Chapter 7 #2
I bury my face in my hands because of course this is the part my memory kept.
“Yes,” I admit. “We kissed.”
Amelia slaps the rug. “I KNEW IT.”
Margot holds up a hand. “Okay. Practical. What’s the plan? Annulment? Quiet divorce? Witness protection?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Victor wants to handle it quietly. His publicist is building some narrative. We’re supposed to… coordinate.”
“Coordinate what?” Margot asks.
“I don’t know. Logistics.”
Amelia’s eyes gleam. “Oh my god. Are you going to fake-date your fake husband?”
“No.”
“That is literally a Nancy Meyers movie.”
“Oh no. No, no, no. Absolutely not. This isn’t a movie. This is my career imploding in real time.”
Margot’s expression softens slightly. “Harper. Does he know?”
And just the simple question makes the floor inside my chest tilt.
I reach for my wine, then stop, then reach again.
Six weeks ago, FoodFirst TV Executive Producer Vanessa Chu slid into my inbox and offered me something StreamEats could never offer.
Control. Budget.
Stability.
All I have to do is provide some very minor intel. What they’re working on. The new shows they’re considering.
Things that if I shared wouldn’t “technically” violate an NDA.
But with all that FoodFirst is offering—not a chance to host, but an actual chance to create my own cooking show, a dream I’ve wanted since I knew what dreams were—how could I say no?
I shake my head. “He doesn’t.”
Amelia’s face softens, too, the chaos easing into loyalty. “Because of your career?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “And I promised Mom I’d help with—“
I catch myself, and Amelia frowns.
“Help her with what?” She presses.
I shrug, resisting the chill that just spread over my arms. “Just some household stuff. She’s reorganizing the office.”
Margot’s eyes flicker, but she doesn’t push.
“Anyway, it’s just that I’ve worked too hard for this,” I finish. “And now I look like the idiot who got drunk and married her boss at a video game chapel.”
Amelia scoots closer and bumps her shoulder against mine. “Harper, you are not an idiot.”
“There are GIFs, Amelia.”
“So? There are GIFs of everything. There are GIFs of penguins falling down stairs. That doesn’t mean penguins are failures.”
Margot exhales. “That is… somehow the worst pep talk and best pep talk I’ve ever heard.”
Amelia nods, satisfied. “Thank you.”
Margot turns back to me. “What does Victor want?”
“To play the happy couple until we can quietly annul this thing.”
“And what do you want?” Margot asks.
I blink. “What?”
“What do you want, Harper?”
I open my mouth before closing it again.
Because what I want—what my body stupidly remembers wanting in Vegas—was a man who was looking at me exactly the opposite of how Thomas used to look at me.
Because when you’re married for as long as I’d been—five and a half years—you knew all the looks.
You knew “Lust” and “Adoration” and “Scorn.”
In that last year of my marriage with Thomas, all I’d known was “Scorn.”
Until the “incident.”
But with Victor Kade? I’d had a suited, sexy, handsome Adonis looking at me like he didn’t know the definition of scorn. Like he liked what he saw. Like I wasn’t a punchline.
But if the last year has taught me anything, it’s that wanting is dangerous. Wanting is how you become the fool.
Wanting is how you end up coming home from a trip back to your French-Canadian hometown, luggage still at your feet, to a husband who says “I never loved you.”
So I give Margot the easiest answer I can find.
“I want this to not be happening,” I say.
Amelia lifts her yarn. “Okay. But it is happening. So we need a battle plan.”
Margot lifts her wine glass. “Agreed.”
Amelia lifts a spring roll. “Agreed. Also, Declan says if Victor breaks your heart, he will ‘have a respectful conversation with him’ which is fiancé code for murder.”
Margot sighs. “Declan is too good for this family.”
“He’s marrying in. He’ll adapt.”
My phone buzzes again on the cushion beside me, and I flinch like it’s a landmine. Amelia instantly lunges for it.
“Ooh! Is it Victor? Is it his scary PR agent? Is it the chapel offering you a brand deal for Gamer Marriage Core?”
“Don’t,” I say quickly, snatching it first.
I check the email notification, noticing a new calendar invite….and an attachment.
FROM: Rachel Stone
TO: Harper Beaumont
SUBJECT: Media Strategy - TIME SENSITIVE
I open it with dread.
The attachment is fourteen pages long.
There's a timeline. Talking points. A list of "approved responses" to potential questions. A section titled "What Not To Say (Ever, Under Any Circumstances)."
And at the bottom:
"Meeting scheduled for tomorrow (Friday) at 10 AM. StreamEats HQ, Conference Room 7B. You, Victor, and me. Dress professionally. Coffee will be provided. This is going to take a while."
I show my sisters the phone.
Margot reads it and whistles. “Fourteen pages."
"She's thorough," Amelia says.
"She's terrifying."
"Also that."
I set the phone down and grab another spring roll. "This is a nightmare."
"Or," Amelia says, eyes gleaming, "it's an opportunity."
I stare at the invite, pulse thudding hard enough to make my ears ring, and my younger sister points her crochet hook at me like she’s issuing a royal decree.
“Okay. New rule. No secret work spirals tonight. Tonight we eat Thai, drink wine, and decide which of us gets to punch Victor Kade in the throat if he’s mean to you tomorrow.”
Margot lifts her wine glass. “I’ll help you handle the legal ramifications.”
“I’ll take care of the emotional devastation,” Amelia says, dead-serious.
I lock my phone and set it face-down like that makes it disappear.
Amelia bumps my shoulder again. “You’re going to be fine.”
Margot nods. “You are.”
I nod back, because it’s easier than explaining that “fine” is something I’ve been performing for years.
We toast, and I try to ignore the way my hands are shaking.
Because tomorrow, I have to face Victor Kade in a conference room. Tomorrow, I have to be professional. Strategic. Smart.
A vision of a rare, laughing Victor Kade flashes through my memories, but I instantly push it away.
Because that Victor doesn't exist anymore.
Maybe he never did. Maybe he was just drunk-Vegas-Victor, a temporary glitch in the Ice Prince's programming.
The real Victor Kade is the one who had me investigated while I slept, who forced me into a two-month arrangement I couldn't refuse, who looks at me now as a problem to be managed instead of a person.
And I need to remember that, to keep in mind that this is a business transaction only.
And in two months, when this is over and we go our separate ways, I'll still have my career. My dignity. My ability to look myself in the mirror.
I will do my job. I will play my part. I will smile for the cameras and curtsy for the press and pretend we're happily married. And when it's over, I will walk away with my heart intact.
Because I've already learned this lesson once during my divorce, and I’m not learning it again.
Not with Victor Kade. Not with anyone.
Never again.