Chapter 18
FREYA
I’m fumbling with my keys when I reach my car, exhausted from hours of smiling and making small talk with people who think I’m living some kind of fairy tale romance.
The engagement party was beautiful—Carson really outdid himself with the rooftop venue—but I feel drained from performing happiness for three hours straight.
All I want is to go home, take off these heels, and try to forget about tonight.
But when I walk around to the driver’s side, my heart sinks. My front tire is completely flat, the rubber practically melted against the asphalt of the parking garage.
“Seriously?” I mutter, kicking at the offending tire with my already aching foot. “Tonight?”
I pop the trunk to check for a spare, even though I already know what I’ll find. Or rather, what I won’t find. I’ve been meaning to replace it for months, ever since I had to use it last winter, but like so many things in my life lately, it got pushed aside by more immediate concerns.
Like planning a fake wedding to my best friend.
I pull out my phone and call AAA, trying to ignore the fact that it’s nearly midnight and I’m standing alone in a parking garage in heels and a cocktail dress. The dispatcher tells me it’ll be at least an hour before a tow truck can get to me.
An hour. Perfect.
I’m scrolling through my contacts, debating whether to call Bella or just wait it out, when headlights sweep across the garage. A familiar black convertible pulls up beside me, and my stomach does an unwelcome flip.
Ben’s window rolls down. “Car trouble?”
“Flat tire. No spare.” I gesture helplessly at my car. “I called for a tow, but they won’t be here for an hour.”
“Get in. I’ll drive you home.”
I hesitate. The smart thing would be to call Bella or even take an Uber.
The last thing I need right now is to be alone in a car with Ben, especially after tonight.
Especially after the way he looked when I told him about Ron Gabriel, like I’d somehow betrayed him by not sharing every detail of my life.
Especially after the way my heart rate picks up every time he’s within three feet of me.
“It’s late,” he says, as if reading my hesitation. “Come on, Freya. Let me give you a ride.”
“Fine.” I grab my purse and lock my car, then slide into Ben’s passenger seat. The interior smells like his cologne and leather, achingly familiar.
We drive through the quiet streets in silence for the first few minutes. I stare out the window, watching the city blur past, trying not to think about how natural this feels. How right.
“You seemed to enjoy yourself tonight,” Ben says finally.
“I did. Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. Carson did it all.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me glance at him. His jaw is tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel more firmly than necessary.
“Ben, are you upset about something?”
“No. Why would I be upset?”
“You just seem… tense.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I guess I was surprised that you didn’t tell me about the exhibition.”
The hurt in his voice catches me off guard. “Um… okay. With everything else going on, it didn’t seem like the right time.”
“Your career isn’t ‘everything else,’ Freya. It’s important. It matters.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because it feels like you’re compartmentalizing me out of the parts of your life that actually mean something to you.”
His words hit harder than they should. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? We used to tell each other everything. We spend all this time planning wedding details and staging photo opportunities, but you don’t tell me about the biggest break in your career.”
“Because this isn’t real!” The words explode out of me before I can stop them. “This engagement, this relationship, none of it is real, Ben. Why would I treat you like a real fiancé when we both know this is all just a business arrangement?”
The silence that follows is deafening. I immediately regret saying it, but I can’t take it back now.
“Right,” he says quietly. “Just business. And our friendship?”
I don’t answer. He doesn’t deserve that.
When he pulls up in front of my building, I’m already reaching for the door handle before the car comes to a complete stop.
“Freya, wait.”
I turn back to face him, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. He looks wounded. Vulnerable in a way I rarely see.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re right. I don’t have the right to expect you to share everything with me. This is complicated enough without me making it more so.”
“Ben—”
“Let me walk you up. It’s late.”
I should say no. I should tell him I’m fine, that I can manage the thirty yards to my front door on my own. But something in his voice, some note of longing that I might be imagining, makes me nod.
We walk to my building in silence, our footsteps echoing off the empty street. At my front door, I turn to face him, keys in hand.
“Thank you for the ride. And for tonight. The party was beautiful.”
“You’re welcome.”
We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving. The porch light casts shadows across his face, and I find myself memorizing the details—the way his hair falls across his forehead, the line of his jaw, the way he’s looking at me like I’m something precious.
“Freya,” he says softly, and then he’s stepping closer.
My heart hammers against my ribs as he reaches up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. This is it. This is finally happening. All those years of wondering, of carefully buried feelings and moments that could have been something more.
He leans down, and I tilt my face up toward his, my eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.
But instead of kissing me, he stops. I feel his breath against my lips for one perfect, terrible moment, and then he’s pulling back, dropping his hand, stepping away.
“I should go,” he says, his voice rough. “Good night, Freya.”
“Good night,” I whisper, but he’s already walking away.
I watch him get back in his car and drive off before I fumble with my keys and let myself into the building. My hands are shaking so badly that it takes three tries to unlock my apartment door.
Once I’m inside, I lean back against the door and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, my dress pooled around me like some kind of tragic fairy tale.
He almost kissed me. For one incredible moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. At that moment, every carefully constructed wall I’ve built around my feelings crumbled to dust.
But then he pulled away. Because he doesn’t want me. Not really. Not the way I want him.
I’m such an idiot. How did I let myself believe, even for a second, that this could be real? How did I convince myself that maybe, possibly, Ben might have real feelings for me?
He was just caught up in the moment. The romantic setting, the late hour, the intensity of the evening—it probably felt natural to almost kiss his fake fiancée. But then he remembered our agreement. No catching feelings. Strictly business.
God, I’m pathetic. I’m sitting on my kitchen floor in a cocktail dress, crying over a man who’s made it crystal clear that he doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend doing him a favor.
The worst part is that I can’t fake this anymore. I can’t stand next to him at the altar in five days and promise to love him forever when I already do love him, completely and hopelessly, and he doesn’t love me back.
What am I going to do? How am I supposed to marry him on Saturday, knowing that every word of my vows will be true for me and meaningless for him? How am I supposed to go through with this charade when it’s destroying me from the inside out?
I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find Bella’s number.
Maybe I should call her. Maybe I should confess everything and ask for help.
But what would I even say? That I’ve been lying to her for weeks?
That I’m fake-marrying her fake brother-in-law and it’s killing me because I’m actually in love with him?
No. I can’t do that to her. I can’t drag her into this mess.
I set the phone aside and rest my head against the door. Five more days. I just have to get through five more days, and then we’ll be married and I can start the slow process of learning to live with loving someone who will never love me back.