Chapter 22
Alexander
I have always been an early bird, eager to get ahead of the day, to seize control before the chaos of the world unfolds.
But this morning is different. I lie here, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing yet my body unwilling to move.
Olivia’s warmth beside me is a reminder of how much has changed—how much I’ve changed.
Her breathing is steady, rhythmic, and I find myself matching it, as if trying to sync my restless energy with her calm.
I glance at her, careful not to wake her.
Her golden hair is loose, spilling across the pillow, and there’s a faint smile on her lips even in sleep.
It’s disarming, this quiet intimacy. I’m not used to it, not used to letting someone this close.
I’m supposed to be at work, already pretending to care about morning numbers and projections. The alarm on my phone has gone off twice, and both times I’ve turned it off and burrowed deeper into the knot of limbs and cotton.
I try to move. I really do. But the second I actually sit up, Olivia shifts, seeking me out, her hand splaying over my chest and dragging me right back down.
“Don’t go,” she mumbles, voice husky and small, and I’m powerless. I press my lips to the hollow beneath her ear, trailing a line down her jaw, over the pulse that thrums at her throat. Her fingers curl against my bicep, nails grazing lightly, just enough to shiver me into goosebumps.
“I have meetings,” I say.
Her smile widens. “They’ll survive without you.”
I answer by rolling, pinning her beneath me, letting my hands map out the curves I already know by heart but can never seem to memorize well enough. Our laughter, low and dangerous, tangles in the sheets with us. When she kisses me, it’s slow and greedy. Indulgent.
Eventually, I force myself up, extricating from her with a groan. She watches me dress, propped up on an elbow, sheet clutched to her chest, but otherwise shameless, like it’s perfectly normal to be half-naked and devastatingly beautiful in the presence of a man losing his mind.
She teases me as I struggle with my cufflinks, one eyebrow cocked at my muttered curses. “You’re late, Mr. Hawthorne.”
I pause, cufflink half-on, and shoot her a look over my shoulder. “You’re not helping, future Mrs. Hawthorne.”
She grins, and I return to the bed, kneeling beside her, letting my hand drift up her calf, to her knee, to her hipbone. I lean in, kissing her one last time at the corner of her smile.
“Dinner tonight,” I promise. “Just us. I’ll cook.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s charmed. “Go before I make you late. I want you to think about me all day.”
She’s still smiling when I finally leave, her face the last thing I see before the door clicks shut behind me.
The corridors of my building are quieter than they should be for nine a.m. I move through them on autopilot, waving absently at the doorman, nodding to the cleaning crew, heart still stuttering with the echo of her laughter. I want to text her already, but force myself to wait.
The car ride is a blur of phone calls, emails, and crisis fires to be doused before I even hit the office.
When I do, my assistant is waiting with a stack of folders and a look that says he’s one missed meeting away from quitting.
I nod, take the folders, and retreat into the corner office overlooking the city, three shades of glass and steel between me and the world below.
The morning is a slog. My mind drifts. Every time I close my eyes, I see Olivia—how she looked in the half-light, her lips curved in that teasing smirk that drives me mad. I snap back to the screen, grind through numbers.
By noon, the pile on my desk has doubled, paper overtaking every inch. I’m completely focused on reviewing the monthly reports when Cameron storms into my office, unannounced.
“What the hell are you doing, Alex?”
I glance up and lean back in my chair. “Just going over some reports. What’s up?”
Cameron’s eyes narrow as he approaches my desk. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” His voice is casual. Measured.
I arch an eyebrow. “You’ll need to be more specific.”
“The whole office is talking about you and the woman you brought to the office yesterday.” Cameron cocks his head. “Do you have any idea how many people saw that? How many are talking about it right now?”
“I wasn’t aware my personal life was a topic for office gossip,” I say calmly.
I take a moment to study him. He’s not hiding the strain; it’s in the set of his jaw, the line between his eyebrows, the frustration almost palpable beneath the surface. I know Cameron well enough to recognize what’s underneath—the uneasy mix of disbelief and genuine concern.
“That was Olivia. My new fiancée.” From Cameron’s stunned expression, I know I have a lot of explaining to do. “She’s not the woman Father chose,” I clarify. “She’s her sister. Olivia needed my help, and I needed to appease my father without giving up either of our freedom.”
“Is Olivia the same woman you left the gala with on your arm?”
“She is.”
Silence settles between us as Cameron absorbs the news.
His brow furrows. “Alex, do you realize how risky this is? You could have an enormous scandal on your hands. Your father will—”
“He’ll be pleased I’m engaged, as he wanted.
The details are irrelevant.” Cameron raises an eyebrow skeptically, but I continue, “Olivia is different. You should see her, Cam. She is smart, capable, and understands the world we live in.” I stand up and pace behind my desk as I try to explain.
“And it’s not just that. She challenges me, makes me want to be better, to do more than just follow in my father’s footsteps. ”
“You like her.”
I stop pacing and lean against the edge of my desk, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yeah, I do. More than I expected to.”
Cameron finally smiles. “I’m happy for you, man. You deserve it. I never thought I would see the day you’d catch feelings for anyone. Down bad is a good look on you.”
The tightness in my chest loosens. “Thank you, Cam. Believe me, I never saw it coming either.”
He claps my shoulder. “You still manage to surprise me after all these years. Who would have thought the world’s biggest commitment-phobe would end up engaged to a woman he had only met a week ago?
It just shows you that you have to listen to my advice more often,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk, “because clearly my romantic expertise is still unmatched.” I flip him off and shoo him out of the office before he gets smug enough to make a speech.
Alone once more, I reach for my phone and dial my driver’s number. “James? Can you pick up Olivia from work and bring her to my place around 6 p.m.? I’ll text you the address.”
After ending the call, I rush through the remaining hours of work, trying to finish all the urgent tasks as quickly as possible. The day’s meetings blend together, and soon I’m making my way out of the office and towards the fancy grocery store a few blocks away.
Inside, I find myself staring at an array of fresh produce, slightly overwhelmed.
What was that dish Olivia loved so much?
My fingers hover over vibrant bell peppers and fragrant herbs.
This isn’t something I’m used to doing—usually my chef handles everything.
But the memory of Olivia’s delighted smile as she tasted my cooking spurs me on.
I load my cart with various ingredients, hoping that inspiration will hit me once I’m in the kitchen.
As I reach for a bottle of wine, I catch a glimpse of myself in the store’s mirrored wall.
There’s an eagerness in my eyes I barely recognize, a lightness to my step that’s been missing for far too long.
“What are you doing, Hawthorne?” I murmur to myself with a wry smile. But deep down, I already know the answer. I am falling hard and fast for someone who was only meant to be a convenient arrangement.
And despite everything, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Back at my penthouse, I roll up the sleeves of my crisp white shirt and set to work in the kitchen.
The recipe I’ve pulled up on my tablet looks deceptively simple, but I’m determined to get it right.
The sizzle of garlic in olive oil fills the air as I chop herbs with more concentration than I’ve given most business deals.
“Come on, Alex,” I mutter to myself, carefully measuring out spices. “You can broker million-dollar contracts. Surely you can manage a pasta dish.”
As the sauce simmers, releasing a delectable scent, I set the table. Instead of using my fancy china reserved for family occasions, I opt for a simpler but elegant set that Olivia once admired. Peonies, her favorite, sit in a vase as the centerpiece.
My fingers hesitate over the stereo controls before settling on a soft jazz playlist. The mellow notes of a saxophone fill the room, adding to the intimate atmosphere I’m trying to create.
Standing back, I survey my handiwork. The flickering candlelight casts a warm glow over the table, and the aroma of herbs and garlic permeates the air. It’s perfect, or at least, I hope it is. Perfect for Olivia.
A realization washes over me, as powerful as it is unexpected. I want this. Not just tonight, but every night. I want Olivia here, in my home, in my life. The thought of our arrangement ending, of her walking away when this is all over, is unbearable.
But instead of feeling panicked, I feel a sense of calm certainty. Olivia Carter has become more than just a convenient solution to my family’s expectations. She could become my everything.
As I turn back to the stove to give the sauce a final stir, I make a silent promise to myself. I’ll make her see that what we have is real, that it’s worth fighting for. Even if it means going against everything I’ve been taught about duty and family expectations.
Because Olivia? She’s worth it all.