Chapter 3 Terms and Conditions of Disaster

Ivy's POV

The civil ceremony took place five days later in a judge's chambers so quiet I could hear my own pulse. Adrian stood beside me in a charcoal suit, his face unreadable, his hand steady when the judge asked for rings. I said I do, he said I do. Neither of us meant it.

The judge pronounced us married. Adrian signed the certificate like it was a quarterly report. I signed beneath him, my handwriting shaky for reasons I refused to name.

Outside, Zoe grabbed my arm. "You married a stranger. A billionaire stranger who owns half the city."

"I noticed."

"And you're not panicking?"

I looked at Adrian across the sidewalk. He looked like a man who had never panicked about anything. "Oh, I'm panicking. I'm just doing it internally."

---

His penthouse was on the fortieth floor. The elevator opened into a foyer of pale marble and cold light. A woman named Sloane appeared, head of security and handed me a folder with my photo already clipped to it. Lawyers sent documents to my phone before I had set my bag down.

I stood in the center of his pristine, minimalist living room and realized I had no idea what I had signed up for.

He appeared beside me. "Overwhelmed?"

"Statistically."

He handed me a glass of water. "You'll adjust."

I wanted to believe that.

That night, Adrian sat across from me at his dining table. Between us sat a single sheet of paper.

"Rules," he said.

I picked it up. The list was short, four lines in his precise handwriting.

One. No lying to each other, even if we lie to everyone else.

I looked up. "That's oddly intimate for a fake marriage."

"Deception is exhausting," he said. "I prefer to reserve it for people who deserve it."

Two. No bringing past partners into the arrangement.

"Daniel," I said.

"Daniel," he agreed. "And anyone from my past. They don't exist for the duration of this contract."

Three. No catching feelings.

I laughed. He said it with a completely straight face. "Feelings aren't a light switch."

"No," he said. "But they are a choice. We can choose not to complicate this."

I stared at him. "Fine. What's the fourth rule?"

Four. Public affection only when necessary.

"Define necessary," I said.

"Events where we're being watched. Photographs where we need to appear convincing." He paused. "A hand on the back. An arm linked through mine. Nothing more."

I thought about Daniel. "I can do that."

"Good."

We sat in silence. The city glowed beyond the windows. I was married to a stranger in a penthouse I could never afford.

And somehow, the thing that terrified me most was rule number three.

Our first public appearance was three days later. A gallery opening, press waiting outside like wolves.

Sloane briefed me in the car. "Smile. Stay close to Mr. Vale. Don't answer questions about your relationship."

Adrian sat beside me, immaculate in a black suit, his tie the same dark blue as that first night. He had not looked at me since we left.

The car stopped. Flash erupted through the windows.

"This is the part where we perform," he said quietly.

The door opened. He stepped out, then extended his hand. I took it. His fingers closed around mine, steady and warm.

The cameras went wild.

I smiled. He smiled. His hand found the small of my back, pressing gently, guiding me forward. His palm was warm through the silk of my dress.

I short-circuited.

It was such a small thing. A hand, a touch. But his fingers spanned almost the width of my back, and he held me there like I belonged beside him. Like I was something worth holding onto.

The questions blurred around us. I heard none of them. All I could feel was the weight of his hand, the steady pressure that said I'm here. Follow my lead.

We made it inside. The hand disappeared. He stepped away to speak to someone in a better suit, and I was alone.

Zoe appeared at my elbow. "You're staring at him."

"I'm not."

"You're staring at him like he's the last lifeboat on the Titanic."

I tore my gaze away. "I'm fine."

"No," she said, her voice dropping. "You're not. That's the problem."

She was right.

Adrian caught my eye from across the room. He tilted his head slightly, a question. I shook mine, I'm fine and he turned away.

But for that one second, I had wanted him to look longer.

That night, I lay in my separate bedroom and stared at the ceiling.

I replayed the evening. His hand on my back. The way he had leaned in to murmur something about the artist, his breath warm against my ear. The way my pulse had jumped.

I had agreed to six months of this. I had agreed to no feelings. But pretending with Adrian Vale was going to be far more dangerous than I had expected.

I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes. My fake husband was unfairly attractive and this was going to be a problem.