Nineteen
NINETEEN
SOPHIE
PRESENT
Y esterday messed with my head. From the casual pizza outing—which was definitely not a date, I have to stop romanticizing it—to the way the evening ended.
God, it felt so natural, just like it had once before. Why did he have to offer to take me to eat, and not only that, he had to go and ruin the night by pressing me about Jared. The thoughts loop endlessly in my mind as I sit in the back of the taxi on my way to Opulent Haven . The way Liam questioned me last night, the way he looked at me—it’s all I’ve been able to think about. There was an edge in his voice, an intensity in his eyes, especially as he spotted the tattoo behind my ear as if recalling an old memory. I had forgotten to cover it that morning. I usually prefer to keep my tattoos covered at work, but now, everything feels exposed.
A part of me wants to scream that Jared means nothing and that I’m past what he did. But I can’t because if I did, what would I gain? What would I prove?
I glance at the time on my phone—nine fifteen a.m. Damn it. I’m already fifteen minutes late, and the traffic isn’t moving. I’m usually never late. I can’t stand it, my dad used to say, “If you’re on time, you’re already late.” With Liam back, messing with my head and my whole being, I’m late for the second time in years.
The driver taps the wheel impatiently as if that’ll magically clear the street ahead. But this is New York—there’s no magic that can fix this mess.
Ugh! Who in their right mind schedules a meeting at nine a.m. during rush hour? Liam, of course.
I throw a quick glance at the traffic outside and make a decision. “Stop here!” I tell the driver, already digging through my bag for cash.
The cab lurches to a stop, and I shove a few bills into the driver’s hand before jumping out onto the sidewalk. It’s warmer than usual this morning, but I barely notice it. I’m too focused on getting to that meeting, on not giving Liam the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.
I start running, my heels clacking loudly against the pavement, each step a reminder of my terrible decision. Why did I choose heels? And not just any heels—Manolos. Beautiful, yes, but completely impractical. The pointed toes pinch with every stride, and the stiletto heels threaten to twist my ankle at any moment. Who in their right mind thinks luxury footwear is designed for anything but standing still? The pavement feels uneven beneath me, and my frustration bubbles over. With every painful step, I’m cursing myself, the shoes, and the situation.
Running used to be part of my daily routine, back when I actually had time for things like morning jogs and more than one Pilates session a week. I was the type to get in a five-mile run before breakfast, thriving on the discipline it brought to my life. But it’s been a while, and now I’m juggling a stuffed handbag in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other, sprinting down the street. This is hardly the cardio I’m used to, and far from the control I like to exert over my schedule. The thoughts barely register before I’m dodging pedestrians, trying not to spill the scalding liquid all over myself.
The first splatter hits my white blouse. “For fuck’s sake,” I curse under my breath, quickening my pace as the hot coffee sears my skin. The sting makes me grit my teeth, and I let out a string of curses loud enough to turn a few heads. But I don’t care. I don’t have the time.
All I can think about is Liam waiting at Opulent Haven , probably checking his watch and growing more impatient by the second. The last thing I want is a repeat of the tension from the other day—his clipped tone and sharp looks that left me feeling…too many things I don’t want to unpack.
I round the corner, and the sign for the boutique comes into view—I'm almost there. As I approach, I catch sight of Liam. His back is to me, arms animatedly gesturing as if he's deep in explanation with the man in front of him. My heart pounds even harder, not just from the run but also from the sudden apprehension of facing him.
This is just embarrassing. I feel like dying.
I push harder, the coffee sloshing out of the cups, my shoes slipping slightly on the pavement. But I won't stop. Not until I’m standing in front of him, ready to work this meeting. Whatever he needs me to do.
I’m sweaty, holding two empty coffee cups that I desperately want to throw at something. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and I’m about to curse Liam for choosing this place when I spot him near the door, speaking with a man who looks like he’s ready to lock up.
“I’m here! I’m here!” I gasp.
Liam turns to face me with a mischievous grin. “Look, here she finally is—my beautiful fiancée,” he announces, the words sliding off his tongue like he’s said them a thousand times before.
My heart stutters in my chest, and I stop in my tracks, my breath completely gone for reasons that have nothing to do with my bad stamina. Fiancée . I’m sorry. What?
Before I can react, he leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “Play along,” before pressing a warm, lingering kiss to my cheek.
I barely have time to process his words or the way his touch sends shivers down my entire body, before the man in charge looks between us, clearly skeptical. “Like I told you, sir, we usually open at ten-thirty. I told you we’d only have time for a twenty-minute spot this morning.”
Liam doesn’t miss a beat. “I know, but my beautiful fiancée has traveled all the way from London,” he says, his voice full of mock sincerity. London? I barely keep my expression neutral as he continues. “She’s been talking about your boutique for weeks. Please don’t make me the man who disappoints her. I can’t stand to see her upset.”
He touches my cheek softly, his fingers lingering just a little too long, and I feel my heart race in response. What is going on?
The man hesitates, clearly torn between his duties and whatever act Liam is pulling. I have to do something—anything—to keep this going.
Channeling every British movie I’ve ever seen, I give the man what I hope is a convincing smile. “Please, sir, it would be positively marvellous if we could simply have a brief look around.” I say, laying on an awful thick accent. Did I just say, ‘positively marvellous’. I mentally cringe, but Liam chuckles softly beside me.
The man crumbles. “Oh, alright,” he sighs, “but you’ll have to be quick.”
“Thank you, you’re an absolute gem,” Liam says overly theatrically, guiding me forward with his arm still draped over my shoulder. We follow the man deeper into the gallery, Liam’s hand resting gently on my shoulder, giving a light squeeze as we walk.
“ Positively marvellous ? Really?” he murmurs with a smirk once we’re out of earshot.
“I don’t know. You’re the one who made me British,” I hiss back, trying to maintain my composure.
“I just said you flew in from London. I never made you British.”
I shoot him a glare, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes that’s hard to resist.
We walk through the gallery, Liam’s arm still resting on my shoulders, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. My heart is still pounding, though I can’t tell if it’s from the sprint I just did or the fact that I’m here, in this situation, with him. My shirt clings to my back, damp from exertion, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a nearby glass case—hair slightly disheveled, makeup smudged, and a faint coffee stain blooming on my blouse. Great. Just great. I’m the epitome of a professional. Oh, scratch that, fiancée now apparently. I’m so confused.
The boutique is beautiful, the kind of place that seems to hold secrets in every corner. Stunning furniture, colorful paintings, and intricate sculptures fill the space, each one mesmerizing—yet none of them hold my attention. All I can think about is the warmth of Liam’s arm around me, the way his fingers graze my skin, caressing my shoulder, and the ridiculousness of our little act.
“As I mentioned during our call, my fiancée and I are very excited to meet you and see your beautiful pieces. I know you usually don’t allow private viewings around this time, but we’re so grateful that you made an exception,” Liam says smoothly, his voice low and convincing.
I glance at him, a little startled by how easily he’s slipping into this role. He catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring smile, squeezing my shoulder gently. The whole situation feels surreal like we’re playing parts in a play we didn’t rehearse for, but somehow, we’re pulling it off. Or he’s pulling it off, not me.
The shop owner nods, clearly pleased with Liam’s charm. “No worries at all. I can’t have you disappoint your beautiful fiancée,” he says with a warm smile. “Take your time, and let me know if you need any help. I’ll be just over there.”
I smile back at him, leaning my head on Liam’s shoulder. “Thank you, sir.”
Liam’s warm hand slips into mine, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world, as if his fingers were made to intertwine with mine. There’s comfort in it, but also an electric charge buzzing through my whole body, as if the argument never happened yesterday.
I glance down at our joined hands, a knot tightening in my stomach. Since when am I okay with this kind of charade? Since when am I the kind of person who plays along, who rests her head on someone’s shoulder like we’re a happy couple scoping out a venue for our wedding? I feel a mix of confusion and unease creep in, but the strangest part? It doesn’t feel as wrong as it should. It feels…too natural. Too easy. Too good.
And yet, part of me can’t shake the thought of yesterday’s argument. I still don’t know why I didn’t tell him about Jared. Maybe a part of me wants to protect Jared from Liam because I know he’d fire him without hesitation. And now that Jared’s here, it’s not so bad having someone to discuss ideas with.
Besides, I’d feel terrible if he got fired because of me—I’m not wired like Jared. Like he used to be.
Liam gently tugs me forward, leading me further into the shop. As we move past the exquisite displays of art and antique furniture, his touch sends a warm shiver through me. I know I should pull away. I shouldn’t let myself feel even a sliver of this, but I can’t.
He moves us toward a breathtaking glass sculpture. It’s an abstract piece with swirling blue and gold shades that seem to dance under the light. Its design is flowing, almost like a wave frozen in time. It would look incredible in the hotel lobby—elegant, yet striking enough to catch anyone’s eye.
He releases my hand and gently guides my fingers over to the cool surface of the glass. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice soft, almost intimate as if we’re sharing a secret. His fingers linger over mine, close enough that I feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“It’s beautiful,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nods, his eyes fixed on mine rather than the piece in front of us. “It is. But I think it needs the right place to truly shine. Don’t you think?”
I can’t find the words to respond. The silence stretches, charged and heavy. His hand brushes against mine and my pulse jumps, but I keep my gaze steady on the piece, pretending not to notice the way my body reacts to his closeness.
But then he steps back, clearing his throat and breaking the spell. The distance he creates feels like a cold rush of air against my skin, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and pull him back. “Let’s keep looking,” he says, his voice slightly rougher than before. “There might be something else that catches your eye.”
We continue walking around the store, the earlier tension settling into quietness. It’s a little bit awkward, and I think we’re both sensing the discomfort.
Thankfully, something catches my eye–a beautiful flower vase.
Without thinking, I almost jump. “Look!” I exclaim, my voice a bit too loud in the quiet space. “That would look beautiful in my apartment.”
I rush over to it, too excited for my own good. The vase has a beautiful antique brass finish that glows softly in the room's light. It feels homey. Its rich color would contrast perfectly in my living room. I can already see it sitting near the window, where the sun would hit it just right.
But as I step closer, my eyes catch the tiny tag hanging from it, with a not-so-tiny price. $1,800. My heart sinks. I can’t afford that. Sure, I might have splurged on a pricey pair of shoes once or twice, but nothing in that price point and to justify that price for a flower vase feels ludicrous! I mean, it’s not that pretty.
I quickly move away from the vase, trying to mask my disappointment. “You know, when I think about it, I don’t really need a new vase,” I say forcing a casual tone. I turn away, pretending to admire something else, but the image of that perfect vase stays with me. Damn New York boutique pricing.
“But you just said it would look perfect,” Liam says, noticing my abrupt change of heart. He steps toward it, clearly intrigued. Quickly, I grab his arm and tug him away, pulling him toward another piece—a stunning sculpture of a dancer caught mid-twirl, her form delicate yet powerful. “Look at this,” I say, trying to redirect his attention. “This would be amazing in the hotel lobby, don’t you think?” I don’t know why I said that. The piece may be beautiful, but it’s not the vibe we’re going for at the hotel, and Liam is well aware of that.
He pauses, glancing between me and the sculpture, his brow slightly furrowed. But before he can ask what's gotten into me, the shop owner approaches us, his warm smile returning.
“When’s the big day?” he asks, nodding toward our linked hands.
Liam smiles warmly, slipping effortlessly back into our little act. “It’s coming up soon,” he says, his voice light. “Just working out the final details.”
“You make a beautiful couple,” he says softly, but there’s a hint of something else there— maybe regret. Because his eyes don’t quite match the warmth of his words. It’s as if he’s speaking from a place of experience, from a memory that still lingers, bittersweet.
“Just remember, young man, to cherish what you have,” he says, his tone filled with quiet sincerity. “Never let her get away. If you’re lucky enough to find your love—the one meant for you—fight for it. Always fight for it. Because a love like that is rare, and once it’s gone, you’ll spend your life searching for something that can never quite compare.”
I look at Liam, my thoughts spinning. This wonderful man—he’s sharing something profound, something from deep within. He must have lost the love of his life, and now, he sees something in us that I can’t bear to acknowledge. But it’s all a lie. If only he knew the truth, that we lost each other years ago.
A pang of sadness tugs at my heart. If our love had been rare, would we have let it slip through our fingers so easily? Wouldn’t we have fought harder? Wouldn’t I have fought harder?
I force a smile, trying to push the thoughts away, but they cling to me, refusing to let go. Our love couldn’t have been that rare, that special, because if it was, we wouldn’t be standing here, pretending.
“I won’t.” Liam responds, his voice almost too steady, betraying nothing of the emotions I can sense simmering beneath the surface. But I know him well enough to catch the flicker of defenselessness in his eyes before he looks away.
“Are you heading back to the office?” Liam asks as we head out of the store. I shake my head, feeling a little lighter after finalizing our purchases. We ordered four versions of that glass wave sculpture, to put in the lobby. They do not look exactly the same, rather like four sisters moving together. Even though we’re still refining the concept, I know those sculptures will fit perfectly.
“I’m actually thinking of working from home today, if that’s okay,” I say, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. “I need to finish up some paperwork. But I’ll meet up with Jared tomorrow morning to wrap up the terrace project.”
Liam chuckles softly, his laughter warm and easy. “Just don’t work too hard. You should enjoy your weekend.”
I hesitate, the previous events still fresh in my mind. “Speaking of which,” I say, crossing my arms, “was the whole fiancée act part of your plan, or did you just decide to wing it?” My tone is light, but my gaze sharpens, searching his face for answers.
He grins, his confidence as steady as ever. “Winging it worked, didn’t it?”
I blink, caught off guard by his nonchalant response. “I guess... But–”
“But what? I had to say something. You were a little late, and we were losing our spot,” he says, brushing it off with a casual shrug.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Firstly, I wasn’t that late. Secondly, when did you book this meeting?”
He hesitates, his usual confidence flickering for just a moment, the uncertainty passing over his face before he regains his composure. “I...had to move things around,” he says, his voice losing some of its usual smoothness, the words coming out more clipped. “It’s a very exclusive gallery, and they only give out small slots. It’s...competitive.”
I raise a brow, unconvinced but too tired to push further.
“You didn’t seem to mind playing along,” Liam says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
I feel my cheeks heat and quickly shake my head. “Well, next time, maybe warn me before you pull a stunt like that.”
“Noted,” he says with an amused glint in his eyes before glancing at his watch. A slight frown crosses his features. “I need to run, but say hi to Addie from me.”
“Sure,” I say softly, watching him walk away. And just like that, the distance between us is back, just like it should be.