32
Christmas Eve at the Ashford home was something out of a movie. A centimeter of snow dusted the wide lawns and hedges trimmed to architectural perfection.
The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and pine, as Claire gently woke up in the guest bedroom at her parents’ house… next to a half-naked man with swirling tattoos covering his chiseled shoulders and arms.
“Ahh!” she yelped. Then she remembered her whirlwind of a night.
Harrods is a fever dream in December.
Noah and Claire decided on Harrod’s department store since he was in dire need of a tux for the Christmas Eve party at the Kensington Estate. Noah would also need clothes, underwear, toiletries, shoes, and other important items that are probably being pawned off to Liams’ cousins by this point.
Every surface gleamed of marble floors polished to a mirror shine, chandeliers throwing warm light over an endless sprawl of designer counters and hushed voices. Christmas threw up in the building, it was omnipresent.
Claire pauses just inside the doors, momentarily overwhelmed. “I forgot how ridiculous this place is,” she murmurs.
Noah’s eyes track upward, taking in the scale of it all. “Haven’t been here in a while. I can’t believe this is still a shop.”
She laughs. “Technically.”
They moved through the crowds easily. He was tall and solid at her side, a natural buffer against the crush of people. More than once, his hand found the small of her back, guiding her without thinking, protecting her. It looked effortless. Convincing.
Dangerously so.
Claire stopped walking when they approached the men’s tailoring department. “We are going to a Christmas Eve ball at Kensington estate.”
He glanced at her, one brow lifting. “I have to wear a tux?”
She snorted. “You cannot show up in a suit. My mother would notice from across the room and quietly decide you were raised by wolves, or worse, the French.”
The tailor measured him with swift and efficient movements, chalk flashing against deep black fabric.
Claire sat nearby, pretending not to watch as Noah shrugged into a jacket that looked like it was made for him.
Clean lines, broad shoulders, impossible ease.
He stepped into the fitting room for pants.
When he stepped out into the open, the room stilled.
“Oh,” Claire said before she could stop herself. He looked hot. Drool might as well have dripped out of her mouth right there onto the floor.
Noah tilted his head. “Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?”
She cleared her throat, recovering. “Annoyingly good.”
It took all of Noah’s strength to hold back a smile.
The tux was classic – black, sharp, understated. No theatrics. No excess. Just presence. His tattoos peeked out just at the top of the collar and just under the sleeves. Claire momentarily thought that maybe this “fake boyfriend” business could actually be real.
The tailor nodded, satisfied. “Very good, sir.”
Noah met Claire’s eyes behind his shoulder, reflected in the mirror. For a heartbeat, neither of them looks away.
This was meant to be a costume. A tool. Another part of the plan.
But watching him there – polished and lethal and sexy – Claire felt the first hairline crack in her resolve.
She was actually excited for once, to attend this Christmas Eve Ball.
Claire bought the tuxedo as is. She lied and told Noah that she would return it, but she knew he would keep it forever. He looked too good in it to return, and it would be a shame for her to not show off this man to the world.
They moved on to the other departments, getting everything they needed. They debated what bribe gift to get Kelsey. Something indulgent but thoughtful. Something Kelsey wouldn’t suspect was a bribe but absolutely was.
“Maybe I can introduce him to a viscount,” Claire suggested.
“Do you even know a viscount?”
“Unfortunately, I know a couple…” she confirmed. “Oh! Or maybe to a Presidents’ son!”
Noah looked intrigued, “Like in Red, White, and Royal Blue?”
“Hey! It could happen!” They laughed comfortably. “You never know!”
In the end, they land on silk pajamas, absurdly soft, in a color that would look unfair on Suzanne, some books for her father, and a designer jacket for Kelsey.
Which was not easy to find, as he is a 6’5 big boy.
Claire had the suspicion, if she had introduced Kelsey to a viscount, he wouldn’t be mad.
“Subtle,” Claire said, eyeing the total.
Noah just gave a mischievous smile. “I’ve been a professional athlete my whole adult life, Claire.” He just paid the total, without thinking twice.
Claire couldn’t help but to think if this beautiful, smiling man was the same man she met months before. He certainly was not forthcoming or acted like this back in Auckland. Here, he was charming, fun, and clever.
By the time they left, Harrods bags were swinging between them, the sky outside had gone dark and the city glowed with life. Claire exhaled, the cold biting her cheeks. Noah gave his valet ticket to the man eager to bring the car around.
He led her by the waist, into the open passenger side of the car. This was supposed to be fake. This was supposed to be fake. This was supposed to be fake, Claire kept repeating to herself. It might become her new mantra.
But earlier, walking beside Noah through Knightsbridge, warm and laughing and wrapped in borrowed normalcy, it felt less like pretending and more like real life.
Claire remembered getting back to the house with Noah in tow, showing him to their newly shared suite. When walking by the open door of Claire’s actual bedroom, now commandeered by Kesley, they heard a “Well. Well. Well,” coming from inside the room.
The couple stopped in the hallway and peered into the room to find Kelsey facing the window while sitting in Claire’s pink desk chair. When he turned in the chair to face them, the chair squeaked under his weight.
Claire scoffed at how ridiculous he looked trying to get the likeness of a villain from a movie.
He did have the build of a scary man, but it would be more menacing if the chair wasn’t a pastel pink hue and too small for his body size.
Not to mention he was stroking a fluffy white throw pillow on his lap and wore a Dolly Parton t-shirt.
“Looks like you two have a lot of explaining to do,” Kelsey said to them.
That's when the pair explained the whole version of the story they crafted. How they started developing feelings for each other, the grocery store moment in Australia, Johannesburg when Noah kissed her for the first time, all the way to the present.
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, mate,” Noah said to Kelsey, patting him on the shoulder. “We just aren’t ready to go public yet.”
Claire agreed, nodding and confirming Noah’s story to Kelsey. “We would really appreciate you keeping this news to yourself, Kelsey.”
He sat for a moment, staring at his fearless Captain and the doctor, contemplating what he could get out of it.
He pursed his lips together and then agreed with a short reply. “Fine.” He looked at them both, “but you owe me.”
Noah knew that Kelsey didn’t actually want anything, that he loved doing things for the plot, just for the drama. The fact that Kelsey was involved at all, would be enough. However, he was grateful. Grateful to have a loyal teammate, and grateful for that teammate's discretion.
Now this tanned, tattooed man was sleeping in her bed.
“Hi,” Noah said to her in a gravelly voice.
“Sorry to wake you,” Claire said, “I just… forgot.”
Noah was staring at Claire in awe. She hadn’t brushed her teeth, bothered with makeup and she was acutely aware of how her face felt bare and honest against the pillow.
Her long hair was loose and slightly wild with natural waves.
She was curled into a matching pajama set, cotton and understated, the kind she wore only when she was in the comfort of her own home.
To be fair, she wasn’t expecting all of this to happen.
Noah’s eyes went right to Claire’s chest, which was slightly exposed from the unbuttoned pajama top.
She didn’t inherently hide, however. There was something quietly intimate about being seen like this, unfiltered and real.
Something about Noah that made her trust that he would protect this version of her.
Noah turned to sprawl on his back, one arm flung above his head, utterly unselfconscious.
He wore only briefs, the dark fabric doing very little to disguise the strength of his body, the definition in his abs, the cut of his hips, the easy confidence of a man who is proud of his body. Claire felt like drooling again.
“Mmm…” she said quietly. She didn’t mean to say that; it just slipped out.
“What’s that?” Noah asked, teasing. He heard her, and if he was completely honest, he was happy that she liked what she saw.
Claire had seen him like this before, in the shed, in the cryo chamber, but this felt different. It was probably that they were together in one of the guest bedrooms at her parents’ house, pretending to be her boyfriend.
Back then, she’d been just observing. Now, she was feeling. Since Johannesburg, something had shifted and the sight of him sent a quiet ache through her chest instead of the familiar teasing awareness.
She studied him without shame, the rise and fall of his breathing, the faint crease between his brows.
There was comfortable silence between them as Claire got out of bed, threw her hair up in a claw clip and started down the stairs for whatever morning activities Suzanne Ashford had planned for the kids.
By the time dinner hour arrived, it was show time.
Noah stood alone in the grand foyer, hands clasped behind his back, tuxedo fitted within an inch of its life.
He borrowed cufflinks and a watch from Cornelius, and he wanted to be sure he had everything he needed.
He looked composed and calm, but anyone who knew him well would’ve clocked the faint tension in his shoulders.
The house was quiet except for the low murmur of voices drifting from somewhere upstairs.
Then the sound of heels touched the staircase.
Noah looked up.
Claire appeared at the top step, and the world, quite frankly, stopped.
She was dressed in a deep red floor-length long-sleeved gown that moved like liquid as she descended – deep, elegant, impossibly flattering.
The fabric skimmed her curves without clinging, the neckline classic but daring enough to make his throat go dry.
Her auburn hair was swept back in a low bun, exposing her neck and shoulders, and her makeup was understated perfection, glowing skin, defined eyes, lips just bold enough to linger in his mind.
She didn’t rush. Each step was measured, confident, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Claire was trying not to trip over the train of her dress.
Noah forgot how to breathe.
He had seen Claire in scrubs, in hoodies, in team-issued polos and stolen jumpers.
He’d seen her exhausted, furious, laughing so hard she snorted.
But this – this was something else entirely.
This was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and the realization hit him square in the chest, sharp and undeniable.
Claire reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, suddenly shy under his gaze.“Well?” she asked lightly. “Do I pass as a convincing girlfriend for you’?”
Noah didn’t answer.
Instead, Kelsey’s voice cut in from the side, sharp and delighted.
“Oh my God,” he said, stepping into view and dramatically fanning himself.
“Claire, darling, if he doesn’t propose by dessert, I will find you a new lover.
” Noah didn’t even flinch. “Hello…? Cap?” Kesley shook Noah. “Noah, blink if you’re still alive.”
Noah finally exhaled, a slow, stunned breath, but still didn’t breathe. “You’re –” He stopped and shook his head once like he needed to reboot. “You look great."
Kelsey clutched his chest. “See? I told you this dress was lethal. I warned everyone. This is a public service announcement at this point.”
Claire laughed, the sound easing the tightness in Noah’s ribs. She stepped closer, her confidence returning, and slipped her hand into his. The contact was simple, proper. It was exactly what a pretend couple would do, but it sent a quiet jolt through him all the same.
“You ready?” she asked softly.
Noah nodded, his thumb brushing her knuckles without thinking. “More than ready.”
Kelsey snapped his fingers. “Right. Let’s go dazzle the aristocracy or whoever throws balls these days.”
Cornelius rounded the corner in his tux, giving himself finishing touches, and waited at the door for his wife.
Suzanne wore a tailored midnight-blue gown with long, fluid lines that skimmed her frame rather than clung to it.
She was always timeless, confident, and unmistakably well-dressed.
The sleeves were sheer lace, offering softness without trying to look young, and the neckline was modest but beautifully cut, drawing attention to her posture rather than her skin.
A subtle slit at the side allowed ease of movement, the kind of detail chosen by a woman who understood style rather than chased it.
Her silver-streaked hair was styled into a smooth, low chignon at the nape of her neck, deliberate and polished. Diamond studs caught the light when she moved, and a simple bracelet circled her wrist. No statement pieces, no excess. Suzanne didn’t need them.
“Ready, kids?” Cornelius asked the group. “Let’s get this over with,” he said this under his breath.
With an agreement from his family, Corenlius led the group out to the waiting black car.
Noah carefully helped Claire down the stairs, holding her hand and letting her take her time, Kelsey trailing behind them.
She glanced up at him once more before stepping outside, her smile warm and steady, and for a fleeting, dangerous moment, he forgot this was all an act.
He realized that the lines between real and fake were already blurred, and he wanted those lines to disappear completely.