Chapter 4
Charlie
The Starlight Bay Town Hall is a quaint brick building with spruce garlands draped across its facade. Despite the fact that I've lived in Starlight Bay my entire life, I've never had reason to climb these particular steps until today, my wedding day.
My wedding day. To a man I barely know.
"Nervous?" Bash asks, his voice low as we stand before the imposing oak doors. His hand rests at the small of my back, warm and unexpectedly steadying.
"Not at all," I lie, the diamond ring heavy on my finger. "Just another business meeting, right?"
His lips quirk up at the corners. "With unusually binding paperwork."
I manage a small laugh as he pulls open the door, revealing the modest foyer within.
In the twenty-four hours since signing our contract, everything has moved at a dizzying pace, the license application fast-tracked with a generous "donation" to the town clerk's office, the arrangements for today's civil ceremony, the press release poised to drop the moment we say, "I do. "
We've barely had time to breathe, let alone second-guess this insane plan.
"Mr. Sinclair, Ms. Davis." Mayor Thompson greets us at the entrance to the small ceremony room, his ruddy face beaming. "Or should I say, the happy couple!"
I force my business smile, the one I use for difficult clients. "Mayor Thompson. Thank you for fitting us in on such short notice."
"Anything for Starlight Bay's most exciting romance," he says with a wink. "Though I must say, you two kept this very quiet! Not a whisper around town until yesterday."
"We wanted it to be intimate," Bash says smoothly, slipping his arm around my waist in a gesture that looks practiced but feels anything but. His fingers curl possessively against my hip, and despite myself, I lean into his touch. "Just the essentials today. The celebration comes later."
The mayor nods enthusiastically. "At the Harborlight Resort, I hear! What a wonderful boost for our local economy."
"We hope so," I say, the words sticking slightly in my throat. This charade is becoming real far too quickly.
"Well, shall we proceed?" Mayor Thompson gestures toward the small altar. "I believe your photographer is already in position."
I glance to where a woman with a camera hovers discreetly. Bash had insisted on hiring someone to document the ceremony, for authenticity," he'd said. Every moment needs to be captured, ready to feed to the press and social media to build our narrative.
As we take our places beneath a simple archway decorated with spruce and tiny white lights, I find it difficult to focus on the mayor's words.
This isn't how I imagined my wedding, a sterile room, a business arrangement, a man I'm undeniably attracted to but barely know.
Yet here I am, about to legally bind myself to Sebastian Sinclair for the sake of hotel occupancy rates.
"The rings?" Mayor Thompson prompts, jolting me back to attention.
Bash reaches into his pocket, producing two simple gold bands. We'd selected them together yesterday afternoon, another whirlwind stops in our compressed courtship. The weight of the warm metal as he slides it onto my finger makes this suddenly, terrifyingly real.
"Charlotte Davis," Bash says, his voice unexpectedly tender, "I promise to cherish each day of our journey together.
" His eyes lock with mine, a storm of gray that holds me captive.
"I promise to steal your last truffle only with permission.
" A hint of playfulness breaks through his serious demeanor.
"I promise to hold your dream as carefully as I hold mine. "
The words are perfect, just personal enough to seem genuine, just lighthearted enough to charm.
We'd crafted them carefully over dinner last night, engineering the ideal vows for our public persona.
Yet something in the way he says them now, his voice dropping to a near whisper on the last line, makes my heart stutter.
"Sebastian Sinclair," I respond, grateful that my voice remains steady, "I promise to be your partner in all ventures, great and small.
" The speech we rehearsed flows easily. "I promise to remind you of the view when you're lost in spreadsheets.
" I take a breath, my next words unexpectedly thick with emotion.
"I promise to choose us, every day that we have. "
Mayor Thompson beams. "By the power vested in me by the state and the town of Starlight Bay, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He looks expectantly at Bash. "You may kiss your bride."
This is the moment we haven't rehearsed. We've discussed it, of course. “Keep it tasteful but convincing," Bash had said, but no amount of discussion prepared me for the reality of his hands cupping my face, his eyes asking a silent question.
I give an almost imperceptible nod, and then his lips are on mine, warm and soft and unexpectedly gentle. It's a chaste kiss by objective standards, lasting only seconds, but something electric passes between us. When he pulls away, his eyes have darkened to the color of storm clouds.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair!" Mayor Thompson declares, and the photographer's flash punctuates the moment.
Mrs. Sinclair. My head spins slightly.
"Thank you, Mayor," Bash says, recovering his composure faster than I can. "We appreciate your discretion until the official announcement."
"Of course, of course," the older man assures us. "Though I can't promise my wife won't tell her book club. Starlight Bay's most eligible bachelor is off the market. That's big news!"
We exchange a few more pleasantries, sign the necessary paperwork, and then we're outside again, the December air crisp against my flushed cheeks. Bash's hand finds the small of my back once more, guiding me toward his waiting car.
"That went well," he says once we're inside the warmth of the Audi.
"Did it?" I stare at the gold band now nestled against my engagement ring. "It all feels a bit surreal."
"Second thoughts?" His voice is carefully neutral.
I shake my head. "No. Just...processing. We're actually married."
"Legally, yes." Bash starts the car, the engine purring to life. "Phase one complete."
Phase one. As if our wedding is just a checkbox on a project plan. Which, I remind myself, it is.
"Where to now?" I ask, realizing I don't know what comes next in our carefully orchestrated romance.
"The honeymoon suite at the Harborlight Resort." He navigates the car through Starlight Bay's quiet streets. "The press release goes out at five, and by tomorrow morning, we'll be the talk of the town. We should be seen enjoying a romantic dinner at the resort restaurant tonight."
"And then?" The question hangs between us, loaded with implications.
Bash's eyes remain on the road. "And then we begin our very public marriage."
The Harborlight Resort rises at the edge of the harbor, its modern architecture softened by holiday decorations. Bash pulls up to the private entrance, where a valet immediately rushes forward.
"Welcome back, Mr. Sinclair," the young man says, then glances at me with barely concealed curiosity. "Ma'am."
"Thank you, Jason," Bash says smoothly. "Any deliveries to the penthouse?"
"Yes, sir. Everything's been arranged as requested."
I raise an eyebrow at Bash as we enter the lobby, but he merely offers an enigmatic smile. "A few wedding night preparations."
The elevator ride to the penthouse suite is silent, charged with an energy I can't quite define. Married. I'm married to this man I've known for three days. What the hell am I doing?
When the doors open directly into the suite, I can't help the small gasp that escapes me. The space has spectacular floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor, modern furnishings in soothing creams and blues, and throughout the room, dozens of glowing candles from the Harbor Arts Collective.
"You remembered," I say softly, recognizing the distinctive scents of Marigold's holiday blends.
"I pay attention to details," Bash replies, setting down his keys. "It seemed appropriate, given where we met."
I move deeper into the suite, noting the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket, the platter of chocolate-covered strawberries, the trail of rose petals leading toward what must be the bedroom.
"Very romantic," I comment, trying to keep my tone light. "Your staff will certainly be convinced."
"That's the idea." Bash loosens his tie, and the casual gesture shouldn't be as distracting as it is. "The concierge who arranged this has already told at least four people that I requested something special for my new wife."
Wife. The word sends a strange thrill through me. "Efficient gossip network."
"The best marketing money can't buy." He steps closer, and suddenly the spacious suite feels much smaller. "Are you hungry? We have reservations at eight, but I can order something in if you'd prefer."
"Eight is fine," I say, oddly breathless. "It gives me time to... settle in."
Bash nods, his eyes drifting to the bedroom door. "There's only one bed, of course. For appearances. But I can take the sofa."
"Right. The sofa." I follow his gaze, wondering why I feel a tinge of disappointment. "Very gentlemanly of you."
A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "I'm nothing if not a gentleman, Charlotte."
"Charlie," I correct automatically.
"Charlie," he repeats, the name sounding different in his deep voice. "My wife."
Something hot and liquid pools in my belly at the possessive edge to his words. This is dangerous territory. We have a contract, clear boundaries. Eight weeks of marriage, strictly for publicity. Nothing real.
Yet as Bash steps closer still, close enough that I can smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body, real begins to blur.
"We should practice," he says, his voice dropping to a lower register.
"Practice?" I echo, my own voice embarrassingly breathy.