Terms of a Fake Fiancé #2
He wanted to say yes quickly. Instead, he answered the question.
“I know I almost treated you like one five minutes ago.”
Her fingers loosened on the folder.
Not forgiveness. Not agreement. Listening.
He pulled a pen from his jacket and set it between them. “If we do this, you approve every public statement. I don't speak for you. I don't touch festival funds. I don't meet with the bank alone. I sign the waterfront commitment first, whether you agree to anything or not.”
“That should have been first in your speech.”
“Yes.”
“And my family stays out of it.”
“As much as possible.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“This is Harbor Cove,” he said. “I can promise not to involve them. I can't promise Mabel won’t invent a brunch.”
Emily looked pained because the argument was sound.
“No private appearances,” she said.
“Define private.”
“No romantic dinners staged for optics. No photos on purpose. No letting people think there was some long secret history between us.”
“Agreed.”
“No physical performance without discussing it first.”
He looked at the ink mark on her thumb, then at her face. “Agreed.”
“No surprise announcements.”
“Agreed.”
“No making me look foolish.”
That one should have been easy. It wasn't, because every version of this plan risked exactly that.
“I won't intentionally make you look foolish.”
Emily’s expression went lethal.
He corrected fast. “I will take active steps to prevent it.”
“Better.”
“And if Grant pushes?” he asked.
“He will.”
“Then we need one answer.”
“We say it is personal and not committee business.”
“Too defensive.”
She frowned, then reconsidered. “We say the committee’s priority is the festival, and personal congratulations can wait until after Monday.”
“Better.”
“Don't sound surprised.”
“I sounded impressed.”
“You sounded like a man who forgot I run meetings for a living.”
“I won’t forget again.”
It came out quieter than he intended.
Emily noticed. Of course she did.
Her phone buzzed against the table. Once. Twice. Three times.
She turned it over.
“The Gazette wants to know if the festival program should include a congratulations note.”
Nathan looked at the locked door. “I thought the Gazette was weekly.”
“It is. That has never stopped them from being premature.” She rubbed her forehead, then dropped her hand quickly, as if even exhaustion had to submit a request before being seen. “This is impossible.”
“No,” he said. “It’s fast.”
“That isn't comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Then work on your bedside manner before our fake honeymoon.”
The sentence hit the room.
Emily froze.
Nathan kept his expression still with effort that should have counted as a public service.
Her cheeks went pink, not coy, but furious at her own mouth.
“We are never using that phrase again,” she said.
“Agreed.”
“Erase it.”
“Done.”
“And stop looking like that.”
“I’m looking neutral.”
“You are looking strategically entertained.”
He gave up half an inch of honesty. “It’s been a difficult morning. I’m taking what I can get.”
A knock hit the door.
“Emily?” Chloe’s voice came through the wood. “I brought emergency coffee and a question I shouldn't ask through a locked door.”
Emily didn't move. “Then don’t.”
“Great. I’ll text it.”
Emily’s phone buzzed.
She read aloud, because apparently suffering was communal now. “Is this an I’m fine situation or an I need you to hide a body situation?”
Nathan said, “Those are the only options?”
“In Harbor Cove, yes.” Emily typed something fast.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you are not dead yet.”
The hallway went quiet.
Then Chloe said, “That’s not a no on the engagement.”
Emily opened the door just wide enough to take the coffee. Chloe’s eyes flicked from Emily to Nathan to the papers between them. She handed over the cup without stepping inside.
“Blink twice if you need legal counsel,” Chloe said.
“I need espresso and a town without phones.”
“So legal counsel.” Chloe looked at Nathan. “If this is your fault, I’m charging you café rent for emotional damages.”
“That seems reasonable,” Nathan said.
Emily shut the door with her shoulder. “You are not allowed to make friends with my people during a crisis.”
“I don’t think she likes me.”
“She charged you rent. That is practically a welcome basket.”
Emily drank the coffee like medicine. Some color returned to her face. She set the cup beside the bank folder and picked up Nathan’s pen.
It shouldn't have felt important.
It did.
“Until Monday,” she said.
“Until after the festival opening.”
“Friday review first. If Atlantic Coast stabilizes and the correction can be handled without blowing up the festival, we reassess.”
“Agreed.”
“Written waterfront commitment by noon.”
“Yes.”
“Bridge pledge only through committee approval.”
“Yes.”
“No solo conversations with Marissa about me, the festival, or our alleged personal life.”
“Agreed.”
“No using the word pending within fifty feet of me.”
“That may limit bank paperwork.”
“Nathan.”
“Agreed.”
Her mouth almost moved toward a smile.
Almost.
Then she caught herself and drew a hard line down the margin of her packet. “We need actual rules.”
“We just made several.”
“We made emergency terms. Rules decide what happens when Mabel asks where you proposed, when Grant wants dates, when someone expects us to hold hands in front of Marissa, and when my mother hears about this from a woman buying muffins.”
“Your mother hasn’t heard?”
Emily went very still.
Then both of their phones buzzed.
Nathan looked at his, though only three people in town had the number.
Unknown: Congratulations. Your mother would have loved Emily.
He stared at the message until the words became less simple and failed.
Emily had gone pale for an entirely different reason.
“My mother just texted, ‘Call me before I choose a hat.’”
Nathan set his phone face down.
The arrangement had left the room, crossed Main Street, and started shopping for accessories.
Emily capped his pen. “Tonight. The Inn. Seven o’clock. We write every rule before Harbor Cove plans the wedding without us.”
Nathan looked at the Town Hall window.
Mabel’s silhouette had absolutely not moved on.
“Seven,” he said.
“And Nathan?”
He looked back.
“If you decide one thing for me without asking, this arrangement ends.”
It wasn't a threat. It was a boundary drawn in permanent ink.
He nodded once. “Understood.”
Emily picked up the Atlantic Coast folder, her coffee, and the vendor sheet. At the door, she paused.
“We are not engaged.”
“No,” Nathan said.
She unlocked the door.
From the hallway, Mabel whispered, “Of course not.”
Emily opened it the rest of the way.
Mabel stood there with the innocence of a woman who had never once obeyed a closed door in her life.
Emily looked at Nathan over her shoulder.
“Seven o’clock,” she said.
Then she walked into the hallway to face the town.
Nathan stayed in the meeting room for three more seconds, looking at the vendor sheet she had forgotten.
Then he picked it up carefully, like paper could accuse him too, and followed her out.