Chapter 2
712 Words
I stared at him. Words? Gone. Brain? Offline.
Cassian Locke, the man I’d been secretly in love with for years, had just asked me to marry him.
Okay, fake marry. But still.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, blinking like maybe it could reset the moment. “Did you hit your head on the way here?”
He smirked. “No, but thanks for checking.”
“Cassian, you can’t be serious.”
He leaned back on the couch, fingers laced behind his head as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “Dead serious.”
I stared, waiting for the punchline. There wasn’t one.
“Out of every woman in your orbit, why me?”
He met my eyes. “Because I trust you. Because you don’t pretend with me.
I’m tired of everyone playing PR puppet.”
My heart gave a traitorous little skip. That should have meant everything. But it wasn’t the same as love.
I folded my arms, mostly to stop myself from unraveling. “So what? You want us to sign some papers, smile for the cameras, play house. And then what?”
“Then we end it,” he said. “Clean. Quick. No drama. You get what you need, I get the board off my back, and we both go back to normal.”
I frowned. “What do I need?”
He shrugged. “An extra push. Connections. A platform for your writing. You’ve been stuck, Tal. Maybe this gives you something new to write about.”
I froze.
Low blow. Accurate. But still low.
“I don’t need a spotlight marriage to finish my novel.”
“No,” he agreed, voice even. “But you could use a little chaos. Something real enough to shake you out of that safe little bubble you like hiding in.”
I wanted to slap him. And kiss him. And slap him again.
“This is ridiculous,” I said, pacing. “You realize that, right?”
Cassian didn’t flinch. “It’s a solution. I’m not asking you to love me. Just be my wife. Publicly. For a little while.”
God. He made it sound so simple. Like ordering takeout or signing off on a boardroom deal.
“You’re serious about this?” I asked.
“Completely. I’ve already drafted the terms.”
I blinked. “You’ve what?”
“The contract. Rough version.” He didn’t flinch.
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
A beat, just honesty.
“A while,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. But tonight felt like the perfect opportunity.”
Of course it did. Pizza, sarcasm, and a fake marriage proposal. How romantic.
“You were really going to just keep this to yourself?”
He shrugged. “I had to be sure it was something you might actually consider. I wasn’t going to blindside you.”
“And why would I consider it?”
He softened, voice low. “Because you’ve been stuck. I see it, the way you’ve been staring at that manuscript, barely touching it. Maybe a break from real life could give you something new to write about.”
He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t touched my manuscript in weeks. The last draft sat on my desktop, blinking at me like a curse.
I hated how well he read me. I hated more that he was right.
“Cassian,” my voice cracked, “this is not just some strategic play. It’s me. I’m not a tool you pull off the shelf when it’s convenient.”
His expression softened. “I know. That’s why I asked you. You’re the one person I don’t have to perform for.”
I hated him a little for saying that. Because I almost believed it.
He stood and walked closer, stopping just short of touching me.
“Just six months. We make a splash, give them what they want, and then walk away. No mess. No strings.”
No strings. Except the ones already tangled around my heart.
I should have said no. Should have protected myself.
But instead…
“I’ll think about it,” I whispered.
And I hated myself for the flicker of hope that sprang up anyway.
- Writer
