Chapter 13 #2
She’s glowing. Animated. Completely in her element, even if she doesn’t know it.
And I’m falling for her all over again.
“That’s beautiful,” Jennifer says, typing notes. “And Brody, you must be so proud of her work.”
I look at Chloe. She’s watching me, curious what I’ll say.
“I am,” I say. And mean it. “She’s incredible at what she does. She sees people—really sees them—and creates experiences that bring out the best in everyone. She did that for Maya’s events. She did that for—” I stop before I can say it, me. “She’s very talented.”
Chloe’s cheeks flush pink.
Jennifer is eating this up. “You two are adorable. Can I get a photo? For the article?”
“Oh, um—” Chloe looks uncertain.
“Sure,” I say. Standing. Offering Chloe my hand.
We stand together in front of the massive fireplace while Jennifer frames the shot on her phone.
“Perfect. Now smile—not too posed, just natural.”
I look at Chloe. She looks at me. And we smile. And for the first time, I’m not showing off my media-perfect smile. Jennifer’s getting the real me.
“Can I get one, for us?” Chloe says and hands her phone to Jennifer.
“Sure.” Jennifer takes the photo. “Got it. Let me just check—” She looks at the screen. Frowns slightly.
“Everything okay?” Chloe asks.
“Oh, yes. You two look great.” Jennifer hands back the phone. “Beautiful shot.”
But there was something in that frown. Something that makes my instincts prickle.
“Thank you so much for this opportunity,” Chloe says, and pockets the phone.
“My pleasure. I’ll send you a copy of the article when it comes out.” Jennifer gathers her things, smiling again. “Enjoy the wedding weekend!”
She disappears toward the restaurant. Chloe immediately opens her phone, pulling up the photo.
We’re standing close, my arm around her waist, her hand on my chest. Both of us smiling like we’re actually in love. Like this isn’t a business arrangement. Like we’re a real couple at a real wedding, celebrating real feelings.
“We look good,” Chloe says softly.
“Yeah. We do.”
We stand there staring at the photo for a long moment.
“Ready for that walk?” I ask, needing to move, needing the cold air to clear my head and remind me where this whole thing is headed.
“Yes. Please. That was a lot first thing in the morning.”
We head outside into the sharp February air.
It’s crisp, hovering just below freezing, the kind of cold that makes your lungs burn in a good way.
The sun is higher now, melting the frost on the pine trees, making everything sparkle.
The resort grounds stretch out before us—paths winding through the woods, the lake visible through gaps in the trees.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, our footsteps crunching on the gravel path. Our breaths come out in white clouds.
“That was really cool,” Chloe says finally. “I’ve never been interviewed about my business before.”
“You were amazing.”
“I was nervous.”
“You didn’t seem nervous. You came off passionate. Confident.” I glance at her. “You should do more of that. You’re a natural.”
“Ha. Hardly.”
But I stop her. “Listen. You’re honest. And real. And not caught up in worrying what people think of you.” The words come out before I can stop them. “I admire that about you.”
She is looking at me, nonplussed. “You admire me?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Brody Kane, hockey’s golden boy, admires me?”
“I’m not—” I stop. “I’m not a golden boy. That’s just a persona. A performance. Candy Kane isn’t real.”
“I know.”
“You’re the only person who sees that. Who sees me.” My chest is tight. And then I say something completely corny. “You see the dragon underneath the scales everyone else wants.”
Oh brother. On the list of most cringeworthy moments in my life, I think that one will be holding a top spot for a while. But she doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t cringe. She just nods.
Then, “And the princess needs the dragon too. Because while her blindness lets her see beyond his sparkle, he makes her laugh and helps her to feel…safe. And maybe special.”
And right then I know.
I’m in love with her. And this isn’t a game, and…
The words fill my lungs. “Chloe, I—”
“Chloe!” Maya’s voice carries through the trees. She’s jogging down the path toward us, still in her pajamas but with a coat thrown over them. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! We have final dress fittings in an hour, and the florist called and the flowers have arrived frozen—”
“Calm down—we’ll fix it.” Chloe takes her hand, then looks at me apologetically. “Duty calls.”
“Go. I’ll see you later.”
I’m left standing alone in the woods with the crushing realization that I have approximately twenty-four hours left on this contract.
Twenty-four hours to figure out how to tell her that this has stopped being fake—has never been fake.
I don’t want us to break up. Which means, of course, I’ll break the contract.
Lose everything.
I’m no longer the dragon in the cave, too scared to let anyone in. And the blind princess isn’t the one who needs him.
He’s the one who needs her.
CHLOE
He admires me.
The thought has been playing on repeat in my head for the last four hours.
I’m lying on a heated massage table in the resort spa, wrapped in a plush white robe, while someone named Svetlana works lavender-scented oil into my shoulders with the kind of pressure that borders on aggressive.
Maya insisted on a full spa day for the wedding party—massages, facials, mani-pedis, the works.
Her gift to her bridesmaids and, apparently, to me.
“You are very tense,” Svetlana says in a thick accent that could be Russian or possibly just very rural Minnesotan. “You must relax.”
Easy for her to say. She’s not the one whose fake relationship ends tomorrow and who just realized she’s completely, hopelessly, irreversibly in love with her contractually obligated boyfriend.
Which wouldn’t be terrible except the contract includes the epic fight.
The breakup.
And if we break the contract, well…
Who decided a contract was a good idea anyway?
The spa smells fresh, like eucalyptus and mint. Very spa-ish. Soft music drifts overhead, playing some sort of pan-flute monstrosity that’s been drilling into my brain since I stepped into the room. Candles flicker in glass holders, casting a dim, eerie glow from under the massage tables.
“Breathe,” Svetlana commands.
I breathe. Or at least, I try to.
I try to focus on the sensation of her hands working out the knots in my shoulders. On the warmth of the heated table against my stomach. The rich smell of oils. Anything other than the roiling anxiety bubbling up through my chest.
This is supposed to be relaxing.
Why isn’t it relaxing?
Oh, I don’t know, maybe because every time I close my eyes, I see Brody.
Standing in the morning light, looking rumpled and soft and like he didn’t sleep well.
Speaking French to waiters. Holding my hand under the table.
Looking at me in the woods like he was about to say something important before Maya interrupted.
You see the dragon underneath the scales everyone else wants.
Who says things like that?
Brody Kane, apparently.
The man I thought was all performance and charm and carefully constructed image. The man who turned out to be vulnerable and scared and kind and real underneath all of it.
The man I’m absolutely, completely in love with.
“You are tensing again,” Svetlana says disapprovingly. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”
“Man problems?”
“How did you—”
“Is always man problems.” She digs her thumbs into a particularly stubborn knot near my shoulder blade, making me wince. “You love him?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I think I do.”
“Then tell him.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Is always complicated.” She moves to my other shoulder, giving me a brief reprieve before starting in again. “But life is short. You tell him. He loves you too, probably. Men are stupid but not blind.”
I want to laugh. Or cry. Or both.
When she finally finishes—patting my shoulder in what I think is meant to be an encouraging way but feels more like a warning—I’m ushered into another room for the facial.
This one smells like cucumber and roses, the air humid from the facial steamers.
Maya’s already there, lying on a table with her face covered in what looks like green mud, cucumber slices over her eyes.
Maya lifts one of the slices and peeks out as I settle onto my own table beside her.
An aesthetician, who introduces herself as Amber, starts cleansing my face, applying some kind of exfoliating scrub with her fingers.
I close my eyes, trying very hard to focus on relaxing, keeping my mind from wandering back to—
“So,” Maya says from her table, “I didn’t tell Mom, but you and Brody…in the same room?”
“He slept on the couch, so don’t go crazy.”
“Well, for the record, I’m happy for you, Chloe. You deserve someone who chooses you. Who makes you feel like you’re the most important person in the room.” She’s quiet for a moment. “That’s how Derek makes me feel. And I think Brody does that for you.”
Brody doesn’t just make me feel like the most important person in the room. He makes me feel like the only person in the room.
Amber wipes off the exfoliating scrub and starts applying a mask that smells like honey and lavender.
“Can I tell you something?” Maya asks.
“Of course.”