Chapter 19
BELLE
Ikissed my fake husband.
That was the first coherent thought I had when I woke up. It arrived before coffee. Before pain. Before reality.
I kissed my fake husband. Nothing bad could happen here. Everything was under control.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying it. The warmth of his hand at my waist. The way his mouth had softened before it deepened. The way the air had shifted afterward, like something invisible had been acknowledged between us.
It hadn’t been an accident. It hadn’t been a joke. And it definitely hadn’t felt fake, which was inconvenient, considering this was for insurance and nothing more.
I rolled onto my side carefully, the knee still stiff but improving. The brace was no longer an all-day sentence. The therapist had said I could start removing it for short periods around the house.
But before I got out of my bed, I reached for my phone.
Eleanor - So . . . . I kissed my fake husband last night.
I set my phone down as I started getting dressed. Before I even had my pants on, my phone rang. Eleanor was calling.
“What happened now?”
“Last night we were watching TV and talking, and one thing led to another . . . and he kissed me.”
“ . . . and?”
“And . . . I don’t know.” I flopped back on my bed.
“Did you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like him?”
“ . . . ”
“Belle?”
“What? I’m thinking.”
“If you have to think that long, I’d say the answer is yes.”
“I just don’t know if I want to. I mean, this whole thing is fake, and I have to go and catch real feelings.”
Ava's little voice in the background called her name. “Hold on, sweetheart.”
“Go deal with your tiny human. I require coffee anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”
When I made my way into the kitchen, Raphael was already there. He was cooking. There was a skillet on the stove with eggs, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
He glanced up when he heard me. “Good morning.” His voice was softer . . . less guarded than usual.
“Morning,” I said, trying to sound casual and failing slightly.
He noticed. Of course he did. “You slept well?”.he asked.
“Yes.”
A beat.
“You?”
“Yes.” There it was. The smallest curve of his mouth.
He plated breakfast and set it at the table before I could protest about ‘the deal.’
“You don’t have to do that,” I said quietly.
“I’m aware.”
He poured coffee for me anyway.
After we ate, he drove me to Long Creek. He didn’t ask this time whether he should come inside. He simply parked in the same spot as last time, laptop already open as I gathered my crutches.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
He looked up at me. The look lingered a second longer than necessary.
Inside, I made my way to my father’s room. He was having a good day. He remembered my name without hesitation.
We talked about nothing important, which meant it was everything.
When I stopped by the billing office on my way out, my stomach tightened the way it always did. I handed over the envelope.
The woman behind the desk typed, clicked, and nodded.
“It looks like you are almost caught up. We will start the move-up next month,” she said pleasantly.
The words felt like oxygen.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.
As long as I could get back to cooking regularly. As long as the basement project continued. As long as the knee kept improving. As long as nothing else unraveled, I might just be able to manage.
Outside, the sun felt less oppressive than it had in weeks. Raphael closed his laptop when he saw me coming. “Well?” he asked as I settled into the seat.
“He was having a good day,” I said.
His shoulders eased almost imperceptibly. “Good, I’m glad.”
We drove in comfortable silence. I rested my head back against the seat and let the moment stretch. The kiss from last night lingered in my mind like a low, steady hum. It hadn’t been frantic or impulsive. It had been . . . intentional.
And that scared me more than anything else. I had feelings for my boss. My fake husband. The man who color-coded my physical therapy schedule and had not let me lift a finger since it had happened. This was not smart.
And yet, when I looked over at him, at the set of his jaw, the calm control, the way his hand rested steady on the steering wheel, I didn’t feel reckless. I felt hopeful, which might have been worse. Because hope meant I had something to lose.
When we got back on the property, the sun was shining, but it was still a relatively cool day. My leg was feeling a bit better, and I kind of wanted to explore the grounds. I’d only ever seen the inside of the estate.
“I think I might take a little walk around the estate.”
The immediate V that appeared between his brows was equal parts typical and surprisingly endearing now. When did that happen?
“I have a call I can’t miss in twenty minutes. If you can wait, I can take you then.”
“Raphael, I’m perfectly capable of walking around your yard myself.”
“The ground is uneven. You haven’t walked that far without crutches—”
“Look,” I pointed to the gardener’s truck. “Victor is here somewhere. If I fall, I will scream, and he will come get me.”
The panicked look that flitted across his face was amusing.
“If you fall, you will call me right away.”
“Yes, I will. But it's a nice day. I don’t want to spend it wasting away on the couch.”
He rubbed his hand over his beard like he was thinking it over. He thought he could tell me no, that’s cute.
“I’ll see you later.” I reached up on my toes and kissed his cheek.
He looked at me, astonished. I took that as my moment to get away. I turned and set off on the stone path behind the house.
I made my way into the back yard, if you can even call it that.
I was struck by how beautiful it was. To the left of the house was a large pool with a small house next to it.
On the other side of the large yard was a bench overlooking the river.
I made my way over there and sat. The view was beautiful.
From this height, it was easy to forget the real world down there and all the problems that still waited for me when all this was over.
Because that was the thing, as much as I was enjoying my time with Raph, and as much as I didn’t want it to end, it would. Then I would have to find a way to pay for everything. This was just so I could heal and get back on my feet, then I would be on my own again.
A gentle breeze came from the west. I looked over and saw some tall hedges around an archway. I decided to make my way over and check it out.
When I walked under the archway, I entered the most beautiful rose garden I’d ever seen. All around were big, beautiful roses in full bloom. I was tempted to pluck one and bring it inside, but something about this place felt like more than a mere garden.
“What are you doing in here?”
I turned and saw Victor. “Oh, hi! I’m just exploring. It really is beautiful in here. Did you plant all of these?”
He didn’t answer right away, but then he slowly shook his head.
“What kind of roses are these?” I asked as I ran my hand over some big, beautiful red roses, careful not to touch any thorns.
“Mr. Renault doesn’t like people in the rose garden.”
“What?”
“No one is allowed in here, ma’am.”
“Please call me Belle,” I said.
“Okay, Belle. Mr Renault gets angry when people are in here. I’m only allowed in here for upkeep.”
“Are you asking me to leave?”
He didn’t say yes, but it was clear that is what he wanted.
Sometimes I forget that the Raphael I get is not the Beast most people get. I turned and started my way back up to the house. I didn’t want to make Victor uncomfortable.
“Have a good day, Victor.”
“You too,” he said with relief coloring his tone.
Dinner that night felt different. We ate in the living room, as we had been. He had insisted I sit while he plated everything, even though I could stand longer now without wobbling.
“I need to get back to the basement tomorrow,” I said, cutting into my chicken. “And I should start cooking regularly again. Not just light dinners. The full plan.”
He didn’t look up immediately.
“You still have three weeks remaining before you return to activity.”
“I’m not going to be running drills or anything.”
“You’ll be weight-bearing.”
“I’ve been weight-bearing.”
He set his fork down carefully. “The physician recommended limited strain.”
“And I’m ready,” I countered. “I can take breaks. I just . . . I need to.” The words felt heavier than the argument. “I need the money.”
There it was. The practical truth beneath everything.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me with that quiet intensity that both steadied and unnerved me.
“You are not returning to labor prematurely.”
“Labor,” I repeated dryly. “It’s a basement inventory, not a coal mine.”
“Ma Belle.”
The words landed softly, almost absentmindedly. My heart sang at the words, even if I knew it shouldn’t.
He folded his hands loosely. “If any employee of mine required medical leave,” he said evenly, “I would compensate them without hesitation.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. “I am not your employee.”
“No, but we do have the arrangement for extra work. And when you are ready to return, you will. If Geoffrey had a knee injury, I would continue to pay him.”
I blinked. “You’re not serious.”
“I am entirely serious.”
“I’m not taking charity.” I did not like this. I did not like the idea of the man I had feelings for, the man I kissed last night, giving me a handout.
“It is not charity.”
“It feels like it.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering just enough to make it personal instead of performative.
“You would not hesitate to accept medical leave if you worked for a corporation.”
“I don’t work for a corporation.”
He continued, calm and deliberate. “You are injured. You have contributed significantly to my property. You have upheld every agreement made between us.”
“But I haven’t been able to since this.”
“I am aware.”
“You want to pay me.”
“I want you to heal.”
“And you think writing me a check accomplishes that.”