Chapter 17
GRACE
February blurs into March. And my ability to avoid Asher and our pending marriage vanishes.
Instead, he starts coming home to have dinner with me every night, asking me questions about myself, my family, the farm, all while I squirm.
I’ve never been good at talking about myself.
I prefer to focus on others, but Asher doesn’t let me get away with that.
He pays me too much attention. Constantly bringing home my favorite cookies from the shop near his parents’ house.
We don’t talk about our kiss or practicing chemistry again, but I find him touching me more. Little gestures, like pressing a palm to my back or holding my hand. Like he’s slowly trying to pull down my guard.
I try to lean into it, acting like this is a real thing between us. But touching him, being close to him, it does something to me. And if I want to make it through this year, I need to not fall for my fake fiancé.
I spend most days with Kacey at the coffee shop, attempting to work on my book while she edits videos for her social media. My ideas for a new romance story are adding up, but other than trying to plot, I haven’t had much success actually writing.
Asher informed me I have access to the spa and Celestia studio in our building, so I take up yoga in an effort to prepare for the upcoming retreat with his family. I have to work my way up to Celeste’s signature flow, starting with easy flow.
I do, however, spend far too much time with the wedding planner Asher hired. She's on a warpath to book every vendor. I'm not sure I even want to know how she secured The Plaza after they told us every weekend in April was booked. But somehow, the next thing I know, we have a date.
Our engagement photos are picked up by a few magazines and gossip rags, all of them deeming New York's most eligible bachelor has been taken off the market. Lisette shows them to me, beaming with pride.
We look like a real couple. And so far, everyone seems to be buying the bit.
When my parents fly down to meet Asher after I finally worked up the nerve to tell them I’m engaged, my mother spends a day finding every magazine and tabloid with a picture of us from the different street vendors.
Despite the fact that they are entirely confused about how I went from single to engaged so quickly, they are nothing but supportive. Well, my mom, at least. My dad keeps looking at me like he’s searching for the problem.
Their first night in the city, Asher takes us to a fancy restaurant where my Midwestern family looks entirely out of place.
The hostess leads us through dim-lit corridors where crystal chandeliers drip light like frozen rain. Asher's hand rests firm on my lower back, guiding me past tables laden with silver domes and wineglasses etched in frost.
Mom clutches her purse, eyes wide at the vaulted ceiling painted with golden vines. Dad adjusts his tie, the one he wore to church last Easter, now straining against his flannel shirt.
"This place," Mom whispers, voice threading with awe and unease, "it's quite beautiful."
Asher pulls out my chair first, and I can see my parents watching as he makes sure I'm settled.
"The chef is an old friend," Asher says casually. "His Wagyu is phenomenal."
My dad's eyes light up in surprise. "I've never had Wagyu before…"
I can see the concern in my mom's face; the unsaid words are clear. Because that's a cut of meat we could never afford.
"Get it," Asher says, as if it’s a normal occurrence. "Are you a whiskey man?"
A tiny smile lifts the corners of my father's mouth. "Damn straight." For the man who sounded pissed over the phone that I was about to marry someone he never met, he warms up to my fiancé quickly.
Asher flags down the waiter, "Two Macallan 25's, neat." He looks to my mother. "Linda, do you like white or red?"
Flustered, she answers, "White. Sweet, please."
"Your best sweet white for the ladies," he says, turning back to the waitress, who quickly nods and runs off to fetch our drinks.
Asher reaches over to me, taking my hand in his. It's such a simple gesture that carries so much weight. His touch lights up my body, and my mind melts, feeling safe knowing that he's in control here.
But it also gives off the perfect appearance. The look of two young lovers.
After we're served drinks and Asher talks my father into ordering the Wagyu, he starts asking questions about my father's business. Only, they're not intimidating or judgmental like when his family asked me. They're curious, filled with interest, and every answer sparks a follow-up.
Dad and Asher immediately launch into a conversation about running businesses, even though their businesses are quite different. Mom and I follow for a bit, and then she reaches across the table and pulls my hand into hers.
“You seem happy, Gracie girl,” she says, calling me my childhood nickname. Asher’s too engaged in his conversation with my father to hear, so my mother uses the moment to prod, even if it’s a statement and not a question.
“I am.” Because that’s what my character should say. If I were truly in love with Asher Caine, I would be beaming with happiness, so I do my best to channel it. My mom is assessing, but it doesn’t seem like she sees through the facade.
“He’s good to you?” she asks, whispering while side-eyeing Asher.
I smile. Is he good to me? Even as a fake fiancé, Asher has been nothing but kind and generous. For a brief moment, my mind flashes to the way he touches me, to that practice kiss, and heat flames my cheeks.
My mom chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.
” She pauses for a moment. “I just want you to be happy, Gracie. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy.” As she squeezes my hand, guilt claws its way up for lying to her when she’s being so genuine.
My parents have always been good to me, and now I’m lying to them.
By the middle of dinner, Asher has my dad in the palm of his hand.
He's laughing and talking business with him in a way that surprises me.
Dad's spent his whole life running our Christmas tree farm, hands calloused from honest work, while Asher commands boardrooms in thousand-dollar suits. Yet somehow, they find common ground.
Watching them, I can almost forget this is all pretend. Dad treats Asher like any potential son-in-law, protective but welcoming. Asher responds with the kind of respect he rarely shows anyone.
"Grace says you're good to her," Dad says quietly after our plates have been picked up and we're all filled with good food.
"She deserves nothing less."
"If you hurt her"—Dad's voice drops just enough to carry weight—"you'll have to answer to me. Don't care how many fancy suits you own."
Instead of bristling, Asher nods respectfully. "I wouldn't expect anything else, sir."
Dad's stern expression melts into approval. "I like this one, Gracie. He's got backbone."
“So…” My mother claps her hands in front of her, changing the subject. “When’s the wedding?”
I flinch, but Asher doesn’t seem bothered at all by the knowledge that I haven’t told my parents our wedding date yet.
“May 15th.”
Both sets of eyes widen, and I feel small, worried they’re going to judge or try to talk us out of this.
“Why so soon?” My mother is the first to speak.
Asher shrugs, looking at me briefly with sweetness in his gaze, before turning back to my parents. “I love your daughter, Mrs. Morgan. And I don’t want to spend a minute longer without being married to her. I’d do it today, if I could. But we want a wedding. So May it is.”
His answer is so calm, so serious. And both my parents take a moment to digest his words. When they look at me, I’m smiling and leaning into Asher, trying my best to not let my nerves show.
“Well then, let’s cheers to true love.” She raises her glass, and my father and Asher do the same. I feel like a fraud as I lift my white wine to cheers, both my parents grinning as Asher loops his arm over my shoulder and kisses my cheek.
“To true love,” he repeats, eyes on me.
My chest tightens. “To true love.”