Chapter 17 LILY
LILY
The knife moves across the cutting board in a steady rhythm. Carrot first, the blade slicing through orange flesh with satisfying precision. Then celery, the stringy ribs separating cleanly under pressure. Finally onion, the sharp smell making my eyes water though I barely notice anymore.
Mirepoix. The same base I've made a thousand times before. The foundation for stocks and sauces and soups, the building blocks of French cooking that my chef instructor drilled into me until I could prep them in my sleep.
My hands know what to do without conscious thought, which is good because my mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere I don't want it to be but can't seem to escape from no matter how hard I try to focus on the simple, mechanical task in front of me.
Last night.
The memory plays on loop, unavoidable and relentless. Luan's mouth on mine. The taste of him, whiskey and want and something darker I couldn't name. The way his hands gripped my hips hard enough to leave marks, possessive and claiming in a way that made my brain short-circuit completely.
I lost myself in that kiss. Lost track of where we were, the flashing lights and pounding music and crowd of witnesses below.
Lost track of who was watching, Artan and Erion sitting right there at the table.
Lost track of what any of it was supposed to mean, the performance we were putting on for the benefit of anyone looking up at the VIP section.
I got caught in a haze of lust and desire and forgot the most fundamental truth of this entire situation.
It's pretend. All of it.
I'm a means to an end. A paid employee performing a role, playing a part in a production that has nothing to do with genuine feeling or real connection.
When this arrangement ends, when Luan no longer needs a fake fiancée to satisfy whatever requirement his family has imposed, I'll move on with my life and so will he.
Like none of this ever happened.
But for a moment last night, I believed the passion was real. Believed that kiss meant something beyond performance, beyond the lie we're maintaining for external consumption.
I wanted it to be real.
And that's the problem. That's the thing that kept me awake all night staring at the ceiling, replaying every second, analyzing every touch and sound and sensation until I couldn't think straight anymore.
Because if I'm brutally honest with myself, I have feelings for Luan.
Maybe just desire and physical attraction, the body wanting what the body wants regardless of wisdom or common sense.
But something is there. Something dangerous that threatens to break through the professional boundaries I'm supposed to be maintaining.
The worst part is I didn't even care that Artan and Erion were right there. Didn't care that we had an audience, that we were being watched not just by them but by everyone in that club who happened to glance up at the VIP section and see us tangled together.
If anything, knowing they were watching made it more intense. Made the arousal sharper, the need more desperate.
Which is insane. Completely insane.
This isn't the first time I've gotten carried away recently.
Erion in the changing room at the boutique, his fingers inside me, his hand over my mouth, his voice in my ear calling me his dirty little girl.
The way I let it happen without protest, without thought, without any consideration for where we were or who might walk in or what it meant.
And before that, Artan. When we almost kissed, when the air between us charged with possibility.
I must be losing my mind. Being attracted to three men at once, wanting all of them in different ways, letting myself get carried away by physical sensation without thinking about consequences or reality or basic self-preservation.
This is a recipe for disaster. The kind of situation that ends badly for everyone involved but especially for the person with the least power, which in this case is definitely me.
I need to keep my distance. Maintain professional boundaries. Revert to being just the hired help, just someone who performs her duties and stays out of the way and doesn't develop inconvenient feelings for her temporary employers.
Or things will not end well. Especially if my heart gets involved.
Which it already has. I know it has because of how I reacted last night when that woman appeared.
Her voice still echoes in my head. Shrill and vicious and dripping with possessive entitlement. Calling me a cheap whore, talking to Luan like she had a claim on him, like I was the interloper in something that belonged to her.
Gorgeous. Sophisticated. The kind of woman who knows how to navigate their world, who understands the rules and the stakes and the games being played. The kind of woman who matches Luan in ways I never could.
There's a story there. History between them that I don't know and probably shouldn't want to know.
And if she's his type, then I can never be his type. Simple and undeniable logic.
So after a long sleepless night of staring at shadows on the ceiling and replaying every moment and trying to untangle what's real from what's performance, I've made a decision.
Professional boundaries. Non-negotiable. I'll tell Luan he needs to find another fake fiancée, someone more appropriate for the role.
The engagement hasn’t been announced publicly yet. The only public outing was yesterday at Obsidian, and that can be explained away easily enough.
He can find someone new. Someone better suited to playing the part without getting emotionally entangled.
The thought of him with another woman, maybe even that sophisticated creature from last night, makes my chest ache in ways I don't want to examine too closely. But that pain is proof I'm already too involved, already in too deep to navigate this situation safely.
That's why the ring sits on my dresser instead of my finger. Why I left it there this morning deliberately, a small act of self-preservation.
The next chance I get, I'll talk to Luan. Tell him this arrangement isn't working for me, that I'm not comfortable continuing.
He's been closed in his office with Artan and Erion since early morning, their voices a low murmur behind the heavy door, discussing business.
But after lunch, which I absolutely will not be sharing with them because that's part of the boundary I'm reinstating, I'll have that conversation. Get it over with. Start the process of untangling myself from this situation before I get hurt worse than I already am.
I need to remember what I actually am here.
Not family. Not a partner. Definitely not a fiancée, fake or otherwise.
My phone vibrates against the counter, the buzz loud in the quiet kitchen.
I wipe my hands on a towel and check the screen.
Henry.
Hey sis. Wanted to give you an update. The nursery is coming together. We painted it yellow, gender neutral since we don't know what we're having yet. The crib arrives next week. Sarah picked out the cutest mobile, little woodland animals that play lullabies.
My throat tightens. He sounds happy. Excited. Like he's finally getting his life together, finally becoming the person he's supposed to be.
Then the next message arrives: Things for the baby are really expensive though. Formula and diapers and clothes and all the gear they need. And I still have some debts from before that I'm working on. I hate to ask but could you maybe help me out? Just a loan. I'll pay you back as soon as I can.
The resolve I'd built up over the sleepless night, the decision to back out of this arrangement with Luan, vanishes like smoke.
I need that money. Not just for my own living situation, for finding an apartment and starting over somewhere new.
But for the baby. For my brother. For making sure that child comes into the world with everything it needs, that Henry has a real chance to be a good father without drowning in debt and desperation.
My fingers move across the screen automatically: Can I come by the house later?
His response is immediate: I'll be here. You can meet Sarah too. She's been wanting to meet you. Says it's important to know family.
Something loosens in my chest despite everything else weighing heavy there. My family is growing. A niece or nephew on the way. A sister-in-law I haven't met yet. Connections that matter, that are real, that will last beyond whatever temporary situation I'm navigating now.
That's a good thing. A genuinely good thing in a life that's felt increasingly complicated and confusing.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway breaks my concentration. Voices, low and masculine and too muffled to make out words. The office door opening with its distinctive creak.
They're done with their meeting.
Erion appears in the doorway first, leaning against the frame with that easy confidence he always carries. His pale blue eyes track over me in a way that makes my skin heat despite my resolve to maintain distance.
"Something smells incredible," he says, his voice carrying that edge of flirtation that seems permanently built into how he communicates.
"Are you staying for lunch?" I keep my voice neutral, functional, the tone I'd use with any employer asking about dinner plans.
"Wouldn't miss it." The way he says it suggests he's not just talking about the food.
I turn away before he can see my face, before whatever I'm feeling shows through.
Artan walks in as I'm setting the last plate down. His eyes go immediately to the table, taking in the setup.
"Only three?" The question is neutral but pointed.
I hesitate, my hands resting on the back of the fourth chair that won't be used. "I won't be having lunch with you. I need to do some shopping. Actually, I'll be out all afternoon if that's okay."
The words come out more defensive than I intended, like I'm asking permission instead of stating a fact.
Luan's voice cuts through from behind Artan, cold and clipped in a way that makes something in my stomach drop. "It's fine. You won't be needed."
The words land like a physical blow.
You won't be needed.
Replaceable. That's what I am. Fundamentally replaceable, a role that could be filled by anyone with basic cooking skills and a willingness to play along with whatever charade they're maintaining.
Foolish for thinking otherwise. Foolish for letting myself believe, even for a moment, that I might be something more.
The resolve to keep distance that I'd spent all night building hardens into something solid and unmovable in my chest. Crystallizes into certainty.
This is the right choice. The only choice that makes sense.
"I'll go with you," Erion says immediately, pushing off the doorframe with sudden energy. "I like shopping with you—"
"No." Artan's voice cuts through, firm and final in a way that brooks no argument. "You stay. Finish the discussion with Luan about the distribution routes. I'll go with Lily."
"That's really not necessary," I say quickly, hearing the edge of desperation in my own voice and hating it. "I can go alone. I'm just running errands. Nothing complicated."
Artan is already moving toward the door, already making the decision for me, already taking control of a situation I thought I could manage myself.
I don't have the energy to fight it. To fight any of this.