Chapter 4
The wine bar smelled like polished wood and something faintly citrus.
Kelsey stepped inside, her ankle boots clicking against the dark hardwood.
The place was dim, the kind of dim that made everything feel intentional—like the low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the way the light caught the edges of bottles lined up behind the bar.
She had rushed here, her heart pounding the whole way.
Three outfit changes, a frantic session with the curling wand, and a last-minute dash to the subway.
Her hair was down, falling in waves she’d spent too long perfecting.
The black top and dark jeans were a careful choice, paired with ankle boots that made her legs look longer than they were.
She’d wanted to look just right, even if this wasn’t a real date.
The thought made her stomach flip—she was going on what looked an awful lot like a date with Elizabeth.
And then she saw her.
Elizabeth stood at the bar, one elbow resting on the polished surface, her back straight as if she were in a boardroom instead of a wine bar.
The navy blazer hugged her shoulders, the fabric catching the light just enough to make Kelsey’s pulse jump.
Her hair was down, dark and loose around her face, and Kelsey’s fingers twitched at her sides like they wanted to reach out and test the weight of it.
Elizabeth turned, her gaze locking onto Kelsey’s like she’d been waiting. Like she’d known exactly when Kelsey would walk in.
Kelsey’s breath hitched. This couldn’t be real. She was standing in a wine bar with Elizabeth, the woman she’d spent months watching from behind the café counter, the woman whose slight smile could make her stomach flip. And now here she was, looking at Kelsey like she was expected.
Then Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to her watch, and the moment shattered.
“You’re late,” Elizabeth said, her voice cool, measured. Not unkind, just… precise. Like she was stating a fact.
Kelsey blinked, her face warming. “I—what? No, I’m not. It’s seven-oh-four.”
Elizabeth’s lips pressed together, just for a second. “We arranged to meet at seven.”
Kelsey’s fingers curled into her palms, her nails biting into her skin.
She had rushed, had checked her phone twice on the subway, had hurried the last block because she didn’t want to keep Elizabeth waiting.
But then there had been the curling wand, the way her hands had shaken when she’d tried to clasp the necklace, the way she’d stood in front of her mirror, her heart pounding, because this wasn’t just a meeting.
This was Elizabeth. And Kelsey had wanted, just for tonight, to look like someone who belonged in her world.
She swallowed, her throat dry. “I thought seven meant seven.”
Elizabeth studied her for a beat, then waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “What are you drinking?”
“A glass of the Sancerre, please.”
Elizabeth turned to the bartender, her voice smooth and certain. “A glass of the Domaine Vacheron Sancerre for her. And for me, a glass of the 2018 Chateau Lynch-Bages.”
The bartender nodded, already pouring.
Kelsey’s throat went dry. Of course Elizabeth would order like that. No hesitation, no “whatever’s good.” Just the name, the vintage, like she’d known exactly what she wanted before she even walked in. Like she always did.
Elizabeth’s card was out before Kelsey could blink, sliding across the bar with the quiet confidence of someone who never questioned whether she belonged.
Kelsey followed her to a booth in the back, the kind with high-backed seats that made the rest of the bar feel far away.
Elizabeth slid in first, her blazer brushing against the leather, and Kelsey sat across from her, her fingers curling around the stem of her wineglass.
The glass was cold. She focused on that—the weight of it, the way the condensation beaded down the sides.
This was really happening. Oh god, this was really happening.
She was sitting across from Elizabeth, the woman she’d been quietly obsessed with for months, and the weight of it pressed down on her chest like a hand.
Her pulse was too fast, her skin too warm, and she couldn’t tell if the buzz under her ribs was fear or something far more dangerous.
Exhilarated didn’t even cover it—this was the kind of thrill that made her fingers tremble, the kind that could either be the start of something or the most spectacular crash of her life.
Elizabeth didn’t waste time. She reached into her bag and pulled out a slim folder, setting it on the table between them. “I drafted something,” she said, her voice low. “It’s straightforward. But I want to go over it with you first.”
Kelsey’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t expected this—not the folder, not the way Elizabeth was looking at her like this was just another business meeting. Like Kelsey was a client.
She should have known.
Elizabeth opened the folder, sliding a single sheet of paper across the table. Kelsey didn’t touch it. She just stared at the neat, typed lines, the bold headers.
“This is a standard independent contractor agreement,” Elizabeth said, tapping a finger against the paper. “It outlines the terms of our arrangement. What you’ll be expected to do. What I’ll provide in return.”
Kelsey’s throat went dry. “You really made a contract for this.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked up, sharp. “I don’t do things without clear terms.”
Kelsey exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around her wineglass.
Elizabeth was watching her, her expression unreadable. “If you’d rather not—”
“No,” Kelsey said quickly. Too quickly. She cleared her throat. “I mean. Yeah. Let’s go over it.”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched, just slightly. Not quite a smile. But something.
Kelsey reached for the paper, her fingers brushing against the edge. The words blurred for a second before snapping into focus.
Independent Contractor Agreement.
She swallowed.
This was really happening.
The wineglass sat untouched in front of Kelsey, condensation beading down the sides like tiny, slow tears. She traced the rim with her thumb, the cool dampness grounding her as Elizabeth’s voice cut through the hum of the bar.
Elizabeth’s voice was steady, methodical, as if she were outlining a court filing rather than a weekend that would upend Kelsey’s entire sense of normal.
“Saturday morning departure,” she said, tapping the table once with her index finger, the nail—pale pink, perfectly manicured—catching the dim light.
“We’ll leave by eight. That gives us time to check in, settle, and…
” A pause. A flicker of something in her eyes, gone before Kelsey could name it. “Prepare.”
Kelsey’s pulse jumped at the word. Prepare. Like this was a performance. Like they were actors memorizing lines instead of two people about to step into something that already felt too real.
“The wedding is at three,” Elizabeth continued, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Ceremony, then reception. We’ll be expected to stay through the evening. Dancing, toasts—all of it.”
Kelsey’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass.
Dancing. Toasts. Pretending. She could already feel the weight of Elizabeth’s hand on the small of her back, the way her breath might catch if their eyes met across the room.
It wasn’t just about playing a part anymore. It was about surviving it.
Kelsey nodded, her eyes scanning the neat lines of text.
“Shared hotel room,” Elizabeth continued, her fingers brushing against the contract as she spoke, the words precise and measured.
The overhead light caught the sharp line of her jaw, the way her throat moved when she swallowed before continuing.
“For appearances.” Her voice dropped slightly, just enough that Kelsey had to lean in to catch the next part.
“And the payment is five thousand dollars.” She said the amount like it was just another line item in a budget.
Kelsey’s fingers twitched against the wineglass. Five thousand. Enough to cover rent for months, maybe even put a dent in her savings goal. The number burned behind her ribs—too much, too generous—and her throat tightened like she’d swallowed something too hot.
Elizabeth leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp. “This covers your time, the outfit, any lost wages. And of course, discretion.”
Kelsey swallowed. Discretion. Right. Because this wasn’t real. None of it was.
She forced herself to look up, to meet Elizabeth’s eyes.
“This is fine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
“But I just think… we should probably rehearse a little. Learn each other. Enough that it feels natural if someone asks us something personal. I don’t see how this could work if we just go on Saturday morning and don’t see each other between now and then.
I know it’s only two weeks away, but we don’t know each other. At all.”
Kelsey wasn’t trying to manipulate her way into more time with Elizabeth—though, okay, maybe some tiny, selfish part of her was.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was that right now, if they walked into a room together, no one would believe for a second that they were anything more than strangers forced into proximity.
Elizabeth’s posture was too rigid, her tone too measured, like she was negotiating a plea deal instead of planning a weekend with someone she was supposed to be in love with. And for her? She knew she was a mess.
They didn’t even look like friends. Friends touched each other’s arms when they talked.
Friends leaned in. Friends had inside jokes and shared glances and a history that showed in the way they moved around each other.
Right now, Elizabeth was treating her like a witness she had to prep for cross-examination, and Kelsey was too busy trying not to stare at the way Elizabeth’s blazer pulled across her shoulders to remember how to act like a functional human being.