5. Mia
MIA
Ispend the next twelve hours turning Ethan's contract into something I can live with.
By page three I'm making notes in the margins. By page seven I'm drafting entire new sections.
The original agreement is bloodless. It reads like a corporate acquisition, which I suppose is exactly what Ethan intended. But if I'm going to sign my name to this, if I'm going to let this man into my life even in this inauthentic way, then I need boundaries he can't argue around.
I add a subsection. No physical intimacy beyond what's required for public appearances.
Hand-holding, a kiss on the cheek for photos, his arm around my waist at events.
Nothing more. Definitely no sleeping together, which feels absurd to specify, but I've learned the hard way that men hear what they want to hear.
Ethan's version gives him full control over our public narrative. I change it. Joint approval on all press releases, interviews, and photo ops. If he's using me to rehabilitate his image, I get veto power over how I'm portrayed.
And the section on Derek, I rewrite entirely.
Ethan's original language is vague, promises to "provide legal resources as needed.
" I make it explicit. He drafts and sends a cease-and-desist within one week of the contract signing.
He assigns an investigator to document Derek's movements.
He provides updates on all legal actions taken.
And if Derek escalates, Ethan doesn't get to back out because it's inconvenient or expensive.
By the time I'm finished, it's past midnight and the document has grown to thirty-one pages.
I save it, close the laptop, drain the last of my wine.
Tomorrow I'm showing this to Olivia.
She arrives at Sable at two in the afternoon, which means she's carved time out of her own prep schedule to come read a fake marriage contract. This is friendship.
We sit in my office, the revised document printed and spread across my desk. Olivia picks up the first page, adjusts her reading glasses, and starts scanning.
I watch her face. She reads the way she cooks, with total concentration and absorbing every detail.
"Section Four," she says after a minute. "No physical intimacy. Good. Smart."
"Seemed necessary."
"It is." She flips to the next page. "Joint media approval. Also good. Did he give you full control originally?"
"No. That's why I added it."
"Of course he didn't." She keeps reading, occasionally making small sounds of approval or skepticism. When she reaches the section about Derek, she goes very still.
"This is specific," she says quietly. "Mia, are you sure about this?"
"About which part?"
"All of it." Olivia sets down the page, looks at me over her glasses. "You're marrying a man you don't trust to solve a problem that might not be solvable."
"The alternative is doing nothing and hoping Derek gets bored."
"Or getting actual legal help. A real attorney who isn't using you for publicity."
"I can't afford a real attorney. You know that."
"I could help."
"You've already helped. You've helped so much and I can't ask for more."
Olivia sighs. She picks up the next section and keeps reading. Her expression shifts as she works through Ethan's obligations, the timelines, and the clauses.
"He's thorough," she admits. "I'll give him that."
"He's a lawyer. Thorough is the baseline."
"Thorough doesn't mean trustworthy."
"I know."
She reaches the section about public appearances, the twice-monthly minimum, the expectation that we'll be photographed together at high-profile events. Her mouth tightens.
"This is going to be exhausting and humiliating if it falls apart," she says. "And you're doing it anyway."
"Yes."
Olivia removes her glasses, rubs the bridge of her nose. When she looks at me again there's something complicated in her expression. Concern, resignation, maybe a little bit of admiration for sheer recklessness.
"You know I did this, right?" she says.
I blink. "Did what?"
"Married someone under a contract. Leo and I started as a business arrangement."
The words take a second to land. I've known Olivia for four years, watched her build Flavor Fusion into an institution, attended her anniversary party last year where she and Leo looked at each other like they'd invented love. The idea that they started as some kind of transaction feels impossible.
"You're serious," I say.
"Completely. He had an ex-wife problem, I needed money for my new restaurant. We signed a contract."
"And?"
"And it worked. Until it didn't. Until we actually fell for each other and had to renegotiate everything because the feelings weren't in the original agreement."
She says it lightly but I hear the weight underneath. The risk they took, the vulnerability required to turn something fake into something real.
"That's not going to happen here," I say.
"You sure about that?"
"Completely. Ethan Evans is not someone I could ever fall for."
"You said that quickly."
"Because it's true. He's arrogant and completely emotionally unavailable. This is a business arrangement. That's all it is."
Olivia picks up another page, scans it. "Section Fourteen. What happens if one party develops romantic feelings."
I feel my face heat. "That's standard contract language."
"Is it?"
"It's covering all possibilities."
"Uh-huh." She's smiling now, which is infuriating. "I'm trying to make sure you know what you're walking into. Fake relationships are easy until they're not. And the moment real feelings enter the equation, everything you've built up falls apart."
"Then it's a good thing neither of us is interested in real feelings."
"You say that now."
"I'll say it in a year when we're signing divorce papers."
Olivia studies me for a long moment. Then she picks up a pen, flips to a section near the end.
"Section Twenty-Eight," she says. "Termination Clause. You can end this at any time for any reason."
"With thirty days' notice."
"Change it to immediate termination if he violates any provision related to Derek."
I lean forward. "You think he would?"
"I think he's a lawyer and lawyers are very good at finding loopholes. If Derek escalates and Ethan decides it's more trouble than it's worth, you need an exit that doesn't leave you hanging."
She's right. I take the pen, make the addition in the margin.
We spend the next hour going through every section. Olivia pokes holes in clauses I thought were airtight, suggesting language changes that shift power dynamics in small but meaningful ways. By the time we're finished, the document has another four pages of handwritten amendments.
"Send him this version," Olivia says, stacking the pages neatly. "If he signs without reading it, that tells you something."
"That he doesn't care about details?"
"That he's so confident he thinks he's already won."
He arrives at exactly four o'clock carrying a leather portfolio and wearing a navy suit that suits his body perfectly. I'm in the office reviewing produce invoices when Tanya knocks.
"Your lawyer's here."
"He's not my lawyer."
"Right, right. Your future husband, then."
I glare at her. She grins, unrepentant, and disappears.
Ethan fills the doorway when he enters, which is annoying because the doorway isn't that small. He looks around my office with the same assessing gaze I've seen him use everywhere else, cataloging details.
"Cozy." He sets the portfolio on my desk, opens it. Inside are two copies of our contract, professionally bound, with colored tabs marking signature pages. "I had these printed this morning."
I pick up one copy, flip through it. Every amendment I made is incorporated, formatted in clean legal language that makes my handwritten notes look almost quaint.
"You worked fast," I say.
"I'm motivated." He pulls a pen from his jacket pocket, clicks it. "You want to read through it again or should we just sign?"
"I want to read it."
"Take your time."
But he's standing there watching me, which makes taking my time impossible. I skim the first ten pages, checking that my changes weren't subtly altered, that the language matches what Olivia and I agreed on. Everything looks correct. Probably because everything is correct and I'm just paranoid.
I reach the signature page, look up.
"You're sure about this?" I ask.
"Completely."
"Because once we sign, we're committed. One year minimum unless you violate the Derek provisions."
"I read the contract, Mia."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He leans against the filing cabinet, arms crossed. "This works for both of us. You get protection and legal resources. I get a compelling narrative that rehabilitates my image. It's clean."
"Nothing about this is clean."
"You're right." He almost smiles. "But it's functional. Which is exactly what you need."
I hate that he's right.
I pick up the pen, sign my name on the first copy. The ink is dark against the white page, my signature slightly shaky. I sign the second copy, then slide both across the desk.
Ethan doesn't even glance at them. Just picks up the pen and signs, his handwriting bold and angular, each letter precisely formed.
"So that's it," I say. "We're legally bound to a fake marriage."
"Technically we're bound to a pre-marital agreement about a fake marriage. The marriage itself requires an actual ceremony."
"Please tell me you're joking."
"City Hall, minimal witnesses, a fifteen-minute ceremony. We can do it next week."
I drop my head into my hands. This is real. This is actually happening.
"Hey." Ethan's voice softens slightly. "This is going to work."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
I look up. He's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Something less calculating than usual, almost gentle.
"One year," I say.
"One year," he agrees. "And then you never have to see me again."
"Promise?"
"Scout's honor."
"You were never a Boy Scout."
"How do you know?"
"Because Boy Scouts learn integrity."
He laughs, and the sound is warm enough that I almost forget why I dislike him.
Almost.