Chapter 9
Charlie
The Christmas Market is in full swing as I make my way through the crowd, smiling and nodding at familiar faces.
The Harborlight Resort's booth stands at the center, a beacon of luxury amid the local craft displays.
Our marketing strategy has worked perfectly, the resort is no longer seen as an interloper but as the heart of Starlight Bay's holiday celebrations.
I should feel triumphant. Instead, I'm fighting a wave of unexpected jealousy as I watch a group of women from my old college sorority flirting shamelessly with my husband.
My husband. The word still sends a thrill through me, especially now that it's real, not a contractual arrangement but a choice we've made together. The past week since our snowbound confession has been like living in a dream, one I'm terrified of waking from.
"Mrs. Sinclair!" A voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to find William Hughes, editor of the Gazette, approaching with a notebook in hand. "Do you have a moment to share your thoughts on the Harborlight's impact on local businesses this season?"
I slip easily into professional mode, rattling off statistics about increased foot traffic and cross-promotional successes.
"The real magic has been integration," I explain, gesturing toward where local vendors display products featured at the resort.
"When luxury and community work together, everyone benefits. "
"And what about personal benefits?" William asks with a knowing smile. "Rumor has it the Harborlight's CEO got more than increased bookings from his Starlight Bay venture."
Heat rises to my cheeks, but I match his smile with one of my own. "Some investments yield unexpected returns," I agree, my eyes drifting back to Bash.
As if feeling my gaze, he looks up from his conversation, his expression softening immediately. With a murmured excuse to the women surrounding him, he makes his way toward me, moving through the crowd with purposeful strides.
"There you are," he says, his hand settling naturally at the small of my back. "I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me to the wolves."
William chuckles. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. Thanks for the quote, Mrs. Sinclair."
As he disappears into the crowd, Bash pulls me closer, his lips brushing my ear. "What wolves were you abandoning me to, exactly?"
"The Kappa Delta alumni committee," I say dryly. "Shannon Miller was practically drooling on your cashmere coat."
His laugh rumbles through his chest. "Jealous, Mrs. Sinclair?"
"Should I be?" I counter, though there's no real concern behind the question. Not anymore. Not since the night he told me he loves me, his eyes holding mine with a sincerity that left no room for doubt.
"Never." Bash presses a kiss to my temple, heedless of the crowd around us. "There's only one woman in Starlight Bay who interests me, and I happen to have married her. Twice, if you count the contract."
The reminder of our arrangement, now amended but still technically in force until next week, sends an unexpected pang through me. "About that..."
Before I can continue, a familiar voice interrupts. "Well, if it isn't Starlight Bay's golden couple. Tell me, have you decided how you're ending the charade yet?"
I turn to find Scott Monaghan watching us with barely disguised contempt. A rival real estate developer who lost the bid on the Harborlight property, he's been a thorn in our side since dropping hints about our ‘arrangement’ at the last market event.
"Scott," Bash acknowledges coldly. "Still bitter about being outbid, I see."
"Not at all," Monaghan replies with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "In fact, I'm fascinated by your... innovative marketing approach. A fake marriage to boost holiday bookings? Quite the commitment to shareholder value."
My blood runs cold. He knows. Not just suspects, but knows the details of our original arrangement.
"I'm not sure where you're getting your information," I say, keeping my voice steady, "but you might want to check your sources."
"Oh, my source is quite reliable," Monaghan assures me. "Miranda Davis sends her regards, by the way."
Miranda. My boss. The realization hits like a physical blow, she leaked the details of our contract to Monaghan. Of course she did. After I refused to step away from the Harborlight account, she found another way to force the issue.
"Whatever she told you," Bash says, his voice dangerously quiet, "is outdated information."
Monaghan raises an eyebrow. "Is it? Because according to the contract I've seen, your marriage conveniently dissolves in..." he makes a show of checking his watch, "...just under a week. Perfect timing to wrap up the holiday season."
People nearby are beginning to take notice of our conversation, heads turning, whispers spreading. This is exactly what Miranda wanted, public humiliation that would force me off the account.
"Plans change," I tell him, slipping my hand into Bash's. "Contracts can be amended."
"How convenient," Monaghan sneers. "And I suppose next you'll tell me you've fallen madly in love, and this was all a Christmas miracle?"
"Actually, yes." Bash's voice carries clearly in the sudden hush that's fallen around us. "That's exactly what happened."
Monaghan blinks, momentarily thrown by the direct admission. "You expect people to believe that?"
"I don't particularly care what you believe, Scott," Bash says, his tone dismissive. "But since you seem so interested in our marriage, let me be clear: Charlie and I entered into a business arrangement that became something neither of us expected. We fell in love. The contract is irrelevant."
The blunt honesty of his statement leaves me breathless. There's no calculation in his words, no carefully crafted PR message. Just the truth, offered without apology or embellishment.
"How touching," Monaghan scoffs, though I can see uncertainty creeping into his expression. This clearly wasn't the reaction he anticipated. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with the Harborlight's record bookings or the social media engagement metrics."
"Those are nice bonuses," I admit with a shrug. "But ultimately secondary to finding someone who makes me happier than I ever thought possible."
Bash's hand tightens around mine, a silent acknowledgment of my words. Around us, the crowd's whispers have shifted from shock to something softer, more approving. The narrative is changing before Monaghan's eyes, his attempted exposure transforming into an even more compelling love story.
"So the contract was real," Monaghan presses, unwilling to concede defeat.
"The beginning was strategic," Bash confirms without hesitation. "The middle became complicated. And the ending..." He turns to face me fully, his eyes holding mine. "The ending is entirely up to Charlie."
My heart thuds painfully against my ribs. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Bash says softly, "that contracts expire, but vows shouldn't. Not when they're real."
Without warning, he drops to one knee in the middle of the Christmas Market, still holding my hand. A collective gasp rises from the crowd as they realize what's happening.
"Charlotte Davis," Bash says, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes, "we did this backward, marriage first, then falling in love.
But now I'm asking you, with no contracts or clauses or conditions: Will you stay married to me?
Not for publicity or profit, but because I can't imagine my life without you in it? "
Tears spring to my eyes, hot and unexpected. This wasn't planned, wasn't part of our strategy. This is Bash, my controlled, calculating husband, laying his heart bare in front of half the town.
"Are you sure?" I whisper, momentarily forgetting our audience. "This isn't just because of Monaghan...”
"I've never been more certain of anything," Bash interrupts, his gaze unwavering. "I love you, Charlie. Say you'll stay my wife. For real this time."
The world narrows to just his face, his eyes, the hope and fear and love written plainly across features I've memorized over these weeks together. In this moment, there's only one possible answer.
"Yes," I say, my voice breaking on the simple syllable. "Of course yes."
Bash rises, gathering me into his arms as the crowd erupts in cheers and applause. His kiss is tender, reverent, full of promises neither of us had the courage to make six weeks ago.
When we break apart, Monaghan has disappeared, his attempted sabotage thoroughly defeated. In his place stands Mireille, her green eyes brimming with happy tears.
"I knew it," she says triumphantly, pulling me into a fierce hug. "From that first night at Harbor Arts, I knew there was something real between you two."
"You saw it before we did," I admit, laughing through my own tears.
"Sometimes it takes an outsider's perspective," she says wisely. "Now, can we please go to Lil's and get hot chocolate to celebrate? I'm freezing, and this calls for the triple chocolate special."
As Mireille leads us through the market toward Lil's Sweet Treats, I'm overwhelmed by the genuine well-wishes from townspeople who've witnessed our impromptu renewal of vows.
There's no suspicion in their congratulations, no hint that they believe Monaghan's accusations.
They've seen us together over these weeks, watched our relationship evolve in real time.
They know the truth, perhaps before we fully acknowledged it ourselves.
At Lil's, we crowd into a booth with Mireille and Evander, steam rising from mugs of decadent hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and shaved chocolate.
"So," Evander says, his arm draped casually around Mireille's shoulders, "public proposal number two. Setting quite the precedent, Sinclair."
Bash laughs, his hand finding mine beneath the table. "Had to outdo myself. The first one was rather... transactional."