Chapter 45
WORTH
Morning finds me with Mya in my bed and a knot in my chest.
She’s asleep on her side, facing me, wearing my T-shirt and smelling like my soap, hair a loose halo on my pillow.
If I were a smarter man, I’d just lie here and let this be what it is: a perfect, stupidly domestic moment I wasn’t supposed to get.
Instead, my brain does what it always does and skips ahead to endings.
Because the truth is, the arrangement is technically over. We did what we said we’d do. Mya could pack up and walk out tomorrow and no one could say she didn’t hold up her side.
But last night didn’t feel like two people wrapping up a deal. It felt like a couple coming down from a hard day together. It felt real. And I know that scares her.
I watch Mya breathe for a minute, my hand resting on the curve of her hip.
I don’t want to let this go. I don’t want to go back to a house that’s tidy and silent and doesn’t have her laughter in the kitchen or her curls on my pillow.
I don’t want to see Brianna’s face when she realizes Mya is no longer coming down for breakfast anymore.
So I tell myself maybe we don’t have to rip the Band-Aid off in one clean pull. Maybe I can buy us a little time. Let her see more of my life and what it looks like when my family loves someone. Maybe if she sees she fits, she’ll stop trying to outrun it.
I brush a piece of hair off her cheek. “Kitten,” I murmur. “You awake?”
Her eyes flutter open. “Mmm. Barely.”
I smile. “I need to ask you something.”
“That sounds serious.” Her voice is rough from sleep, and it does things to me I don’t want to name. “What is it?”
“My mom’s birthday is this weekend,” I say. “We’re going up to Nantucket. I want you to come.”
Mya blinks once, twice. I see her guard go up as she pushes up on an elbow, T-shirt sliding off one shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I keep my face neutral, even though irritation flickers under my ribs. Of course she’s pulling back. “Why not?”
“Because,” she says, gesturing between us, “the arrangement is over. Meeting your family makes things… blurred.”
“They think it’s real,” I remind her. “My parents have been asking to meet you for months. If I show up without my wife, they’re going to have questions I don’t want to answer yet.”
Mya chews the inside of her cheek. “Then tell them I’m busy.”
“That works once. Maybe twice. Not when it’s my mother’s birthday.”
She sighs and falls back against the pillow. “It’ll just cause more trouble. First they meet me, we get attached, then we separate, and I’m the villain.”
“It doesn’t have to cause trouble. We go, we celebrate, we come back. Simple.”
“Nothing about this is simple, Worth…”
I lean on the piece I know she won’t ignore. “Bri will ask why you’re not coming.”
That lands. I see it in the way her eyes soften, the way her shoulders sag. I don’t love using Bri as leverage, but it’s the truth. My daughter is attached. She’s going to want Mya there. And if Mya suddenly isn’t, she’s going to be crushed.
I inch closer, prop my head on my hand. “Please come to Nantucket. Meet them. We’ll keep it light. No heavy talks. No future stuff. Just living in the moment.”
She stares at the ceiling for a few beats, jaw working. I can tell she wants to say no. I can also tell I’ve found the crack in her facade.
“Okay,” Mya says finally, exhaling. “But we’re counting this as my last contractual event obligation.”
I bite back a smile. “Last one, huh?”
She narrows her eyes like she doesn’t trust me. Fair. “Yes. After that, we go back to the plan.”
After that, I think, maybe you’ll see what I see and the plan won’t look so good anymore.
Though I don’t say it out loud. If I push, she runs.
“Deal,” I say instead, brushing my knuckles over her arm. “They’ll love you,” I add before I can stop it.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll believe you.”
My chest squeezes. I smooth her hair back.
If I do this right, I won’t have to convince her with words.
She’ll convince herself.
The weekend comes fast.
By the time we pull up to the hangar, everyone’s in good spirits—except Mya, who’s doing that thing where she looks perfectly composed but her fingers won’t stop fidgeting with the strap of her bag.
She loves the idea of traveling. She does not love being in the air.
I lean in. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She shoots me a look that says don’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t. I just take her bag from her and keep a hand at the small of her back as we walk out to the plane.
Griffin and Sylas arrive almost at the same time, and Sylas immediately breaks free, barreling straight for me.
Then, Henson and his girlfriend, Amira, walk our way.
“You must be Mya! I’m Amira. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Amira says with a warm smile.
Mya shakes her hand. “I hope it was good things.”
“Oh, absolutely!”
Brianna launches herself at Henson. “Uncle Hen!”
He scoops her up, spinning her until she squeals. “Hey, trouble. Ready for sand and too many adults?”
“Yup!” she says, giggling.
On the plane, Mya sits beside me in the backseat, curls half-up, looking like she’s fighting the impulse to scream I shouldn’t be here.
“Stop overthinking,” I murmur.
“I’m not.”
I huff. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“Hey! I’m not.”
Once the engines spin up and the plane starts taxiing, I feel Mya’s whole body tense up. I take her hand. “Same as always,” I say quietly. “Takeoff is the worst part. I’ve got you.”
She exhales through her nose, squeezing back. “I hate that I’m this person.”
“I don’t. Means you need me for something.”
That earns me a tiny smile.
I bring our joined hands to my thigh and cover them with my other one, caging hers there. When we lift off, Mya shuts her eyes and leans in, pretending to adjust her seat.
“You’re okay,” I whisper.
She nods against my shoulder, breathing in time with me. By the time we’re level, some color has come back to her face. Mya opens her eyes, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I know it’s irrational.”
“It’s not. We’re good. You’re doing great.”
Amira, who’s been sitting across from us with Henson, nudges Mya. “Okay, quick Miller family download.”
She gives Mya the rundown of my family members while Bri sprawls her legs across Mya’s lap like this is the most normal thing in the world. Every now and then, when there’s a little bump of turbulence, Mya squeezes my hand again, and every time I squeeze back.
By the time we land in Nantucket, she seems relaxed, laughing at something Sylas said. No one but me would know she was nervous. And I like it that way; her needing me for something only I’m aware of.
After we deplane, a second car waits to take Griffin and Sylas to the Kingston place on the other side of the island. “See you tomorrow night,” Griffin calls.
Our driver takes us through town, then out toward my parents’ place.
As soon as we pull up, the house’s front door bursts open. My mother comes down the steps in a flowy linen dress, brown hair pinned back, arms already open. But she doesn’t go for me or Henson.
She goes for Mya.
“Oh, finally.” Mom pulls her into a hug. “I have been waiting ages to meet you.”
Mya stiffens a millisecond, then melts into her embrace. “Hi, Mrs. Miller.”
“Oh, no. Call me Nadine.” My mother holds her at arm’s length to look at her. “You are even prettier in person.”
Mya actually blushes.
Behind them, my dad steps onto the porch, hands in his pockets, and gives me a nod. Approval, so far.
“Come,” Nadine says, looping her arm through Mya’s. “I must show you the house. Worth never does it properly. He’s always in a hurry.”
I watch my mother whisk my fake-wife into the house, with a small smile on my face. See? This is what I wanted you to see. This is why I brought you.
Dinner that night is a breeze. Brianna sits between Mya and my mom, talking about art and school.
Dad asks Mya about the project she presented to the board and she answers with confidence and just enough humility to make him like her even more.
Amira jumps in with a joke and Henson steals potatoes from her plate, and her outraged expression makes everyone laugh.
Mya looks like she belongs here—as if that chair has had her name on it for years.
Let this convince you. Let this feel like home and make walking away harder than staying.
After dessert, everyone starts to head to their own rooms, a few people yawning. My mother hugs Mya again, kisses Bri goodnight, and squeezes my arm. “She’s lovely,” she whispers in my ear. “Don’t mess it up.”
I look at my wife across the room, smiling at my daughter. “I’m trying not to.”
The next evening, we gather at a long farmhouse table on the back terrace; it’s decorated with white linens, little glass vases of hydrangeas straight from Mom’s garden, and candles in hurricane jars so the ocean breeze won’t kill the flames.
The sun’s starting to drop, painting everything gold.
You could even hear the waves if everyone stopped talking at the same time, which, with this crowd, never happens.
Mom sits at the head, radiant in pale blue, Dad beside her, looking proud. Mya is two seats down, between Amira and Bri, and the two women are laughing at something my daughter said.
Mya is in a simple dress, nothing flashy, and I keep sneaking looks at her like—that’s my wife.
Halfway through appetizers, Griffin arrives with his son in tow, plus two of his brothers. Adrian is still in Paris with his racing team.
Damian goes right in for a hug with my mom. The other brother, Caleb—taller, darker, and quieter—follows, carrying a bottle of wine.
“Sorry we’re late,” Griffin says, kissing Mom’s cheek. “Someone,” he jerks his head toward Sylas, “needed chicken nuggets.”
Sylas waves at Bri. She waves back with a huge grin, like she hasn’t seen him in forever, even though it’s only been a few days. He’s like a little brother to her.
“Come in, come in,” Mom says, delighted. “There’s plenty.”