Chapter 6
Charlotte
The garden is as picturesque as ever, the sunlight filtering through the trees, casting everything in a golden glow.
Perfect weather for a casual tea with the ladies.
Too bad my stomach’s in knots. The men have all disappeared for their round of golf.
It’s probably some excuse to plot business deals while pretending to care about their golf scores.
And I’m left here with my mother, Nancy Sinclair, and, of course, my grandmother.
I’ve been dreading this.
“Charlotte, dear,” my grandmother says, her sharp eyes gleaming as she stirs her tea, “tell me more about your fiancé.”
And here we go.
I smile, even though I can feel the weight of her gaze like she’s picking me apart piece by piece. “What would you like to know?”
She hums thoughtfully, tapping her spoon on the edge of her cup. “How did you two meet? You’ve been so secretive.”
“Well,” I begin, my mind racing for the backstory Asher and I agreed on, “we met at a charity event a few months back. It was one of those fancy parties where everyone’s pretending to be interested in the auction. Asher was—”
“Outside,” my mother interjects, clearly trying to help. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Yes,” I say, grateful for the assist. “Outside. We were both trying to escape the crowd, and we just... hit it off.”
My grandmother raises one perfectly arched brow. “You hit it off? And now you’re engaged?”
I nod, keeping my smile steady. “When you know, you know.”
She takes a sip of her tea, watching me over the rim of her cup like a hawk. “And you’re happy?”
The way she asks the question makes me pause. It’s not judgmental exactly, but there’s something there. I force another smile. “Yes, very happy.”
For a moment, she says nothing, just studies me with those sharp eyes. Then, finally, she nods. “Good. I look forward to seeing the two of you together.”
I breathe out a silent sigh of relief as the conversation shifts to more general topics. Nancy starts talking about her recent trip to Europe, my mother chimes in with updates on her charity work, and I sit back, trying to relax.
But it’s hard to relax when I know that Wade’s out there, somewhere. Probably plotting something.
The tea drags on for what feels like hours, but eventually, the ladies start to scatter, and I excuse myself, needing a moment to clear my head. I wander through the garden, my thoughts racing, when suddenly I hear footsteps behind me.
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Wade.
“Charlotte,” he says, his voice slick and cold, “we need to talk.”
I stop, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew this was coming, but I wasn’t ready for it.
“Wade,” I say, turning to face him. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
He steps closer, too close for comfort, his gaze hard. He’s always been this way. Overbearing, like he owns you. “You need to call off this ridiculous engagement.”
I swallow, trying to stand my ground. “I’m not calling it off.”
His jaw tightens, and I can see the flash of anger in his eyes. “You don’t understand, Charlotte. If you don’t break things off with Asher and marry me, I will destroy your father’s company.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a second, I can’t breathe. I knew Wade was manipulative, but this? This is low, even for him.
“Y-you wouldn’t,” I manage to say, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to stay calm.
Is it even possible?
He smirks, leaning in closer. “Try me.”
I stand frozen, my heart racing, as he turns and walks away, leaving me there in the middle of the garden, feeling like my whole world is about to collapse.
I don’t know how long I stand there, but the next thing I know, I hear footsteps again. This time, though, it’s Asher. He steps out from behind one of the garden arches, his face set in a grim line.
He smiles, and then when he gets a better look at me, his smile falters. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low and full of concern.
I nod, even though I’m definitely not okay. My hands are shaking, and I feel like I might fall apart at any second. “I’m fine,” I lie, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”
But Asher doesn’t buy it. He steps closer, his eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to read every emotion I’m trying to hide. “Charlotte, what did he say to you?”
I look away, trying to keep my composure, but it’s too much. The fear, the frustration, the helplessness—it all comes rushing in, and before I know it, tears are stinging my eyes.
“Who?” I ask. Did Asher see Wade? Did he overhear him?
“I saw him walking away.” He steps closer, his brows furrowing in an undeniably sexy way. “Tell me.”
“He threatened my father’s company,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “If I don’t marry him, he’ll destroy everything.”
There. I said it. And now it feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on me.
Asher doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I feel his hand on my arm, grounding me, keeping me from falling apart. “That son of a—” he starts, but cuts himself off. “Charlotte, he’s not going to touch your family. I won’t let him.”
I shake my head, trying to pull away, but Asher doesn’t let me go. He steps in closer, his hand moving from my arm to cup my cheek, gently forcing me to look at him.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice suddenly much closer. “You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
The intensity in his gray eyes makes it hard to breathe. He’s so close now, closer than we’ve been since this whole fake engagement started, and for a second, I forget that this is all pretend. I forget that we’re only supposed to be acting.
I’m suddenly hyper-aware of how strong his hand feels against my skin, how steady he is when I’m falling apart.
There’s a heat between us, a tension that wasn’t there before, and it’s dangerous.
I can feel it in the way his thumb lightly brushes my cheek, the way his gaze flickers down to my lips for the briefest second before returning to my eyes.
I should say something—push him away, remind him (and myself) that this is pretend. Just a carefully constructed story we’re both meant to play out, nothing more. But the words dissolve on my tongue before they ever take shape.
I can’t move.
I don’t want to move.
Instead, I lean into his touch—just for a heartbeat—letting my body betray every sharp-edged warning in my mind.
His palm is warm against my cheek, grounding, steady.
And for this small, selfish moment, I let myself soak in that comfort.
That safety. Something I hadn’t realized I was desperate for until now.
“Asher…” I manage, though my voice catches, thick with emotions I don’t dare name.
“Shh,” he whispers, voice a deep velvet against the fragile edges of the night. His thumb brushes across my bottom lip with a slow, deliberate pass, the slightest pressure making my breath stutter and my pulse jump. A shiver ripples down my spine, heat pooling low in my belly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, gaze locked with mine, steady as stone. “I’ve got you.”
And heaven help me, I believe him. In this moment, I trust him more than I should. The terrifying part is how much I want to believe him.
But this heat between us, this pull that’s not part of the plan. It’s a line we’re not supposed to cross, no matter how easy it would be to let myself fall.
So I do the only thing I can. I break the spell.
I pull back—just enough. Just far enough to breathe without drowning in the weight of that look in his eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper, voice barely there as I step out of his hold.
He lets me go—easily, no resistance—but the absence of his touch leaves my skin tingling, as though he’s still there, branding me with invisible heat.
“We’ll figure this out,” he says softly, that unwavering confidence in his voice again. “I promise.”
I manage a nod, forcing air into my lungs, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my composure. “Okay,” I whisper.
But as we turn and head back inside—into the light, into the act we’ve been performing so carefully—I can’t shake the feeling that something between us has shifted. Subtle, but undeniable.
And the truth?
I’m not sure either of us is ready for what happens when we stop pretending.
Because if he looks at me like that again...
I’m not sure I’ll have the willpower to pull away a second time.
Later in the evening, after another intense family dinner, Asher leads me through the lobby. He guides me toward the main bar. His hand never actually touches my back, but I feel its phantom reassurance the entire walk—like he’s a force field between me and any lingering threats.
Inside, the bar is equal parts polished mahogany and hazy romance lighting.
Amber sconces cast pools of gold across curved banquettes, and somewhere a jazz trio wanders through a slow, smoky rendition of “All of Me.” The low murmur of conversation feels worlds removed from my grandmother’s dagger-sharp dinner table and Wade’s predator stare.
Asher scans the room—of course he does—then picks a small two-top tucked near a window, sightline on both the entrance and the emergency exit. He waits for me to sit first, then slides into the opposite chair, posture relaxed but eyes still tactical.
A bartender materializes. “For you, sir?”
“Soda water, lime,” Asher says with no hesitation. Then, glancing at me, “I’m on the clock.”
I smile with half gratitude, half amusement at the way he always clarifies the rules. “Cabernet for me, please. Something big enough to knock the edges off the night.”
The bartender nods, and glides away. I fold my hands around the heavy linen napkin to keep from fidgeting. Asher’s gaze softens a fraction; the intensity in those steel-gray eyes shifts from perimeter to me.
“Charlotte, why is your grandmother so invested in you and Wade?” he asks, voice low enough that conversation at the next table won’t overhear. “She pushed hard last night.”