Chapter 5
Penny
Idon’t usually do this—put myself first instead of doing what’s expected of me.
But today, I did. And honestly, it feels fucking fantastic.
I turned off my alarm last night and let the sun peeking through my curtains wake me up. Instead of checking my phone before getting out of bed, I meditated and stretched, then took a long shower.
Then I texted Easton to see if he was free for our lunch date today.
Now I’m waiting for him at Layers, one of the restaurants inside the country club our families have belonged to for generations. It’s considered the “casual” spot around here.
I practically grew up eating lunch with my friends at these tables while our moms disappeared into the president’s room for something a little more exclusive.
I haven’t been here in ages, and now that I’m seeing it with more mature eyes, I’m confused. There’s nothing casual about this place. The tables and chairs are made of mahogany. The cushions are plush, in mint green and burgundy. Two candle chandeliers hang from the exposed beams of the ceiling.
“I’m sorry for my tardiness. I hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” Easton greets me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“No worries, I was just taking a trip down memory lane,” I say with a smile.
“Anything I might remember too?” he asks, taking a seat across from me.
“I was just thinking about the lunches I used to have here with my girlfriends when we were growing up.”
An image of the vipers I once called friends flashes through my mind. God, teenagers can be brutal. Like the time Mindy Cox convinced me Preston Moriarty—the hottest guy at the club—was secretly into me, but too shy to make the first move.
I was the laughingstock of the club for weeks.
The bartender comes over to take our order, and Easton asks for a few more minutes to look at the menu.
“This might make me sound like a loser, but I was stoked when I got your text. When I saw you Friday, you made it seem like it’d be a while before we could meet up,” Easton says, adjusting the napkin on his lap.
“Yeah, well,” I say, shrugging lightly. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’m busy. But today I had a chance to focus on some personal stuff, so I figured I’d see if you were free.”
I catch a flicker of excitement in his eyes before it disappears.
“Well, I’m grateful we can spend time together.” His gaze lingers on my lips, and my smile falters.
What is going on?
Easton and I have always been buddies—no romantic feelings. Ever.
He passes his hand through his hair as he leans back on the chair, taking in the restaurant. He’s so effortlessly glamorous, a sharp contrast to Miles's more unpolished moves.
Am I misreading the situation?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. We just haven’t seen each other in so long—I forgot how gorgeous you are,” he says.
Ay. That’s different.
Easton leans back in his chair like he was born to be here. Like upscale restaurants and overpriced cocktails are just another Tuesday night to him. His suit jacket is perfectly tailored, his expensive watch peeking out every time he lifts his drink.
He flashes the waiter an easy smile, thanks him when our drinks arrive, and somehow manages to put everyone around him at ease without even trying.
What the hell is going on with him? This is not how I remember our friendship.
Yes, we were inseparable growing up. We did everything together—listening to pop albums on repeat, helping me hide posters under my bed because Mami refused to let me hang cute guys on my walls, sneaking into frat parties before we were old enough to be there.
We had it good back then—no awkwardness, no second-guessing what we meant to each other. Just two friends showing up for each other through everything.
After we order our meals, the tension fades, and I decide to take the bull by the horns. “So, you mentioned you had a proposal for me. Color me intrigued.”
He chuckles nervously, running a hand through his short hair. “Always straight to the point. Some things never change, huh, Pens?”
I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a no-nonsense woman.”
The waiter returns with our food, and I glance at my watch. That was fast.
“I want to start by saying that no matter what your answer is, I’ll always appreciate you. And I want us to stay friends, even if you say no. This isn’t an all-or-nothing kind of thing,” he says, cutting into his steak.
I raise a brow, my silverware frozen mid-air.
“It’s nothing bad. I promise,” Easton says with a reassuring smile. “This past summer, I found out that when I was granted access to my trust fund at twenty-five, I didn’t actually receive the full amount.”
My eyes widen, and a crooked grin spreads across his face.
“Right? I thought after a hundred million dollars, that was it—that I’d gotten everything my family was going to pass down to me.
But Carter, my oldest brother, found a hidden clause in Grandpapa’s will.
If I get married before my thirty-sixth birthday, I’ll receive an extra one hundred and fifty million. ”
My silverware hits the table with a loud clatter. I try to swallow, but it goes down the wrong pipe, and I start coughing.
“Jesus, Pen. Are you okay?” Easton asks, staying seated while I feel like I’m about to pass out.
“Wow.” It’s all I manage after taking a sip of water, my breathing slowly returning to normal.
I lock eyes with him. Is he really thinking what I think he is? Fuck, that would be reckless—not to mention potentially dangerous. The last thing I want is to get caught up in some kind of fraud.
Is that why he’s been acting so sweet? Throwing compliments my way? I let out a slow breath, the pieces finally clicking into place.
“What do you say, Pens? Want to be my wife?” he asks so casually that I almost laugh.
Instead, I blink at him. “As a ruse? I’m not sure I understand why you’d need another trust fund. Did you lose everything you originally got, or can’t you make investments anymore?”
His smile falters for a second, but he recovers quickly.
“We’d be married for a year, maybe two. We’d keep living our normal lives.
Show up together at charity balls and fundraisers.
Tell people you’ve found fulfillment helping underserved communities in the small town where you work, and I’m the supportive husband backing your dreams. Then, when you’re ready for your next project, we quietly call it quits. ”
Of all the ways I imagined my life turning out, this wasn’t one of them.
Could it really be that simple? No expectations beyond playing the role of the perfect wife he can parade around town?
Then why didn’t he answer my question?
I know Easton is loaded—probably even more than I am. But if this is really about securing money, then hey, more power to him. Who am I to judge?
Besides, if helping him means making sure his grandfather’s money goes where it was originally intended, rather than into greedy hands, I should want to help.
Right?
So why does every instinct in my body feel uneasy about this?
Because no matter how logical this arrangement might sound, it goes against everything I believe in. Everything about the way I live my life.
I can’t even imagine how heartbroken Mami would be if I got married only to turn around and get divorced months later. Not that she’d ever want to see me unhappy, but the second I got married, she’d start talking about grandkids and how she isn’t getting any younger.
And as much as I’d love to help Easton, this wouldn’t just affect him.
It would turn my entire life upside down.
“What about my family? Can I tell my parents the truth?” I ask, surprising myself. Am I seriously considering this?
I tap my temple gently, making sure my brain’s still functioning. How can I think one thing and say the complete opposite?
“It’d be best if we keep it between us,” he says. “I don’t want my family finding out I’m marrying you just to get my inheritance.”
I study him for a second and catch a glimpse of the boy I used to know—long limbs, awkward grin, someone I could talk to for hours. Easton has always been one of the good ones.
And honestly, this whole thing rubs me the wrong way. People shouldn’t have to jump through hoops just to get what’s theirs. Fuck that.
“But how would that even work?” I ask, leaning back in my chair. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and suddenly we’re getting married? I’m not sure anyone’s going to buy that.”
“I don’t see why not,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve known each other since we were in diapers.”
I huff out a quiet laugh.
“We have history,” he continues. “Maybe not romantic, but it’s still there. People reconnect all the time. Why is it so hard to believe we’d choose each other now?”
I press my lips together, considering it. He’s not wrong. Friends getting married later in life after striking out elsewhere—it happens.
“Alright,” I say slowly. “I can’t promise I’ll say yes, but I’ll think about it.”
It’s practical—no strings attached. And even if I already know my answer, I can say that I gave it some thought but decided against it.
So why does it feel like I’m overlooking something?
Easton’s face lights up instantly.
“I haven’t said yes,” I add, grabbing my fork. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I take a bite of my salad and hum under my breath. It’s divine.
“But you didn’t say no either,” he says, that boyish grin firmly back in place. “I’ll take that as a win.”
Easton starts sharing stories about his trips through small English towns, and lunch slips into an easy, relaxed afternoon with an old friend.
“This is exactly what I needed,” I tell him, taking a sip of my second glass of bubbly.
Easton lifts a brow.
“I’ve been buried in work lately,” I admit, picking at the fruit salad I ordered. “Between my girlfriends this weekend and lunch with you today, I feel ten pounds lighter.”
“I’m glad I could help,” he says, pushing his chair back as he stands. “As much as I hate to cut this short, I’ve got a meeting.” He rolls his eyes playfully, and this time I actually laugh.
“Yeah, well. There’s this thing called adulting. We hate it, but we can’t avoid it.” I stand and pull him into a quick hug.
For a second, everything feels normal again. Easy. Familiar. Like no time has passed at all.
“I’ll be waiting for your call, future wife.” He shoots me a wink as we walk toward the valet.
I smile, even if it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
I’ve never seriously pictured myself getting married. But this? This wouldn’t be real. Just a favor.
No emotions. No complications.
That’s the deal.
My mind drifts—uninvited—to a smirk I’ve been trying not to think about all day.
I push it away.
Mierda.