Chapter 13
Hannah
Connor held the door open for me, and as I passed into the warmth of the lobby, I caught his brow furrowed like he was working through a problem.
And this time, the problem was me. Again.
We entered the elevator in silence. I punched the button for the third floor, and as the doors slid closed, my mind replayed the last hour of the party.
I’d kept my head down after the Sebastian disaster, focusing on pouring drinks and keeping my shit together.
Avoiding eye contact. Especially avoiding the piano where Victoria and Cruz performed their duet.
Two weeks ago, Victoria’s singing had cracked something open in my chest, and I’d caught Connor in an emotional moment of his own.
Tonight, the thought of watching them made my throat tight. Made me remember how stupid I’d been to think Connor and I had any kind of real connection. We’d kissed once, then he’d stopped me and left as soon as he could. And then I’d let him rescue me from Sebastian like some damsel in distress.
Then I’d been spiraling on the walk home. Instead of telling me I was being dramatic, Connor calmed me down without making me feel small, radiating that calm, ‘I have the situation under control’ energy that made me want to trust him, even though I barely knew him.
Now he was going to let me down easy. Tell me tonight was… what? A mistake? A favor? Pity?
The elevator dinged. We walked down the hallway in silence, my keys jingling as I fumbled to unlock the apartment door. My hands were still shaking—from the cold, from the adrenaline crash, from not knowing what happened next—whether I’d be sleeping in his bed tonight or on Teresa’s lumpy couch.
I pushed open the apartment door, shrugging off his jacket. The apartment was quiet—Teresa was at Eddie’s house. We were alone.
Connor closed the door behind us but didn’t move toward his bedroom. He just stood there, hands in his pockets.
“So,” I said, feigning brightness. “Thanks for tonight, for the whole Sebastian thing. I’m sure he’ll forget about it by the time they get married, so you won't have to feel bad.”
“Why would I go without you?”
I blinked at him. “Because… I’m not on the guest list.”
“You could be. As my plus one.” He took a step closer. “Did you think I was just going to let Sebastian tell everyone you made the whole thing up?”
“I just…” I wrapped my arms around myself. “I didn’t think you’d want to bring me. I saw that article about you being one of New York’s most eligible bachelors.”
An adorable flush crawled up his neck. “That article was a nightmare.”
“You looked very eligible.” Despite everything, a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“I looked like someone about to be buried under an avalanche of LinkedIn requests and baked-goods bribery.” He slid off his shoes. “One woman showed up at my office with homemade snickerdoodles.”
I couldn’t help my laugh, breaking some of the tension.
“Honestly? This could help me too. I’m still trying to figure out my new role, and all this bachelor stuff is distracting.” That sweet flush climbed from his neck into his cheeks. “A picture of us together on my desk would relieve a lot of pressure.”
Was he serious? Was he was really suggesting…
“So you want me to… pretend to be your girlfriend?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? You can be my plus-one for the wedding and prove to Sebastian you’ve moved on. And I can focus on my job instead of dodging romantic complications.”
My mind raced through the implications of fake dating Connor McNamara until the wedding, however many months away that was—they hadn’t even set a date yet.
He could avoid romantic complications while I saved face.
“What would that even look like?” I asked.
“Maybe a photo or two on social media. Then you come to the wedding as my date, and afterward…” He shrugged. “We go our separate ways.”
It was practical. Logical. Mutually beneficial. With a clear ending.
So why did the thought of “going our separate ways” make my stomach drop?
“What if…” I hesitated, then forced myself to ask. “What if you fall for one of those cookie-wielding New Yorkers before then? We should have an exit clause.”
Something flickered across his face. “An exit clause.”
“Yeah. If either of us wants out early, we just… let the other person know. End things amicably. No hard feelings.” I crossed my arms, trying to sound detached. Like my heart wasn’t already bracing for the inevitable.
He nodded slowly. “Okay. If either of us meets someone else, or just wants out, we tell the other person. Clean break, no hard feelings.”
“Right.” I forced a smile. “See? We’re very mature and reasonable about this.”
This idea felt dangerous, like we’d be caught in the lie and exposed… but at least it had rules that should have made me feel safer. A timeline. An exit strategy.
And there was a selfish part of me that wanted to show up with Connor and watch Sebastian’s face when he realized I hadn’t been lying…
But also the part that wanted however many weeks or months pretending I could date someone like Connor, even if it was just pretend. Even if it ended at the wedding.
“Okay,” I heard myself say. “Let’s do it.”
“Yeah?” His smile made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“So,” I said as I tried to convince myself that my stomach flipping was just heartburn and had nothing to do with his smile. “If we’re going to convince people we’re together, we should probably…” I bit my lip. This was such a stupid idea. “Practice.”
His eyebrows rose. “Practice?”
“You know.” I arched my back, trying to sound confident. “Get comfortable with each other.”
The understanding in his eyes was replaced by something hungrier.
“That makes sense,” he said, voice dropping lower. “We should definitely practice.”
Suddenly the apartment felt too small, too warm, too full of possibility and terrible decisions.
“Can you check your daily agenda?” I asked, wrapping a hand around his tie. “Figure out when we should start?”
His answer was to close the distance between us and kiss me.