Chapter 14
ROXIE
If I’d learned anything in my adult life, it was that dread came in many forms.
There was the sharp, immediate kind, like when you realized you’d hit send on an email meant for drafts.
And then there was this kind. The slow-burn, stomach-sinking dread that settled in the moment I pulled into my parents’ circular driveway and saw the familiar white-columned house waiting for us like a test I was already failing.
This was the kind of dread that had history. Muscle memory. Years of expectation packed neatly behind it.
The house looked exactly the same as it always had.
Immaculate hedges trimmed into obedience.
Perfect green lawn. Windows polished so clean they reflected the late-morning sun like mirrors.
Somewhere inside, my mother was probably adjusting place settings that didn’t need adjusting, making sure everything looked effortless. Carefully planned. Correct.
This house had never liked a mess. Or uncertainty. Or me, once I stopped doing exactly what was expected of me.
“Still want to do this?” Ledger asked quietly as we stood in front of the door.
I tightened my grip on his hand. “No.”
He huffed a soft breath. “Same.”
That made me glance over at him, surprised. He was already watching me, expression supportive. Matter-of-fact. Like he’d meant it when he’d said he’d be there. Like this wasn’t an act he planned to drop the second things got uncomfortable.
My fingers curled more deliberately around his.
The warmth of his palm seeped into mine, anchoring and unsettling all at once.
My pulse slowed, just a little, while every other nerve sparked to life.
We’d never held hands before. There’d never been a reason.
No rule that required it. No audience that demanded the illusion.
Regardless, standing there with his hand wrapped around mine felt right. Necessary. Like my body had decided before my brain could argue. Like this was exactly where my hand was supposed to be.
His thumb brushed lightly against my knuckle—barely a movement, probably unconscious—but it sent a shiver straight up my arm. Calm and alert. Unceasing and electric. I didn’t know how both could exist at the same time, but somehow they did.
I told myself it was nerves. Adrenaline. Anything but what it actually felt like.
I breathed him in once, rooting myself in that simple contact, and then—
The front door swung open.
“Roxie!” my mom called, arms opening wide as if she hadn’t been deeply disappointed in me for most of the last decade.
I plastered on a smile. “Hi, Mom.”
She hugged me quickly, her cheek cool against mine, then immediately stepped back and looked me over from head to toe. Her gaze lingered on my dress—nice, but not the kind of designer label she would’ve preferred. Approval didn’t come, but tolerance did.
Then her eyes shifted. To Ledger.
And just like that, the temperature changed.
He wasn’t wearing anything flashy, just a dark polo and well-fitted jeans, but on him, it worked.
His dark hair was styled instead of its usual post-practice mess, his posture easy but confident, like he belonged wherever he stood.
The fabric of his shirt stretched over his shoulders and chest, muscle evident without him trying at all, and I hated that my eyes lingered.
Loathed that my brain filled in the rest just as easily, because I knew exactly what he looked like without it.
The clean lines of his torso, the strength earned lap by lap in the pool, every unfairly perfect detail my imagination did not need to supply.
And I disliked most of all that the thought came so naturally—the thought that he looked really good.
Not country-club polished. Just solid. Real. Unmistakably Ledger.
The kind of man my parents would never have chosen for me. The kind of man they would never have approved of, no matter how good he was.
“Hello,” she said, polite but clipped. “You must be Ledger.”
Ledger stepped forward easily, extending his hand. “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She hesitated half a second too long before taking it. Her smile tightened as she shook. “We’ve heard a bit about you.”
I resisted the urge to wince.
My father appeared behind her, coffee mug in hand, eyes sharp and assessing in a way that made me feel twelve years old again. He looked Ledger up and down without bothering to hide it.
“Swimmer,” he said flatly.
Ledger nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And that pays … how, exactly?” my father asked.
That was the real question. The one that always came first.
“Dad,” I said quickly. “We’re here for brunch, not to discuss finances.”
My mother waved a hand. “Inside. Everything’s getting cold,” she admonished, like we were late instead of five minutes early.
We followed them into the dining room, and the table alone had probably cost more than Ledger’s car. White linen. Real china. Fresh flowers arranged just so in the center.
Ledger pulled out my chair without hesitation before taking his own seat beside me. The small gesture made my heart flutter unexpectedly.
It wasn’t showy. He hadn’t looked around to see if anyone noticed. He’d just done it.
My mother noticed. Of course she did.
“Well.” She folded her napkin into her lap. “This is all very sudden.”
“That’s one word for it,” I said under my breath.
She ignored me. “We were shocked, Roxie. Married without a word. Without planning.”
Ledger’s hand came to rest lightly against my knee under the table. Not gripping. Not possessive. Just there. A quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone.
“I know it wasn’t how you pictured it,” he said calmly. “But Roxie and I were very intentional.”
Intentional. The word went up like a shield.
My father snorted. “Intentional is one thing. Practical is another.”
Brunch continued like that. Tight smiles, careful words, and questions lobbed like tests. Where Ledger was from. What his plans were. How long his swimming career could possibly last.
Ledger answered everything politely. Honestly. Without trying to impress them.
Which, somehow, only seemed to make things worse.
And every single time my parents aimed a question at me, Ledger adjusted—closer, firmer, supportive—like he was bracing with me instead of waiting it out.
Every time my mother made a pointed comment—about stability, about choices, about “opportunities Roxie used to have”—Ledger shifted closer. His arm brushed mine. His thumb traced a slow, rhythmic line along my wrist like he knew exactly when I needed it.
And the worst part?
He was very good at this.
At being attentive. At checking in with a glance. At leaning in to murmur, “You okay?” like it was instinct.
Like it wasn’t pretending at all.
It messed with my head.
Because this was supposed to be a performance. A temporary arrangement with clearly drawn lines and an expiration date. He wasn’t supposed to notice the exact moment my shoulders tensed or the way my breath hitched every time my father sighed like I was a problem he’d already solved.
He definitely wasn’t supposed to counteract years of quiet disappointment with a single touch.
I’d spent so long bracing myself in this room, learning how to sit just right, speak carefully, keep my reactions small, that I hadn’t realized how exhausting it was until someone else took over the job of holding the line.
Ledger wasn’t trying to smooth things over or placate them. He wasn’t trying to fix me. He was just there. Solid. Present. On my side in a way no one else at this table ever had been before.
And it unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
Because if this was how it felt to have someone in my corner, someone who didn’t flinch when things got uncomfortable, who didn’t ask me to shrink or explain or apologize, then how was I supposed to go back to pretending I didn’t want it?
How was I supposed to convince myself this was just pretend when my body already believed it wasn’t?
I told myself it was the situation. The stress. The novelty of not standing alone, for once.
But deep down, I knew better.
Ledger wasn’t just playing the role of my husband. He was rewriting something I’d thought was unchangeable. And I didn’t know whether to protect myself from that or to lean into it and hope it didn’t break me later.
“Roxie,” my mother said finally, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “You never answered my question. What exactly are you planning to do now?”
The table went quiet.
This was it.
I inhaled slowly. “I’m starting a consulting business. Social media strategy for small brands and local businesses. Helping them build sustainable platforms instead of chasing trends.”
My father raised a brow. “With your trust fund?”
“Yes,” I said evenly. “It’s my money.”
My mother sighed. “You always insist on doing things the hard way.”
Ledger’s hand tightened slightly on my knee.
“She’s building something,” he said before I could stop him. “She’s smart. Strategic. And she understands digital engagement better than anyone I know.”
I stared at him.
He didn’t look at me, just at my parents, voice strong and certain.
“That’s not exactly reassuring,” my father said.
Ledger smiled. “Respectfully, sir, it doesn’t need to be. It just needs to work.”
Silence stretched.
My mother set her fork down. “Roxie, darling, you could’ve had so much more.”
And that was the last of Ledger’s restraint.
He pushed his chair back smoothly and stood. “We’re leaving.”
My heart slammed into my ribs.
“Excuse me?” my mother said.
Ledger offered a polite smile that somehow managed to be ice cold. “This has been informative. But my wife doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like she’s a disappointment.”
I stopped breathing.
He placed his hand on the back of my chair. “Roxie.”
I stood on shaky legs.
“Thank you for brunch,” he said to my parents before he grabbed my hand and led me out the door.
Outside, the moment the door shut behind us, something inside me broke loose.
I turned and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
His arms came around me immediately, solid and sure. “Always.”
The word echoed through me, surprising me.
Not because he’d said it, but because he’d meant it.
For once, I wasn’t the difficult daughter.
The embarrassing conversation. The disappointment everyone politely worked around.
In that dining room, with their sharp looks and sharper expectations, Ledger hadn’t hesitated.
He hadn’t tried to smooth things over or play neutral.
He’d chosen me. Out loud and without qualifiers.
It felt like standing in sunlight after years of being told to stay in the shade.
I’d been seen. Not managed. Not corrected. Just … supported.
When I pulled back, our faces were inches apart. His breath brushed my cheek. His eyes dipped, just once, to my mouth.
The moment stretched. Thick with anticipation.
Then as if we both realized what we were doing, we jolted back like we’d touched something dangerous.
“We should get going before my mom comes after us,” I said quickly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I want to be far away from your parents.”
As we walked to the car together, my heart still racing, one thought echoed louder than the rest.
We’d acted like a true married couple today, standing shoulder to shoulder, touching without thinking, and defending each other like it was instinct. It hadn’t felt like a performance. It had felt easy. Natural, even. Like slipping into a rhythm I hadn’t known I was missing.
This was supposed to be pretend.
So why did it feel so real?