Chapter 6 #3
Scott laughs, the sound sharp in the crisp air. "Come now, Sinclair. We all know what this is." He gestures between us. "Brilliant PR move, I'll grant you. Bookings through the roof, local goodwill at an all-time high. But let's not pretend it's anything more than business strategy."
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I keep my expression composed. "I'm afraid you've misunderstood our relationship, Mr. Monaghan."
"Have I?" His smirk widens. "Because I happen to know about certain contractual arrangements. Eight weeks, isn't it? Very tidy. Just long enough to secure the holiday season."
Ice floods my veins. No one outside of Bash's lawyer and my immediate supervisor at the agency should know those details.
Bash rises slowly to his feet, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "I suggest you consider your next words very carefully, Scott."
"No need for threats," Scott says, raising his hands in mock surrender.
"I admire the play, truly. Using marriage as a marketing gimmick?
Inspired. I'm simply curious what happens when the contract expires.
Will there be a public breakup? Something suitably dramatic for the Valentine's Day news cycle? "
Before Bash can respond, I stand as well, slipping my hand into his. "Our marriage is not a topic for public speculation, Mr. Monaghan. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have guests to greet."
I tug gently on Bash's hand, and after a tense moment, he allows me to lead him away from Scott's knowing smirk.
We weave through the market stalls in silence, my mind racing with implications.
Someone has leaked details of our arrangement, but who?
And why now, four weeks in, when everything is going so well?
"We need to find out who told him," Bash says finally, his voice tight with controlled anger. "It had to be someone with access to the contract."
"Could it have been James? Your lawyer?"
Bash shakes his head firmly. "Never. He's been with me for a decade. Completely trustworthy."
"Then someone at the agency," I conclude, my heart sinking. "Miranda, or someone she confided in."
"Possibly." Bash guides us toward a quieter area near the harbor railing, where we can speak without being overheard. "But the question is, what does Scott gain from exposing this? What's his angle?"
I stare out at the dark water, dotted with reflections of the market lights. "Undermining the Harborlight's success? If the public believes our marriage is fake, it could damage the authentic community connection we've been building."
"Maybe." Bash doesn't sound convinced. "Or he could be fishing, trying to confirm suspicions rather than acting on solid information."
It's a possibility I hadn't considered. "You think he's bluffing?"
"I think Scott Monaghan rarely shows his full hand at once." Bash turns to face me, his expression resolute. "Regardless, we need to control the narrative."
"How?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he considers. "We double down. Make it impossible for anyone to doubt the authenticity of our relationship."
I swallow hard, my thoughts spinning. "And how exactly do we do that?"
"We get snowed in," he says decisively.
"Excuse me?"
"There's a blizzard in the forecast for tomorrow night," Bash explains, his tactical mind clearly running several steps ahead.
"We make sure we're photographed stocking up on supplies, looking deliriously happy about the prospect of being trapped together.
We post intimate glimpses of our snow day on social media, nothing staged, just genuine moments.
We make it clear that far from being a contractual obligation, this marriage is the best thing that's ever happened to us. "
It's a good strategy. Professionally sound. Exactly the kind of authentic content that builds believable narratives.
So why does it make my chest ache?
"Charlie?" Bash prompts when I don't immediately respond. "What do you think?"
What do I think? I think I'm in serious danger of forgetting this is all temporary. I think I'm falling for my contractual husband in a way that wasn't covered in our forty-eight-page agreement. I think four more weeks suddenly feels like both an eternity and not nearly enough time.
"I think it's our best option," I say instead, my marketing director voice firmly in place. "We counter rumors with overwhelming evidence to the contrary."
Bash studies me, his expression softening slightly. "Are you okay with this? It means being even more... publicly affectionate than we've been."
More affectionate than tangled limbs in the early morning light? More intimate than whispered confessions in the darkness? More connected than the way he holds me after we make love, as if he never intends to let go?
"I can handle it," I assure him, hoping the tremor in my voice isn't as audible to him as it is to me. "It's just another phase of the campaign."
Something flickers in his eyes, disappointment? Relief? I can't tell. "Right," he says, his professional mask sliding smoothly back into place. "Just business."
As we make our way back to the market's main thoroughfare, with Bash's hand warm and steady at the small of my back, I can't help but wonder when ‘just business’ became the most painful lie I've ever told.
Four more weeks. The countdown feels more like a ticking bomb than a calendar now, each day bringing us closer to a separation I'm no longer sure I want.
But what terrifies me most is the growing suspicion that when our contract ends, it won't be just my career on the line, it will be my heart as well.