Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Audra
“Ignore it,” Taylor says serenely, though she’s watching me with those sharp Ashton eyes. “You’re on vacation.”
“I own a business. There’s no such thing as vacation.”
“Bullshit. What’s the point of success if you can’t step away?”
She’s right, which is annoying. But the buzzing continues, insistent and somehow accusatory. Finally, I break.
“Five minutes,” I tell Taylor as I untangle myself.
“The universe is testing your boundaries,” she calls after me. “The universe can wait!”
But it’s not the universe. It’s Cosmo Parish, my business partner, and he’s left seven texts and three voicemails. My stomach clenches as I dial his number.
“Jesus Christ, Audra, I thought you were dead.”
“Good morning to you too.” I sink onto the cabin’s porch steps. “What’s on fire?”
“Nothing. That’s why I’m calling.” I can hear him typing in the background—Cosmo never does just one thing at a time. “I handled the Pemberton wedding crisis, smoothed things over with the Atlantis vendors, and rescheduled your next three consultations.”
“You... what?”
“I’m staging an intervention. You haven’t taken a real day off in three years. You missed Christmas last year because of the governor’s daughter’s New Year’s Eve gala. You had a panic attack at the Rosenbergs’ anniversary party—”
“That was altitude sickness.”
“—in a ballroom at sea level. Sure.” He sighs. “Look, Gabriel & Associates doesn’t need you for a few weeks. But you need this break before you completely burn out.”
“Cosmo—”
“I’ve already talked to Rebecca and Tim. They’re handling your active events,” he says. “I’ve got the new consultations. And before you ask, yes, I remembered about Mrs. Chen’s flowers—white orchids, not cream, from that specific vendor in Brooklyn.”
I feel tears prickling my eyes. Cosmo and I started this business together seven years ago, both of us refugees from soul-crushing corporate jobs. He knows me better than almost anyone.
“You’re kicking me out of my own company?”
“I’m saving you from yourself. Take a month. Hell, take two. Find whatever you’re looking for up there in the mountains.”
“How did you know I was—”
“Your location services are still on, genius. Plus, that lodge called to confirm your reservation. The guy sounded hot, by the way. Very rumbly voice.”
Reese. Of course.
“It’s not like that.”
“Audra, I’ve known you since we were fetching coffee for sociopaths at Goldman Sachs. You don’t do anything randomly. If you’re at some mountain lodge in the middle of nowhere, there’s a reason.”
Through the trees, I can see Reese hauling wood, his shirt clinging with morning dew and exertion. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders.
“It’s complicated,” I admit.
“The best things always are,” he says. “Look, I’ve got everything handled here. Whatever’s happening up there, let it happen. Stop managing your life like it’s an event and just... live it.”
“I don’t know how to do that anymore.”
“Then learn. That’s an order from your business partner. Don’t make me lock you out of the company email.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me. I changed all the passwords last night.”
“Cosmo!”
“Love you too, babe ,” he says, laughing. “Now go have a mountain adventure. Send pics if the hot lodge guy takes his shirt off.”
He hangs up before I can respond. When I try to log into my email, sure enough, I’m locked out. There’s a single auto-response: Audra Gabriel is on sabbatical through September. For urgent matters, contact Cosmo Zhou.
Sabbatical. Through September. Two months.
“Good for Cosmo!” Taylor says from behind me, and I jump. “Sorry, but you were getting loud and these cabins aren’t exactly soundproof.”
“Did you just applaud my business partner for essentially firing me?”
“For saving you from yourself? Absolutely.” She plops down beside me, still annoyingly flexible from yoga. “So you’re stuck here for two months. What a terrible hardship, being forced to relax in paradise with my brother making moon eyes at you.”
“He’s not—”
“He made you special coffee this morning. The beans he hides from regular guests. He’s currently stress-chopping enough wood to last until December.” She points to where Reese is indeed attacking a log like it personally offended him.
“Maybe he just needs the exercise.”
“Right. Just like he ‘just happened’ to be checking on the honeymoon suite last night.” She stands, stretches. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two in college, but I do know my brother. And he’s been different since you arrived. Lighter, but also wound tighter, if that makes sense.”
“Taylor—”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m just observing. But Audra?” She pauses at the door. “Whatever’s going on with the lodge, with that legal stuff he keeps carrying around—he won’t ask for help. He’s too proud. Thinks he has to handle everything alone.”
She leaves me with that thought, and I sit on the steps, watching Reese demolish another log. The morning sun catches the sweat on his shoulders, the determined set of his jaw. Whatever’s in those papers is eating at him.
I think about our conversation in the suite last night. His hypothetical question about a fake fiancée. The desperation underneath his casual tone.
Cosmo gave me two months. Reese needs help for two months.
It’s still insane. But maybe...
* * *
It’s still light when I head to the main lodge for dinner, having spent the day hiking and trying not to overthink Reese’s dilemma. The dining room is quieter tonight, only a few guests, which somehow makes everything feel more intimate.
Reese’s at a corner table, papers spread in front of him, brow furrowed in concentration. He looks up when I approach, and his face does that thing—softening and lighting up simultaneously—that makes me forget why keeping distance was ever important.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Please.” He hastily gathers the papers, but not before I see the letterhead: MacNeal & Associates, Estate Law.
“Planning world domination?” I aim for light, but his smile is strained.
“Something like that.” He signals the server—a local teenager who blushes when our hands accidentally touch reaching for water glasses. “How was your day? Taylor said you guys did yoga.”
“Taylor tried to kill me with yoga. There’s a difference.”
“She means well.”
“She’s not subtle.”
“No,” he agrees, then looks at me, his expression serious. “Look, about last night, what I said about this…” he waves his hand over the stacked papers besides him. “Just forget—”
“I can help,” I say quietly.
“Audra, no,” he says. “I can’t as you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
We sit in silence while our food arrives while around us, the other guests chat and laugh, oblivious to the weight at our table. After the server leaves, I clear my throat.
“Cosmo basically forced me into a two-month sabbatical,” I begin. “Locked me out of my own company email. I’m stuck here anyway, and you need... you need a fiancee.”
“Are you actually considering this?” His voice is incredulous.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I twist my napkin. “It would be practical. Mutually beneficial.”
His phone rings, sharp and jarring. He glances at it, pales. “It’s Bernard MacNeal, the lawyer.”
We stare at each other, both frozen.
“If you answer that,” I say slowly, “and he asks about your fiancée...”
“I’ll tell him the truth. That I’m not—”
“Or you could let me talk to him.” The words surprise us both. “Just... to buy you time to think.”
“Audra—”
“Answer it, Reese. Let’s see what he wants first.”
He does, his eyes never leaving mine. “Hello, Bernard.”
I can hear the lawyer’s officious voice leaking through. Something about confirming Monday’s meeting, looking forward to meeting the future Mrs. Ashton.
“Actually,” Reese says slowly, “she’s right here. Would you like to say hello?”
My heart pounds as he extends the phone. This is insane. This is absolutely insane.
I take it anyway.
“Hello, Mr. MacNeal. This is Audra Gabriel.”
“Miss Gabriel! How delightful. Reese has mentioned you a few times. Cornell, wasn’t it?”
That’s interesting, considering Reese didn’t know I’d be here until two days ago. “That’s right.”
“How wonderful when old friendships bloom into something more. I look forward to meeting you Monday. We’ll need to discuss some paperwork—timeline for the wedding, that sort of thing. Nothing too invasive, just ensuring everything meets the will’s requirements.”
“Of course. We’re happy to cooperate.”
“Excellent. Oh, and Miss Gabriel? Mildred would have loved you. She always said Reese needed someone who could match him intellectually. An event planner from Manhattan by way of Cornell—you certainly fit the bill.”
We exchange pleasantries and I hand the phone back to Reese, who wraps up the call with promises to have everything ready for Monday.
When he hangs up, we stare at each other across the table.
“You just agreed to be my fake fiancée,” he says slowly, like he can’t quite believe it.
“No, I agreed to talk to your lawyer,” I correct, though my hands are shaking. “That doesn’t mean—”
“But you introduced yourself as my fiancée.”
“I panicked! He was expecting someone and you looked like you were about to confess everything.” I take a breath. “Look, we can call him back. Tell him it was a misunderstanding.”
“Or...” He leans forward. “Or we could try this. Two months. You need time away from the city anyway, and I need—”
“A miracle?”
“I was going to say help, but miracle works too.” He runs a hand through his hair. “This is insane. You know that, right?”
“Completely insane,” I agree, chuckling, the idea that something so not something that would ever make it to my life plans just did. “But we’ll need ground rules. Clear boundaries. This only works if we both know exactly what we’re agreeing to.”
“Of course,” he says. “What kind of boundaries?”
“Well...” I hadn’t actually thought this through. “We’ll need to be convincing for the lawyer. And presumably for locals, guests. But between us, we keep things... professional.”
“Professional.” His lips quirk. “Audie, we once spent thirty-six hours straight together during finals week. You’ve seen me cry over differential equations. I’ve held your hair while you threw up after the Sigma Chi party. That ship has sailed.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
The way he’s looking at me makes my skin warm. “This is temporary. Just through the summer. Once you meet the will’s requirements, we stage an amicable breakup and go back to our lives.”
“Right. Our separate lives. In separate states.”
There’s something in his tone that makes my chest tight, but I push through. “Exactly. Clean and simple.”
“Nothing with us has ever been clean and simple.”
“First time for everything.”
He leans back, studies me with those amber eyes that always saw too much. “Why are you really doing this, Audie?”
A dozen answers crowd my throat. Because I owe you for all the times you saved me in college. Because I can’t stand the thought of you losing this place. Because maybe if we pretend long enough, I’ll remember why we never tried for real.
“Because you’d do it for me,” I say simply.
His expression softens. “Yeah. I would.”
“So we’re doing this?”
“Apparently we are.” He raises his water glass. “To the world’s most ill-advised fake engagement.”
I clink my glass against his. “To two months of pretending.”
But as his fingers brush mine, as his eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes me forget to breathe, I realize the really dangerous part isn’t pretending to be engaged.
It’s pretending I haven’t been in love with him all along.
“We should probably discuss logistics,” I say, defaulting to planning mode. “Where I’ll stay, how we’ll handle things—”
“Move into the Mann Suite,” he says immediately, then blushes. “I mean, it’s the nicest room. Most convincing for a visiting fiancée. And it has space for you to work if you need to—good desk, strong wifi.”
“I thought you were going to update that to ‘barely functioning wifi’ to discourage people from working.”
“I was. But then this incredibly driven event planner showed up and I figured she might need to check in occasionally, even on sabbatical.”
The thoughtfulness of it makes my throat tight. “Reese—”
“Ground rules,” he interrupts quickly. “We need those ground rules. Should probably write them down. You love lists.”
I laugh despite myself. “I do love lists.”
“I’ll get us some paper from the office.”
He’s gone before I can respond, leaving me alone with the magnitude of what I’ve just agreed to. Two months of fake dating my college best friend, the one who got away, the one I’ve measured every other man against for the past decade.
What could possibly go wrong?
“Everything,” I mutter to myself, but I’m smiling. For the first time in years, I feel genuinely, recklessly alive.
When Reese returns with a legal pad and two pens—because of course he remembered I’m particular about my pens—I’m ready.
“Okay,” I say, clicking the pen with determination. “Rule number one...”
But as I look at him, eager and nervous and achingly familiar, I realize the real rules—the ones that matter—are the ones we’ve already broken just by being here together.
The rest is just details.