Chapter 6 Tania
Tania
I’m eating toast at the kitchen table when Silas walks in.
He pours coffee into a travel mug, then glances at me. “Are you busy today?”
I swallow my bite of toast. “The museum doesn’t need me until Thursday. Why?”
“I’m flying out of town today. I have a business trip, with meetings all day and dinner with our chief financial officer. I’ll fly back tonight.” He caps the mug. “I’d like you to come.”
Three weeks living here, and this is the first time Silas has asked me to do anything with him.
It’s been two weeks since the club—since Callum had his hands on my hips and Evan pulled him away.
Callum avoided me for a week after. He made sure we used the gym at different times, he didn’t join Evan and me for meals, and when I asked him anything, he only offered one-word answers. He’d even leave rooms when I walked in.
That didn’t last long, though. Now he’s back to stealing food off my plate and calling me Red. He even tried to convince me to go skydiving. Twice. I declined both times.
But Callum still avoids touching me.
Evan’s the opposite. He holds my hands when the staff is around. He’s more playful, and last week, we even snuggled on the couch watching a movie because Sandra was around.
And Silas... Silas just works.
Things should feel easier since Callum is no longer avoiding me. They don’t.
Because now, when Evan kisses my cheek in front of Sandra, I feel it longer than I should. When Callum grins at me across the dinner table, desire prickles through me. When Silas brushes past me in the hallway, I hold my breath.
Pretending to be in a relationship was supposed to be simple. But it’s getting harder.
I brush crumbs off my hands. “You want me to meet your CFO?”
“You’re my wife.” He says it like it’s obvious. “He should meet you.”
Right. The wife.
“What kind of meetings?”
“Acquisitions. Real estate portfolio review. I can promise you that the meetings will be boring.” He leans against the counter. “But including you in business meetings just reinforces that our relationship is serious.”
I rinse my plate. “What should I wear?”
“Business attire. Conservative.” His eyes drag over my pajamas—an old college T-shirt and shorts. “You have an hour.”
An hour later, I’m dressed in a navy sheath dress and heels, sitting in the back of the town car while Silas answers emails on his phone. The drive to the airfield takes twenty minutes, and by the time we arrive, the jet is already prepped and waiting.
The jet is bigger than I expected. Leather seats, polished wood, and a bed in the back. I wonder if he’s ever used it for something other than sleeping.
Then I immediately make myself stop wondering.
Silas sits across from me, with his laptop open, reading contracts or reports or whatever billionaires read at thirty thousand feet.
I watch the clouds.
He glances up. “Nervous?”
“Should I be?”
“No.” He closes the laptop. “You’ll be fine.”
“You sound sure.”
“I am.” An almost imperceptible smile flashes across his lips. “And if anyone asks how we met—”
“We reconnected a few months ago,” I finish. “We’re childhood friends.”
“Good.”
The plane levels out, and I unbuckle to grab water from the galley. When I return, Silas is back on his laptop, and I pull out my phone to text my best friend.
Me: On a private jet.
Renata: Excuse me?
Me: Business trip with Silas. Meeting his CFO. Playing the wife.
Renata: You’re living a romance novel. I’m so jealous I could scream.
Me: It’s work.
Renata: Work that involves private jets and hot billionaires. Don’t pretend you hate this.
I don’t respond because she’s right.
By the time we land, I’ve rehearsed our story three more times in my head. The car is waiting on the tarmac, and Silas helps me down the jet stairs with a hand on my elbow.
Richard Milo is waiting in the lobby when we arrive at the office building.
He’s in his mid-fifties, with silver hair, and dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He shakes Silas’s hand first, then turns to me with the kind of smile men use when they’re deciding if you’re worth their time.
“Tania.” He takes my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good, I hope.”
“Of course. Silas doesn’t talk much, so when he does, I listen.” He releases my hand. “Glad you could join us today. I’ve been stuck in meetings here all week. Looking forward to flying home with you both tonight.”
“We’re happy to have the company.” Silas straightens slightly.
Richard checks his watch. “We should head up. First meeting starts in five minutes.”
The conference room has a long table surrounded by too many men in suits. They shake my hand and ask polite questions that I answer carefully. Silas introduces me as his wife every time, and I watch how they react—surprised, curious, and approving.
Richard sits at the head of the table. Silas sits to his right, and I sit beside Silas.
I sit through presentations about cap rates and market projections. Silas doesn’t hold my hand or touch me. But twice, when someone asks a question that he doesn’t like, I feel his knee press against mine under the table.
And I press back.
The second meeting bleeds into the third, in a different room but with the same energy. By then, I want to know more. Not to show off that I actually understand what they’re talking about, because I’m curious.
A property portfolio the triplets are considering buying includes historic buildings, and I want to know if they’re preserving the architecture or gutting it for modern aesthetics.
So, I ask.
The acquisition manager blinks rapidly. Silas doesn’t react. Richard leans forward, interested.
“We’re preserving,” the manager says. “We are restoring the buildings instead of renovating them.”
“Good.” I lean back. “Historic properties lose value when you strip them.”
Silas’s hand lands on my thigh under the table. The action is brief, warm, and done before I can react.
The meetings wrap at six, and Richard loosens his tie. “Our dinner reservation is at seven. That gives us an hour.”
The restaurant is only three blocks away, so I ask Silas if we can walk. I could use the fresh air after being cooped up in conference rooms all day.
He agrees.
The evening air is cool against my skin. When we arrive early, I slip into the bathroom to touch up my lipstick. My reflection appears composed, but my pulse hasn’t settled since his hand touched my leg.
Get it together. This is work.
When I return, Silas is waiting near the host stand, and Richard is walking through the door.
The restaurant has windows overlooking the water and more forks at each place setting than I’ve ever used in one meal.
Silas pulls out my chair. I sit, and he takes the seat beside me instead of across. He’s close enough that his thigh brushes mine when he shifts.
Richard orders wine, the waiter pours, and Silas’s hand finds mine on the table. And I smile at him, pretending that I am the doting wife who is enjoying the affection.
Except, I’m not actually pretending; I’m loving every second of this.
His thumb strokes across my knuckles, slow and steady, while Richard talks about quarterly projections and board elections.
I try to focus. I really do. But Silas’s hand is warm, and his thumb keeps moving, and when I glance at him, his face is unreadable.
Richard finishes his point and tilts his head. “So. How did you two meet?”
Here we go. This is what I rehearsed.
“We are actually childhood friends.” I smooth my napkin. “I reconnected with Silas and his brothers a few months ago.”
Richard leans back. “I heard you’re Ben’s little sister. It’s funny how that worked out—childhood friends turning into something more.”
“Not that funny,” Silas says. “I’ve known what I wanted since I saw her again after all of those years.”
My face heats.
Richard lifts his glass. “To second chances. And may I offer my congratulations to you two and your brothers.”
We drink. Richard doesn’t ask more questions. He accepts our relationship the way everyone else has, like unconventional is normal when you have enough money.
The food arrives, and Silas’s hand stays on mine between courses.
Richard notices. “You two are very convincing.”
Oh my god, what does that mean?
Silas doesn’t miss a beat. “Convincing?”
“Newlyweds.” Richard grins. “You can always tell. The way you look at each other. Like you’re in love, but still learning.”
“We are.” Silas’s hand moves to the back of my neck, warm and possessive. “Still learning. And very much in love.”
I swallow. Hard.
The waiter clears our plates, and Richard excuses himself to take a call. The moment he’s gone, Silas’s hand drops from my neck.
I exhale, but I immediately miss the warmth of his skin.
He leans closer. “You’re doing well.”
“I’m trying not to hyperventilate.”
And while that’s true, it’s not because I’m nervous. It’s because I’m enjoying the fake affection a little too much.
His mouth curves. “You’re better at this than you think.”
“At lying?”
“At handling people.” He leans closer, and I smell cologne. “You don’t try too hard. People like that. I like that.”
I don’t know how to respond, and Richard returns before I figure it out.
We’re halfway through dessert when Silas’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and then frowns.
“Problem?” Richard asks.
“It’s the pilot.” Silas answers the call and listens to the pilot speaking on the other end. After a minute or two, Silas responds, “Understood.”
He hangs up and meets Richard’s eyes. “Weather moved in. Fog. We’re grounded until morning.”
The implication sinks in.
Richard curses under his breath. “I checked out of the hotel this morning. I will need to rebook something.”
“We’ll leave as soon as we can in the morning.” Silas’s tone is all business, but I catch the brief look he shoots my way.
We settle the bill and step outside. The fog has already rolled in, swallowing streetlights and turning the city into something ghostly. Richard walks beside us, making small talk.
The hotel lobby is all quiet and nice. Beautiful, actually.