Chapter 13
FREYA
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, watching the morning light creep across the plaster through my thin curtains. Sleep finally abandoned me around five AM, leaving me alone with thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid for weeks.
Last night was supposed to be simple. Mini golf, ice cream, social media content. A fake date for a fake engagement with predetermined outcomes and carefully managed emotions.
Instead, it felt real. Too real.
The way Ben laughed when I made that impossible shot around the lighthouse.
The way he remembered details about our high school hangout sessions, things I didn’t even realize he’d been paying attention to at the time.
The way he looked genuinely relaxed for the first time since this whole charade began.
For two hours, I let myself forget that this is all temporary. I let myself imagine that we were just Ben and Freya, two people who care about each other, enjoying a simple evening together without contracts or expiration dates or business deals hanging over our heads.
That was my mistake.
Ben doesn’t do love. He does deals and strategies and calculated risks.
His company has always come first. It’s what drove him through high school, through college, through building SkyNova from nothing into a billion-dollar enterprise.
The only reason he’s spending so much time with me right now is because I’m useful to him professionally.
I need to remember that. I need to stop reading meaning into shared ice cream and comfortable silences and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
Because in ten months, when our contract expires, I’ll go back to being just Freya, and he’ll go back to being Benjamin Lawlor, CEO, and this brief period of pretending will become just a strange chapter in both our lives.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, making me jump. A text from Ben: “Can you meet me for breakfast? At Grounds Up in 30 minutes? Something important to discuss.”
I groan and pull a pillow over my face. It’s not even eight AM on a Sunday, and he wants to meet to discuss something important. Probably wedding logistics or PR strategies or some new development in our carefully orchestrated romance.
“Give me forty-five minutes,” I text back, already dragging myself out of bed.
I throw on jeans and a T-shirt, brush my teeth, and run a comb through my hair without looking too closely at my reflection. The last thing I need is to see the evidence of my sleepless night written across my face.
The walk to Grounds Up takes fifteen minutes, giving me time to steel myself for whatever Ben needs to discuss. More public appearances, probably. Or maybe Carson has come up with some new angle for the wedding coverage that requires my input.
I spot Ben immediately when I walk into the coffee shop.
He’s sitting at a corner table, already nursing what looks like his second cup of coffee based on the empty cup beside his elbow.
He’s wearing casual clothes—also jeans and a T-shirt—but there’s tension in his shoulders that suggests this isn’t a social visit.
“Morning,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him.
“Thanks for coming. I know it’s early.”
“What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour?”
Ben signals the barista for another coffee, then turns back to me with an expression I can’t quite read. “My parents are coming to town.”
I blink. “Okay. When?”
“Next weekend.” He grimaces, as if what he’s going to say next physically hurts. “They want to meet you.”
“Ah.” I accept my coffee from the barista with a grateful smile. “And this is a problem because…”
“Because they don’t know about our arrangement. They think this is real.”
Of course they do. To the rest of the world, Ben and I are blissfully engaged childhood sweethearts. It would be strange if his parents didn’t want to meet their future daughter-in-law.
“So we fake it for them too,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “How hard can it be? We’ve gotten pretty good at the performance. And it’s not like my family thinks it’s fake. As far as they know, it’s real.”
“Freya, these are my parents. They’ve known me my entire life. If anyone’s going to see through this…”
He trails off, but I can fill in the blanks. His parents will be looking for cracks in our story, inconsistencies in our behavior. They’ll be watching us with the kind of scrutiny that only family can provide.
“What’s the alternative?” I ask. “Tell them the truth?”
He considers this for a moment, staring into his coffee like it might contain answers. “Part of me wants to. They’re not exactly sentimental about marriage anyway. They might understand the business angle.”
“But?”
“But if they know, that’s two more people who could accidentally let something slip. And if this gets out…” He shakes his head. “The risk is too high.”
I study his face, noting the tightness around his eyes, the way he keeps glancing at his phone. There’s something else bothering him, something he hasn’t told me yet.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re acting like there’s more to this than just your parents visiting. What’s really going on?”
He hesitates, clearly debating how much to share. “Carson called last night after I dropped you off. There are some… questions being raised online.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About us. About whether our engagement is real.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”
“Social media posts, YouTube videos, that kind of thing. People are analyzing our body language, questioning the timeline of our relationship, speculating about whether this is all a publicity stunt.”
I set down my coffee cup with hands that aren’t quite steady. “How many people?”
“Not many yet. But these things can snowball quickly if they gain traction.”
“And if they do gain traction?”
He meets my eyes directly. “Then we’re both screwed. My reputation would be destroyed, and you’d be branded as my accomplice in deceiving the public.”
The weight of what he’s saying settles over me like a heavy blanket. This isn’t just about a business deal anymore. This is about both our futures, both our reputations, both our lives.
“So what do we do?”
“We need to be more convincing. More public displays of affection, more evidence that this is real.” Ben’s voice is carefully neutral, but I can see the stress in his expression. “Carson thinks we need to be inseparable for the next few weeks.”
Inseparable. More time together, more pretending, more opportunities to forget that this isn’t real and fall deeper into feelings I’m supposed to be managing.
Great.
“Freya, I know this isn’t what you signed up for—”
“No, it’s fine.” I interrupt him because I can hear the guilt in his voice, and I can’t handle that right now. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll be more convincing.”
“Are you sure? Because if you want out—”
“I don’t want out.” The words come out more forcefully than I intended. “I made a commitment, and I’m going to honor it.”
He studies my face for a long moment. “You seem different lately. Distant. If something’s wrong—”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “I’m just tired. Wedding planning is exhausting, and the attention is still weird for me.”
“The attention will die down eventually. After the wedding, when people lose interest in our story.”
After the wedding. Right. When we’ll be legally married but still playing roles in an elaborate performance.
“Ben, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you ever feel bad about lying to everyone? Your parents, my sister, Red and Marnie, all those people who think we’re some great love story?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, considering the question.
“Sometimes,” he admits finally. “But then I remind myself that everyone’s getting what they want.
Red gets a business partner he trusts, my investors see me as stable and committed, and your sister gets to be excited about your wedding. No one’s really being hurt by this.”
Except me, I want to say. I’m being hurt by this every single day, watching the man I love treat our relationship like a business transaction while everyone around us celebrates our perfect romance.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I nod like his logic makes perfect sense.
“You’re probably right.”
“Freya, are you sure you’re okay with getting together with my parents? I know it’s another layer of complexity.”
“I’m fine with it. Really. It’ll be good practice for the wedding.”
“Okay. They want to take us to dinner Friday night. Somewhere nice, they said. They can be a lot. Very focused on appearances and social standing.”
“I remember. I can handle it.”
“I know you can. You’ve been incredible through all of this.” He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his, the gesture probably meant to be reassuring. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
His hand is warm against mine, and for a moment I let myself imagine that the touch means something beyond gratitude for services rendered. But then I remember that we’re in public, that this is probably part of our new strategy to be more convincing.
I pull my hand back gently. “What are friends for?”
But as I say it, the word “friends” tastes bitter in my mouth. Because we stopped being just friends the moment we signed those contracts, and I’m not sure we can ever find our way back to what we used to be.
“I ordered us both omelets,” he says, and just like that, the serious conversation is over.
After breakfast, he offers to walk me home, and I almost say no but then remember this is how it’s supposed to be. We’re putting on a show, acting like we’re in love.
Acting “inseparable.” Whether I want to or not.
And so we walk through the Sunday morning quiet, me trying not to think about the fact that I just committed to lying to his parents’ faces about loving their son.
The irony is that it won’t really be lying. I do love Ben. I’ve loved him for fifteen years. I’m just not allowed to mean it when I say it.