Chapter 5
There’s something about Mom’s cinnamon pancakes and homemade cranberry syrup that makes me feel like I’m actually home for the first time in ages. Manhattan’s fanciest brunches have nothing on breakfast at the Hartley table.
“Carol, this is absolutely delicious,” Alexander says, finishing his third pancake. “I can see where Olivia gets her attention to detail.”
“Suck up,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?” Alexander asks, his head turning sharply.
I smile sweetly. “Nothing.”
“You two must be exhausted after your trip,” Mom says, collecting our empty plates. “Why don’t you go upstairs and rest for a bit? Dad and Alexander put your luggage in your room already.”
“What about the guest bedroom?” I blurt out, panic rising in my chest.
Mom looks at me with confusion. “The guest room? Why would you need that?”
“Alexander likes his own space,” I explain hastily. “He’s used to having room to spread out.”
“She’s just saying that to be polite,” Alexander interjects smoothly, placing his hand over mine. “I’m perfectly happy sharing with Olivia.”
“That’s settled then,” Mom says with a satisfied smile. “You two go on up.”
We head upstairs, and I’m mentally calculating which hallway closet has the extra blankets I’ll need for a makeshift bed on the floor, when I push open my bedroom door and stop short.
All our luggage sits neatly arranged at the foot of my bed. My bed. Singular.
My childhood bedroom remains exactly as I left it when I moved to New York.
Pale lavender walls, a vintage dreamcatcher hanging above the headboard, and a bookshelf crammed with worn romance novels I never let anyone see me reading.
A few certificates and ribbons from high school still hang on the wall, along with a corkboard covered in faded photos—including one of Chase and me at senior prom that I mentally note to remove ASAP.
But it’s the bed that makes my stomach drop. It’s not a twin, thank god, but it’s not exactly spacious either. A full-size mattress with a white comforter and purple throw pillows. Cozy for one person. Intimate for two.
I hear Alexander enter the room behind me, closing the door with a soft click. I spin around, arms crossed defensively. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” I announce before he can say anything.
Alexander surveys the room with interest, his eyes lingering on my bookshelf, before settling on me with amusement. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll fit on the bed.”
“It’s inappropriate,” I hiss, keeping my voice low. “You’re my boss.”
“Nothing about this situation is appropriate, Olivia,” he points out, sitting on the edge of my bed like he belongs there.
“But we’re in it together, so you need to either play along or everyone will realize this is a facade.
The way you’re acting, anyone watching would think you’re miserable or hiding something. ”
“I am hiding something! The fact that this entire relationship is fake!”
He sighs, running a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up in a way that somehow makes him look even more attractive. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked nicely.” His voice has that edge I recognize from board meetings—the one that makes Fortune 500 CEOs scramble to comply.
I don’t move.
Alexander raises an eyebrow, then reaches out, catches my wrist, and gently but firmly pulls me toward him. Before I can protest, I’m sitting in his lap, his arms looped loosely around my waist.
My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can feel it. “What are you doing?” I manage to ask, my voice embarrassingly breathless.
“Is it me?” he asks, his gray eyes studying my face. “Do you have a problem with me specifically?”
“What? No.”
“Then what’s the problem? I’ve been the perfect fake boyfriend. Your parents adore me. Your father is driving the luxury car I gave him. What more could you want?”
I swallow hard. He has a point. “Nothing. You’ve been perfect.”
“I’m trying to help you,” he says, his voice firm. “But I need your help, too. We agreed to this arrangement together, Olivia.”
“I know, but—”
“You need to get used to this.” His grip on my waist tightens just enough to make my breath hitch. “We’re no longer boss and employee here. We’re a couple who can’t keep their hands off each other.”
I try to will my face not to turn red at his words. “After New Year’s, we’ll go back to who we were,” I point out. “How will we look each other in the eye?”
His mouth quirks into that half-smile I’ve seen a thousand times across conference tables. “Like we always do. You’ve been with me for six years through acquisitions and hostile takeovers and that disaster in Dubai. I’m here for you now.”
“You’re not acting like yourself,” I say, looking at him with suspicion.
His expression shifts, a gleam of amusement mixed with challenge in his eyes. “What if this is who I really am?” His voice has dropped lower, his eyes watching me intently. “You only see me at work. Maybe this is the real me.”
That throws me completely. I’ve never considered that the Alexander I know—controlled, demanding, meticulous—might only be one facet of him. That there could be this other Alexander who buys cars for fathers and charms mothers and looks at me like I’m something precious.
“Don’t overthink this,” he says, reading my expression perfectly. “Just enjoy time with your family. Let me handle the rest.”
“But the car...” I can’t just let that go. It’s a BMW, for god’s sake.
He shrugs. “I wanted to make a good impression. Now your ex knows your new boyfriend got your father a fancy car.”
I stare at him as realization dawns. “Wait, don’t tell me this is some sort of pissing contest? You do know that as a fake boyfriend, you don’t really have to engage in some competition he doesn’t even know about. You don’t have anything to prove.”
He gives me an arrogant look. “I may be your fake boyfriend, Olivia, but I still want to be better than that boy you dated.”
“It’s going to take some time getting used to this new side of you,” I sigh, not sure whether to be annoyed or flattered.
“You’ll have to get used to something else, too,” he says, his voice dropping even lower.
“What’s that?”
His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer against his chest. My breath catches as I realize how intimate our position is, how I can feel the solid warmth of him through my sweater.
“This,” he murmurs.
I almost open my mouth to say something—I have no idea what—when his lips capture mine.
Unlike the airport bar kiss, which started rough and demanding, this one begins gently.
His mouth moves over mine with purpose. Then his tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and all my resistance melts away.
I lean into him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, then his hair. It’s softer than I expected. He makes a sound against my mouth—something between approval and hunger—and deepens the kiss. His hand slides up my back, cradling the nape of my neck, angling my head.
For someone who’s supposedly just pretending, Alexander Castellano kisses like a man who means it. And worse, I’m kissing him back like I’ve been waiting for this for years.
The door swings open with a cheerful creak. “I forgot your towels—Oh!”
I jump up so fast I nearly fall over, my face burning with mortification. My mother stands in the doorway, a stack of fluffy towels in her arms and a look of delighted surprise on her face.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurt, then immediately want to slap myself. Of course it’s exactly what she thinks: her daughter making out with her boyfriend.
Mom laughs. “Honey, you’re both adults in a committed relationship. Don’t let me interrupt.” She sets the towels on my dresser with a knowing smile. “I’ll make sure to knock next time. Loudly.”
She backs out of the room, closing the door with an exaggerated wink that makes me want to crawl under the bed and die. I cover my face with my hands. “Kill me now.”
“This is exactly what I mean,” Alexander says, standing up and approaching me.
“What?” I snap, dropping my hands.
“You’re acting like we’re doing something wrong.” He takes another step toward me.
I retreat instinctively, my back bumping against the door. He places one hand on the wall beside my head, the heat of his body radiating against mine. Despite my embarrassment, a flutter starts in my stomach. My heart hammers against my ribs, betraying me.
“While we’re here in Silverbell Hollow,” he says, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I’m not your boss. I’m just a man who wants to kiss you. I’m going to kiss you again.”
I don’t say no. I can’t. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting.
His lips brush softly against the tip of my nose. When I open my eyes in surprise, he’s watching me with that sly smile I’m starting to know too well.
“Told you,” he whispers wickedly. “Coward.”
“You’re such a jerk,” I breathe. “You were never this bad at work.”
He shrugs. “I can be if you want.”
I shove the towels at his chest. “Go shower. You smell like pancake syrup.”
“So do you,” he points out, but he takes the towels and steps away, giving me space to breathe again.
“I’ll shower after you,” I say, trying to regain some dignity.
He chuckles as he walks to the door. “Whatever you say, Olivia.” The way he says my name—soft, almost like a caress—sends a shiver down my spine.
As the door closes behind him, I sink onto my bed, grab a pillow, and scream into it with all my might. The sound muffles against the fabric, but the frustration remains.
I flop back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. “He’s going to drive me crazy,” I announce to my empty bedroom.
A month suddenly feels like an eternity.
* * *
I’m not tired—at least that’s what I tell myself as I hurry down the stairs, desperate to escape the confines of my childhood bedroom. After that kiss and my mother’s interruption, the last thing I need is to be alone with Alexander in a room with a bed.
“You look nice,” Alexander says, his eyes sweeping over me as I reach the bottom of the stairs.