Rule #1: No touching unless necessary.
Rule #2: No real kissing.
Rule #3: No looking at me like that.
"You're staring," I told him without looking up.
"I'm thinking," Rhyland said, arms crossed and propped against the kitchen island like some Calvin Klein ad gone smug.
"Think somewhere else."
"I live here."
"Unfortunately."
We'd only been going for three hours, the most ridiculous setup of my life, and I was already thinking about strangling him with one of his pricey throw pillows.
Noah wailed from his high chair, spilling a handful of bananas onto the hardwood floor like some tiny warlord.
"I see he's inherited his mom's genes," Rhyland muttered, grabbing a towel.
"Sticky but charming? Thanks."
"Unpredictable and sticky."
"Careful," I warned. "I've got a full diaper bag and nothing to lose."
Before he could respond, his phone rang on the counter.
He glanced at the screen, grumbled under his breath, and answered it. "It's Granger's assistant. Hold on."
He stepped into the next room, speaking low and fast.
I spun around to Noah, wiping the banana off his fingers and trying not to think about the fact that I had a fake fiancé and a real headache.
This was not supposed to go this way.
I came to New York to escape the chaos, not dive headfirst into it with the man who once informed me my baking was made of regret.
Rhyland returned two minutes later, his face wasn't too bright.
"Problem?" I asked.
"We've got company. Granger's wife is coming down, and she's bringing a personal gift for Noah. A baby care basket or something."
"Seriously?"
"She's walking up. Like, now."
I sprang up so fast I was about to knock over the high chair. "We're not ready. We haven't even talked about the story—how we met, how long we've been together—"
"Nobody's requesting a novel. Just act like you like me."
"That's expecting a miracle."
He crossed the kitchen and took the dish towel from my hand. "You're overthinking it. It's one woman. She'll peek in, smile at the happy family, and leave."
As if on cue, the elevator dinged.
I started feeling uneasy.
Rhyland turned to me. "You trust me?"
"No."
"Good. Let's fake it."
The doors opened and in walked a glamorous woman in her fifties bearing a Tiffany-blue gift bag and the sort of polished energy that screamed old money and expensive Pilates.
"You must be Emery!" she declared, flashing me a dazzling smile.
I smiled back, not sure whether to shake her hand or bow.
"I'm Lillian Granger. Elliott has spoken to me about you and your sweet little boy." She bent down to smile at Noah, who automatically offered her a soggy Cheerio.
I cleared my throat. "Thank you ever so much for coming."
She looked at Rhyland. "Elliott is just thrilled. I've never seen him this excited about an entrepreneur in years. He said that your family saga is uplifting."
Family saga. Yeah.
Rhyland wrapped an arm around my waist. "We've had our ups and downs, but we make it work."
"Oh, I can tell," Lillian smiled. "You two have real chemistry."
I stifled a laugh. "Yeah. Like fire and gasoline."
Rhyland grinned a little too hard. "She keeps me humble."
Lillian handed the bag to me. "Organic baby shampoo, handmade bibs, the works. You'll love them."
"That's very sweet," I said, peering inside.
It's nothing," she said. "You're practically family now. And Elliott thought I'd ask you both to our foundation gala next week. Black tie. It will be a beautiful evening."
My anxiety intensified.
"Oh," I said. "That's—"
"We'd love to," Rhyland cut in sharply. "Can't wait."
"Perfect," she said. "I'll have an invitation sent over. And Emery—if you ever need help planning the wedding, I know everyone.".
I swallowed a half-laugh, half-scream sound.
"I'll recall that," I said with a smile so wide my face hurt.
"Well, I won't keep you. Just wanted to say hello in person." She turned toward the elevator, then paused. "Before I go, can I get a quick photo of the three of you? I'm helping update the investor welcome board. Family bios and such."
I stood like my thoughts were wiped out for a moment.
"Noah just ate," I told her. "He's kind of a mess—"
"He's adorable. Just one picture."
I looked at Rhyland.
He edged closer, wrapped an arm around my waist, and leaned in to whisper, "Smile and let's get it over with."
I carried Noah up and turned to the phone.
Lillian aimed. "Say cheese!"
Rhyland leaned in. His lips brushed my cheek—warm, slow, far too real.
I breathed again.
Snap.
"There," she said, smiling. "Perfect."
I didn't move. Couldn't move.
His mouth lingered too long. His hand didn't fall.
"You can stop now," I growled.
He didn't look at me. "I know."
The elevator doors shut behind her.
I stepped back, nudging him. "What was that?"
"A good performance."
"You kissed me."
"On the cheek."
"You lingered too long."
He shakes his head. "Did it work?"
I hated that the answer was yes.
I placed Noah in his playpen and turned away, needing space. My heart was pounding and not the good kind.
"This is a terrible idea," I said to him. "We need rules."
"Absolutely," he said. "Rule one?"
"No more surprise pecks."
He held up a finger. "Only if they're not for show."
"Don't be smart."
"I'm being serious. Public displays of affection are part of the deal. You want me to bring this investor on board or not?"
I sighed. "Fine. But I'm writing rules."
He crossed to the fridge and opened it. "Make a list. I'll break them later."
"I'm not joking."
"Neither am I."
I grabbed a notepad from the drawer and started scribbling.
Rule #1: No touching outside of public events.
Rule #2: No real kisses. Ever.
Rule #3: No shirtless wandering.
Rule #4: Stop smirking at me.
Rule #5: Seriously, no smirking.
Rule #6: No sharing beds, under any circumstances.
I handed it to him. "Stick to it."
He read it, then glanced up at me. "What if I forget?"
"I'll remind you by stabbing you with a baby spoon."
He chuckled. "Romantic."
"I'm not here to fall for you, Rhyland. I'm here to survive."
His eyes flickered with a hint of dishonesty. "And if I fall for you?"
I blinked.
"What?"
"Hypothetically," he said lightly. "If I
started to like this too much. What then?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't have one.
And I resented that he understood it.
"Careful," I whispered. "This is not real, but heartbreak remains real."