Chapter Three
Dixie
The thing about accepting five thousand dollars to fake-date a cowboy is that eventually, you have to actually do it.
He'd dressed for the weekend—pressed jeans, white button-down, bolo tie, dark hair slightly too long but neatly combed back. Texas formal. His boots were polished. He looked good. Dangerously good.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Define ready."
That earned me a grin, the one with the dimple that should come with a warning label. "Thirty minutes to the hotel. We'll check in, get changed, then head down for the rehearsal dinner at seven."
We drove out of Bitter Root, past the feed store and the empty lot where the old grain elevator used to stand. The February afternoon was cold but clear, pale blue sky stretching over the Hill Country.
"So what's the game plan?" I asked. "Besides playing the perfect girlfriend?"
"That's pretty much it. My family's going to ask questions—keep the answers vague. We met, we clicked, we're taking things slow."
"Taking things slow while attending your brother's wedding together?"
"Hey, you're the one who negotiated the terms. Work with me here."
I bit back a smile. "Fine. What about Kendall? What's she like?"
Hunter's expression shifted slightly, mischievous. "You'll see. Let's just say she's very invested in this wedding."
"That's not ominous at all."
"Trust me, no amount of warning will prepare you."
"So," I said. "Does your family know you're bringing someone?"
"Texted my mom yesterday after we went shopping. Figured if I showed up with you unannounced, she'd have a heart attack." He grinned. "She immediately called me three times. I let it go to voicemail."
"Hunter."
"I texted back that we'd talk at the rehearsal dinner. Let her stew a little." His smile faded slightly. "She's been on me for months about bringing someone. Probably thinks I hired an escort."
"You kind of did."
"Fair point."
The landscape rolled past—golden grass, bare trees, ranch houses set back from the road.
Hunter fiddled with the radio, settling on a country station.
Hunter filled the silence with stories about growing up with Hudson.
I listened, filing away details I might need to sell this relationship to his family.
This was work. I needed to remember that.
"So when did things change?" I asked.
"College, maybe? Hudson came back with a business degree and a five-year plan. I came back with a hangover and a vague idea that I should probably get a job." He shrugged. "Hudson always knew who he was supposed to be. I'm still figuring it out."
The vulnerability in his voice made my chest ache, but before I could respond, Hunter pulled into The Hill Country Grand.
The hotel sprawled across manicured grounds—elegant white columns, wraparound balconies, and hedges trimmed into Valentine hearts. Actual hearts made from boxwood. The fountain in the circular drive had marble cupids shooting water from their arrows.
"Oh my God."
"Yeah." Hunter stopped at valet. "Welcome to Kendall's idea of subtle."
A valet opened my door. I froze just inside the lobby—marble floors, massive crystal chandeliers, a sweeping double staircase that belonged in a movie.
Fresh roses spilled from arrangements on every surface, their scent thick and sweet.
Heart-shaped balloons clustered in every corner.
Red velvet bows tied around marble columns.
A life-sized cupid statue near the entrance.
I tugged at my sweater, suddenly hyperaware of my worn jeans.
Hunter strode to check-in like he owned the place. "Reservation under Massey. Hunter."
The woman behind the counter smiled warmly. "Yes, Mr. Massey. The Bluebonnet Suite. Sitting area, spa bathroom. Checked in for Friday and Saturday night, checkout Sunday morning."
Hunter handed over his card without blinking.
We followed the bellhop to the elevator and down a quiet hallway. He opened the door to the Bluebonnet Suite with a flourish.
I stepped inside and stopped dead.
One bed.
One massive king-sized bed that seemed to take up half the suite.
My pulse spiked. A job. This was a job. With clearly defined boundaries I needed to maintain.
"So," Hunter said behind me. "About that—"
"You booked one bed on purpose."
"Would I do that?"
"Yes."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "Okay, you're right. But look—" He gestured at the elegant couch by the window. Maybe four feet long. "I can sleep there. I've crashed in worse places."
I glanced around the suite. Rose petals scattered artfully across white bedding.
Approximately forty decorative pillows arranged in a perfect heart shape.
Crystal vases with flowers on each nightstand.
The tufted white velvet headboard screamed romance.
The hotel had gone all-in on the Valentine's theme.
"You're six-two," I said, dragging my attention back to him. "You'd wake up folded like a lawn chair."
"I'm flexible."
"Hunter." I spun to face him, hands on my hips. "You're paying me for this charade. I'm not making you sleep on furniture designed for show, not function. That bed is huge. We can share. Just stay on your side."
"What if I'm a cuddler?"
"Are you?"
"No idea. Never shared a bed platonically before."
"Well, you're about to find out. Stay on your side or I'm taking my money and going home."
He held up both hands in surrender. "Your side, my side, invisible line down the middle. Got it."
"Good."
"Although—" His grin widened. "For the record, you're incredibly hot when you're bossy."
Heat flooded my face. "Bathroom. Now. I'm getting ready first."
I took my garment bag and escaped before he could see how red I'd turned.
The bathroom was white marble with gold fixtures. Soaking tub that could fit three people. Walk-in shower with more settings than my car dashboard. I stared at my reflection in the gilded mirror. What was I doing? This world wasn't mine. But for one weekend, I could pretend.
When I came out five minutes later, Hunter had set his overnight bag on the dresser and was hanging his suit in the closet. We both paused, the reality of sharing this space for two nights suddenly very real.
"Where's the dress for tomorrow?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Classified information."
"Just a peek?"
"Absolutely not. Simone made me promise you wouldn't see it until the wedding."
"That's ridiculous."
"Those are the rules." I shoved past him—we were way too close in the small closet space—and buried the garment bag at the very back under my suitcase and a spare blanket. "There. Completely hidden."
"I could just look."
I spun to find him inches away, close enough to see the green of his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. "But you won't. Because you're a gentleman."
"That's debatable."
"Then because you respect sacred wedding traditions."
"Now that's more accurate."
We stayed there a beat too long, the air between us charged. Then I stepped back before I forgot the terms of our deal.
For the next hour, we moved around each other getting ready. Every accidental brush of hands sent electricity through me. Him reaching past me for his tie. The way he watched me in the mirror when I fixed my hair. How we both reached for the closet door at the same time and his hand covered mine.
"Sorry," he murmured, thumb brushing across my knuckles.
"It's fine," I managed, not moving my hand.
Neither of us moved for several heartbeats. Then I pulled away, my skin still tingling where he'd touched me.
I needed to get a grip. This was an arrangement. The attraction was inconvenient, nothing more.
At six-thirty, I retreated to the bathroom with the emerald dress. I took my time with makeup, curled my hair into soft waves. The dress slid on perfectly, hugging curves I usually hid under diner uniforms. When I checked the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back.
I opened the door.
Hunter stood at the dresser in dark slacks and a white dress shirt, fighting with cufflinks. He looked up and froze.
"Wow."
My neck flushed despite my best efforts to stay professional. "The dress does most of the work."
"That's not true." His voice came out rough. His gaze traveled over me slowly, deliberately. "You look incredible."
My breath caught. "You clean up well yourself, cowboy."
"Here." I crossed to him, needing something to do with my hands. "Let me help."
I took his wrist. His pulse jumped under my fingertips as I worked the first cufflink through. We stood close enough that I saw gold flecks in his eyes.
Too intimate. This felt too intimate for someone I was working for. But backing away now would be awkward, so I focused on the task.
"Thanks," he said quietly when I finished both.
"Don't mention it." I stepped back before I gave in. "Ready to face your family?"
He offered his arm. "Let's do this."
The Grand Ballroom had elegant Valentine's touches—white linens, crystal chandeliers, romantic lighting.
But someone had taken it further. Elaborate centerpieces on every table, each one different.
Heart-shaped napkin rings. Heart-shaped place cards with calligraphy so perfect it had to be hand-done.
Crystal hearts dangling from chair backs.
Garlands of flowers wrapped around columns.
A man in an impeccable three-piece suit was directing staff with the precision of a five-star general, clapping twice at a waiter adjusting a centerpiece.
"That's Hudson and Kendall," Hunter said, his hand finding the small of my back.
Near the center of the room stood Hunter's identical twin—same face, same height, but neater. Shorter hair, perfectly tailored suit. Everything about him screamed responsible. Next to him was a blonde in pink, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Here we go," Hunter murmured. Then louder, "Hudson! Kendall!"
Hudson's face broke into a warm smile. "Hunter! You made it."
They embraced, genuine affection clear between them.