Chapter 5
Emery's POV
I burst into Roman's penthouse the next morning with a storm cloud over my head and a fire simmering in my chest. I hadn't slept. Who could sleep after a man like Roman Hart proposed to make me his fake fiancée as if it was just another business transaction?
He was in the lounge, already dressed in a tailored navy suit, his attention on a tablet, tapping away as if the world depended on it. He did not see me until I coughed.
"You have five seconds to tell me about last night before I walk out and slam the door loudly enough to topple that ridiculous art piece from the wall," I bit out.
He set the tablet down and looked up at me, unflappable as ever. "Good morning to you too, Emery. Coffee?"
"Roman."
He stood and walked over to the kitchen island to pour two cups. "It wasn't a joke. I wouldn't tease you like that. I need this."
"Why? Because being fake engaged makes your brand more glossy? You think a ring on my finger is good publicity for your empire?"
He exhaled, setting one mug in front of me. "Because it's the only way I retain the company."
That caught me. "Excuse me?"
"There's a hostile board maneuver impending. There are old vultures who wish to sell Hartbridge Ventures, carve it up for parts. The company my brother and I built they'll gut it unless I seem to be a solid, committed man with a future and a heart."
I blinked. "A heart. So you picked me to make it look like you have one?"
He didn't flinch. "No. I picked you because people already suspect something's happening between us. And because I know I can trust you not to lie to me. Even when it hurts."
I glanced down at the coffee. His brother. The locked door. The emotional walls. This wasn't image this was legacy. Not losing the last piece of a person he loved.
Nevertheless, I wasn't going to make it easy. "Fine. One month. Public appearances only. No funny business. And if this affects my work or my reputation, I'm out."
He nodded. "Agreed. We'll draw up boundaries. Talia will draft an agreement."
I should've known he'd want a contract.
The next few days were a whirlwind.
Talia, who managed to find time to coordinate everything from business deals to my new pseudo-engagement wardrobe, set up press leaks, paparazzi outings, and even a few well-chosen events. Nathan did interference with the press, reminding me more and more of a loyal knight defending an unwilling queen.
And Roman? Roman acted like we'd been together for years. He held doors open, touched the small of my back like it was second nature, and offered his arm at every step. All of it calculated. Smooth. Distantly warm, like a fire behind thick glass.
And still... there were moments. Unscripted moments when his eyes lingered too long or when his laughter felt too genuine. Moments I couldn't categorize.
Like when we rehearsed our origin story the fateful first meeting at an art museum, the purloined kiss on the rooftop, our shared love of travel. I chuckled at the ridiculousness of it, to catch Roman regarding me with something close to warmth in his eyes. Something real.
I was in trouble.
The gala arrived on a Friday night like thunder on the horizon.
It was at a skyscraping glass museum downtown, a fundraiser for children's technology programs. Roman was one of the major sponsors. Our entrance was posed his hand clutched around mine, our smiles rehearsed to the exact wattage.
There were photographers swarming the red carpet. Reporters muttered and scribbled. I could hear our names being whispered like gold-dipped gossip.
Inside, the gala was white marble and glittering chandeliers. A live quartet performed something classy in the background, and waiters floated by with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres I couldn't even pronounce.
"Don't drink too fast," Roman whispered near my ear as I sipped champagne. "They're watching."
"You think I haven't been watched before?"
He smirked. "Not like this. Not while pretending to be in love with me."
"Pretending is the easy part. You just have to pretend I don't want to throw this flute at your head."
His laugh was low and sincere. "There she is."
We mingled. He introduced me to donors and business partners. I played my part smiling, laughing, touching his arm when appropriate. The longer it went on, the more I knew people believed us. Maybe more than I did.
I caught sight of Vivienne, statuesque in red, watching from across the room. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were icy. She wasn't here for the gala.
Near the end of the night, Roman and I stood at the glass overlook, the city skyline behind us like a painted dream.
"You've done well," he said low.
"Well? I deserve a damn Oscar."
He turned fully to face me. "I meant it. You've made this... bearable."
And then before I could move or blink he leaned forward and kissed me.
There, under the crystal chandeliers, in front of a dozen flashing cameras.
His lips touched mine with care and precision, firm but not insistent. My heart faltered, my breath caught, and my body betrayed me completely.
Because it didn't feel fake at all.
When he pulled away, his eyes were on mine. Searching. Open.
I whispered hardly, "Roman."
He didn't speak. Just took my hand again, as if nothing had happened, and led me into the spotlight.
But I couldn't get the kiss out of my head.
And how, somewhere between pretend and performance.
Something real had begun to grow.
I couldn't sleep the night after the gala. How could I, after that kiss? It had been too much.
Too soft and too hard, too long and too short.
Too fake to be real, yet too real to be fake. And Roman? He brushed it off like it was nothing.
Just part of the act, he said to me. But his eyes....Gosh, his eyes said everything that he wouldn't.