyes.

And this time, her smile wasn’t just for the cameras.