Contract Kisses Only

Chapter 6:The Morning After

​Leo’s POV

​The sun in Salt City was a snitch. It crept through the gaps in my blackout curtains at 10:00 AM, hitting me right in the eyes like a spotlight at a deposition. I groaned, pulling a silk pillow over my head, trying to retreat back into a dream where I wasn't soaked in lemon water and my heart wasn't being held hostage by a girl with silver eyeliner.

​Then, my phone started screaming. Not the Afrobeats ringtone I used for friends, but the "Imperial March" remix I had specifically assigned to my father.Why is his royal highness calling me this early for?."What now",I think as

​I fumbled for the device, my heart doing a nervous tap-dance against my ribs. "Hello?" I croaked, my voice thick with sleep.

​"Leopold."

​My father’s voice was like a bucket of ice water to the face. "Check the Salt City Ledger digital front page. Now."

​"Good morning to you too, Dad. Did you sleep well? I did, thanks for asking—"

​"Leopold!" he thundered. "The family reputation is not a toy for your social media experiments. Your mother is on the verge of a migraine, and I am currently fielding calls from the board of directors asking if our youngest heir has finally lost his mind or if he’s trying to audition for a circus."

​I sat bolt upright, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I swiped the notification bar and clicked the link. My stomach dropped through the floor of my penthouse.

​The headline read: VANE VANITY: IS THE PLAYBOY PRINCE FINALLY RETIRED?

​Underneath was a photo. Not a good one. It was a grainy, high-angle shot from the restaurant bathroom. It showed me bent over, my backside aimed toward the camera as I hovered over the hand dryer, my pants looking darker than the abyss. Next to it was a second shot—the boy from the restaurant must have had fast fingers—showing me walking back to the table, looking like I’d just lost a fight with a fire hose.

​But the real kicker was the third photo. It was a zoomed-in shot of our table. It caught Evie mid-laugh, her eyes bright and beautiful, looking like a literal goddess while I looked like... well, a wet mess.

​"Leo, give me the phone," I heard my mother’s voice in the background. A second later, Beatrice Vane was on the line. "Leopold, who is she? And please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me you didn't pay this woman to pretend to laugh at your jokes after you urinated on yourself."

​"I didn't urinate on myself, Mom! It was a pitcher of lemon water! A waiter tripped!" I shouted, rolling out of bed and pacing the marble floor. "And her name is Evie. She’s an accounting major. She’s... she’s brilliant. And she’s my girlfriend."

​"A month," I lied, my voice gaining strength as the 'lore' we’d built took over. "We’ve been seeing each other for a month. I kept it quiet because I knew you and Dad would do exactly this. You’d pick her apart. You’d tell me she’s too good for me. Which, okay, she is, but she actually likes me."

​There was a long, heavy silence on the other end.

​"An accounting major?" my mother repeated, her voice skeptical but intrigued. "From where?"

​"Salt City University. Top of her class," I added, throwing in the details Evie had given me. "She’s not a 'VibeCheck' girl, Mom. She doesn't even have a public profile. She’s real."

​"Well," my mother sighed. "She certainly looks like a savior. Or a saint, for putting up with you. If this is true, Leopold, you bring her to the mountain estate on the 20th. But if we find out this is another one of your 'pranks' for the internet, don't bother coming home. Ever."

​The line went dead.

​I collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Oh my god," I whispered. "I’m dead. I’m actually dead."

​I scrolled back to the photo of me at the hand dryer. I looked like a complete i***t. A loser. The black sheep who couldn't even stand up without causing a disaster. And Evie... she looked like royalty.

​"I can never show my face again," I groaned, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face in the duvet. "Maybe I can move to Mars. Elon is looking for people, right? Or maybe I can find a wormhole to another timeline where I’m the CEO and Julian is the one who smells like lemons."

​I spent the next hour spiraling, imagining Evie seeing the photo and laughing—not the nice, genuine laugh she’d had at the table, but a cold, mocking laugh. She probably thought I was a joke. She probably wanted to double her rates just for the embarrassment of being seen with me.

​Then, my phone buzzed.

​Evie:Hey. I can see you’re a 'hot topic' today, baby. ;) Wanna hang out tonight? We should go over the final details. We leave in two days.

​My heart hammered against my chest. Baby. She called me baby. Even if it was sarcastic, even if it was part of the 'lore,' it made my skin flush. She saw the photo. She definitely saw the photo.

​Leo:Ok cool. Where?

​Evie:My place. 8:00 PM. I’ll send the address. Don’t be late, Vane. I don’t have a hand dryer at my apartment to wait for you.

​I stared at the screen. She was teasing me. She wasn't disgusted; she was making fun of me. For some reason, that felt a thousand times better than her being embarrassed.

​I looked at the clock. It was only noon.

​"Eight hours," I muttered, jumping up. "I have eight hours to look so good that she forgets that photo ever existed."

​I spent the next six hours in a state of high-intensity grooming. I hit the gym, I did a face mask, I spent forty minutes picking out an outfit that said 'I am a serious man who does not spill things,' and I even checked my hair from three different angles.

​I was not going to be late. Not today.

​Evie’s POV

​I sat on my small velvet sofa, my laptop open, but my eyes were fixed on the Ledger article.

​The photo of Leo at the hand dryer was undeniably funny, but the photo of us at the table... it caught me off guard. I didn't look like a "Social Strategist" working a job. I looked happy. I looked like a girl who was actually enjoying her brunch.

​"Dangerous," I whispered to myself, tapping my pen against my chin. "Very dangerous, Evie."

​I’d sent the text to Leo on a whim, mostly to see if he’d survived the morning with his parents. I knew the Vanes would be breathing down his neck after a headline like that. But a part of me—the part I was trying very hard to ignore—just wanted to see him again.

​I wanted to see if his lips were still that soft. I wanted to see if he could handle a joke as well as he handled a camera.

​My apartment was small. It was clean, organized, and smelled like the vanilla candles I bought in bulk to hide the scent of the old radiator, but it was a far cry from a Vane penthouse.

​"If he's going to be my 'boyfriend' for the next two weeks, he needs to see the reality," I justified to the empty room. "He needs to know what he's getting into."

​At exactly 7:55 PM, there was a knock at my door.

​I checked my reflection in the hallway mirror. I was wearing a simple black turtleneck and jeans—my "Accounting Student" uniform. No silver eyeliner. No runway hair.

​I opened the door.

​Leo was standing there, looking like he’d been polished to a high shine. He was wearing a dark charcoal overcoat and a sweater that probably cost more than my car. He was holding a single, perfect white lily.

​"You're early," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

​"I decided to skip the lemon water today," he said, his smirk back in full force, though I could see the slight tremor in his fingers. "And I figured... since we're 'dating,' I should probably bring flowers to the girl who’s currently saving my life."

​I took the lily, the scent of it filling the small hallway. "Come in, Leo. We have a lot of lies to coordinate."

​He stepped inside, his eyes scanning my tiny apartment. He didn't look judgmental. He looked curious. He looked like a man who had spent his whole life in palaces and was suddenly realizing that people actually lived in spaces where you could touch both walls at once.

​"It’s nice," he said softly, turning back to me. "It smells like... you."

​"Vanilla and stress?" I joked, moving toward the kitchen. "I’m making tea. Sit down. Let's look at the map for the mountain estate. I need to know exactly who we're dealing with."

​As I turned my back to get the mugs, I felt his gaze on me. It wasn't the gaze of a client. It was the same look he’d had in that background photo I’d found—that quiet, longing look.

​"Evie," he said, his voice lower now. "About the photo in the paper..."

​"It was hilarious, Leo," I said, turning back with a smirk. "But you're right. Your parents are going to be a nightmare. Which means we need to be perfect."

​"Perfect," he repeated, his eyes locking onto mine.

​For a second, the tiny apartment felt even smaller. The air felt thick, just like it had on the sidewalk. I realized then that the fourteen days in the mountains weren't going to be a performance. They were going to be a battle.

​A battle against the zeros in my bank account and the way my heart skipped a beat every time the Vane black sheep looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

​"Two days," I reminded him, handing him a mug. "Two days until the show starts. Are you ready, Leo?"

​He took the mug, his fingers brushing mine. "As ready as I'll ever be, baby."

​I felt the heat climb up my neck. Damn it. This was definitely going to be the hardest paycheck I’d ever earned.