Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
SAVANNAH
Sunlight streams through unfamiliar curtains, warming my face and pulling me from sleep. For a moment, I'm disoriented. This isn't my bedroom. These aren't my sheets. And the solid wall of heat pressed against my back definitely isn't my stuffed bear.
Memories from last night flood back, bringing heat to my cheeks. Colt. His hands. His mouth. The things we did to each other until we collapsed in exhaustion.
This wasn't part of our arrangement. Sex complicates everything. But as his arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer in his sleep, regret is the furthest thing from my mind.
I lie still, savoring the moment before reality intrudes. His breathing is deep and even against my neck, his body curves protectively around mine. I never pegged myself for the little spoon type, but something about being wrapped in his strength feels right in ways I can't explain.
"I can feel you thinking," his voice rumbles against my ear, rough with sleep. "Too loud for this early."
I smile despite myself. "What time is it?"
"Too early." He presses a kiss to my shoulder. "Go back to sleep."
Instead, I roll over to face him, curious what morning Colt looks like. His hair is tousled, stubble darkening his jaw, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks younger somehow. Softer around the edges.
"Staring is rude," he murmurs, though a smile tugs at his mouth.
"Just assessing the damage." I trace a fingertip along a scratch on his shoulder. My handiwork from when he drove me over the edge the second time.
"Worth every mark." His hand slides up my bare back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "You okay? With what happened?"
The genuine concern in his voice makes something flutter in my chest. "I'm good. You?"
"Better than good." His eyes search mine. "But we should talk about it."
Talk. We probably should, but before I can gather my thoughts, my phone chimes from somewhere on the floor.
Colt retrieves it, handing it to me with a raised eyebrow. "Popular this morning."
I check the screen and groan. "My father. He wants us at the house by noon to 'discuss this situation like adults.'"
"Bet those weren't his exact words."
"No. His exact words were 'Get your ass home by noon and bring that criminal with you so we can sort out this insanity.'" I toss the phone aside. "Such a way with words, my father."
"Charming." Colt sits up, sheets pooling around his waist. "Guess we're facing the firing squad today."
"We don't have to go." But even as I say it, I know we do. "Actually, we do. I need to get my things if I'm moving in."
"About that." He runs a hand through his hair. "We didn't exactly discuss the logistics last night."
"Too busy with other activities." I try for a teasing tone, but uncertainty creeps in. "Unless you've changed your mind about me staying here?"
"No." The firmness in his voice is reassuring. "I want you here. Just want to make sure you're still on board with everything. The arrangement. The timeline."
Right. The arrangement. The business deal we'd struck before last night's activities complicated everything.
"I am." I sit up too, clutching the sheet to my chest in a belated attack of modesty. "Six months married, then divorce after I inherit. That's still the plan."
Something flickers in his eyes, too quick to identify. "Good. We're on the same page."
But are we? The question remains unspoken between us as we prepare for the day. Showering separately, careful not to touch as we move around each other in the kitchen. As if we're both afraid to acknowledge what's happening between us.
I cook breakfast, grateful for the distraction. Simple omelets with the ingredients we bought yesterday. Colt watches me work, that intensity back in his gaze that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"You really are good at that," he says as I plate the food.
"At what?"
"Moving around a kitchen. Creating something from nothing." He accepts the plate with a nod of thanks. "Making yourself at home here."
The casual observation shouldn't affect me so much, but it does. Because he's right. I do feel at home here, in his space. The realization is as terrifying as it is exhilarating.
"Speaking of home," I say as we eat. "We need a game plan for my father."
Colt nods, all business now. "Let him yell. Let him threaten. But we stand firm."
"I also think we should set a date." I keep my voice casual. "For the wedding."
His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "How soon were you thinking?"
"Two weeks?" I suggest. "Quick courthouse ceremony, nothing fancy. The will just stipulates I need to be married, not how elaborate the wedding needs to be."
"Two weeks." He sets down his fork. "You sure?"
"The sooner we're legally married, the sooner I can claim the inheritance." I focus on cutting my omelet into precise bites. "Unless you need more time?"
"Two weeks is fine." His tone gives nothing away. "Your father's going to love that timeline."
"My father will hate anything about this situation." I meet his eyes. "But it's not his life. It's mine."
A small smile curves his mouth. "There's that backbone I like."
Like. Such an innocent word that shouldn't make my heart skip. But apparently, I'm a teenager again, hungry for his approval.
An hour later, we pull up to my childhood home in Colt's truck. My father's cruiser sits in the driveway, along with another car I don't recognize.
"Company," Colt observes, his posture stiffening.
"Great." I resist the urge to bang my head against the dashboard. "Just what we need, an audience."
Colt reaches for my hand, his fingers interlacing with mine. "Whatever happens in there, we're in this together."
The simple gesture steadies me. "Together," I agree.
My father opens the door before we reach it, face set in the hard lines that have intimidated criminals for decades. But I'm not a criminal. I'm his daughter, making my own choices.
"Finally." He steps back to let us in. "We've been waiting."
The "we" becomes clear as we enter the living room. Brett sits on our couch, looking uncomfortable but determined.
"What is he doing here?" I demand, dropping Colt's hand to confront my father.
"Savannah." Brett stands, eyes pleading. "Just hear me out."
"There's nothing to hear." I turn to my father. "Why would you involve him in this?"
"Because he cares about you." Dad's voice is clipped. "Unlike some people in this room."
Colt crosses his arms, unimpressed. "Trying to sabotage our relationship won't change anything, Sheriff."
"Relationship?" Brett scoffs. "You've known each other what, four days? This isn't a relationship, it's a mistake."
"Three months," I correct automatically, remembering our cover story. "We've been seeing each other for three months."
Brett's eyes widen. "What? That's not possible. We were together until three days ago."
I wince at the slip. Colt steps in smoothly, arm sliding around my waist. "Savannah was trying to find the right time to tell you. Things between us happened... unexpectedly."
The implication hangs in the air. That I'd been cheating on Brett. With Colt. It's not true, but it might be the simplest explanation for our sudden engagement.
"You cheated on me?" Brett looks gutted. "With him?"
"I never physically cheated," I clarify, which is technically true. "But emotionally... I wasn't where I should have been in our relationship."
My father looks between us, suspicion clear in his narrowed eyes. "This doesn't add up, Savannah. You expect me to believe you've been secretly seeing this man for months?"
"Believe what you want." I lift my chin. "I'm marrying Colt in two weeks. We've already set the date."
"Two weeks?" Both men shout in unison.
"Courthouse ceremony," Colt adds, his calm confidence a stark contrast to their outrage. "Nothing fancy."
"This is insanity." My father runs a hand over his face. "Savannah, think about what you're doing."
"I have thought about it." I lean into Colt's side, drawing strength from his solid presence. "I've never been more certain of anything."
Brett stands, anger replacing his initial hurt. "You'll regret this. When the excitement wears off and you realize what you've thrown away for... for this criminal."
"That's enough." Colt's voice drops to a dangerous rumble. "You had your chance with her. You didn't appreciate what you had. Your loss. My gain."
The possessive declaration sends a thrill through me that I try to suppress. This is an act, I remind myself. A performance for our audience.
"I want my things," I tell my father, breaking the tense standoff. "I'm moving in with Colt officially today."
"Fine." Dad gestures toward the stairs. "Pack your stuff. But don't come crying to me when this all falls apart."
I head upstairs, Colt following close behind. Once in my childhood bedroom, door firmly shut, I release a shaky breath.
"That went well," Colt says dryly, looking around at the pink walls and stuffed animals with amusement. "Nice room."
"Shut up, and help me pack." But there's no heat in it. "It’s my childhood room, I just store stuff here because I have a roommate and my room is too small."
We work in companionable silence, Colt following my directions without complaint. It strikes me how natural this feels, him in my space, helping me pack for our life together. Even if it is temporary.
"Two weeks," he says suddenly, folding a sweater with surprising care. "We're getting married in two weeks."
"Cold feet already?" I try to make it sound like a joke, but genuine worry slips through.
"Never." He meets my eyes. "Just making it real in my head. In two weeks, you'll be Savannah Reeves."
The name sends an unexpected jolt through me. Savannah Reeves. It sounds right in ways I can't explain.
"Just on paper," I remind us both. "Just for six months."
He nods, returning to his folding. "Right. Six months."
The doubt creeps in then, quiet but insistent. After last night, after the way he looked at me this morning, after the ease with which we fit into each other's lives. Can we really walk away when the six months are up?
What if this fake relationship starts feeling more real than any "real" one I've had before?
What if I don't want to let go when the time comes?
I push the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand. One day at a time. That's all we can manage right now. One day of pretending until pretending becomes something else entirely.
Something I'm not ready to name, but can feel taking root inside me with every passing hour.