Olivia

We ate inpanionable silence for a few minutes. The food was exactly what I needed, settling warmly in my stomach and chasing away the hollow feeling that had lingered since the hospital.

“How’s your father doing?” Alexander asked, breaking the silence.

“Stable. The surgery went well, but recovery will take time.” I twirled pasta around my fork. “Thanks again for arranging Dr. Weaver. The nurses said he never takes new patients.”

“He owed me a favor.”

“Must be nice having the world’s best cardiac surgeon in your debt.”

Alexander shrugged. “I donated a new wing to the hospitalst year. Makes it easier to call in favors when needed.”

I paused mid–bite. “You donated an entire wing?”

Alexander nodded, seemingly unimpressed with his own generosity. “The pediatric cardiology wing. It needed updating.” He took a sip of water. “I regrly donate to hospitals, medical research, and children’s charities. It’s not just for the tax benefits.”

“That’s… actually really good of you.” I studied him with new eyes, trying to reconcile this phnthropist with the ruthless businessman who’d proposed our contract marriage.

He shrugged, clearly ufortable with the praise. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

I returned to my pasta, sneaking nces at him between bites. There wereyers to Alexander Carter I hadn’t expected. The man who demanded a sex use in our contract was the same one who ensured my father got the best surgeon in the

country.

“Your mind is loud,” Alexander said, breaking the silence.

I looked up, taken aback. “What?”

“I can practically hear you thinking.” He set his fork down and leaned back against my couch, his posture rxed but his sharp. “Trying to figure me out?”

“Maybe, I admitted. “You’re… not what I expected.”

His lips quirked. “And what did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Some heartless corporate robot who only cares about money and power.”

“And now?”

I shrugged. “Now I think you might actually have a pulse.”

Heughed. “High praise indeed.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Alexander’s eyes roamed over my face, lingering on my lips before meeting my gaze again. “You should eat more.”

eyes

“I’m getting there.”

took

“Only the best for my future wife.”

The word hung between us, heavy with implications. Wife. Not girlfriend or fiancée, but wife. The full weight of our arrangement settled on my shoulders again.

“You keep staring,” I said, noticing his unwavering gaze.

“You’re interesting to look at.”

“Is that supposed to be apliment?”

“It is.” He reached forward, his thumb gently brushing a spot at the corner of my mouth. “Sauce.”

The casual touch sent a jolt through me. “Thanks.”

“Your apartment is nicer than I expected,” Alexander said, ncing around. “Cozy.”

“Code for small.”

“No, I mean it. It has character. My ce is just… space filled with expensive things.”

“Poor little rich boy,” I teased. “Your penthouse is literally a dream home.”

“It’s a showpiece,” he corrected. “Designed to impress, not to live in.”

I studied him, wondering if there was actual loneliness beneath that perfectly tailored exterior. For someone who seemingly had everything, Alexander Carter gave off an air of istion that felt strangely familiar.

“You’re staring again,” he said, breaking my reverie.

“Just trying to figure you out.”

Alexander leaned back, his arm stretching across the back of my couch. “And what’s your assessment so far?”

“That you might actually be human under all that money and power.” I set my empty te on the coffee table. “It’s surprising.”

“You wound me,” he said with mock offense. “I’ve been human all along.”

“Could have fooled me with that contract of yours.”

His expression shifted, bing more serious. “The contract is practical. It protects us both.”

“Including the sex use?” I couldn’t help asking.

Alexander’s eyes darkened. “Especially that use.”

The air between us suddenly felt charged. I cleared my throat. “Want some wine? I think I need wine for this conversation.”

“Sure.”

I walked to the kitchen on slightly unsteady legs, acutely aware of Alexander’s gaze following me. The domesticity of the moment felt oddly intimate, my fake fiancé lounging on my couch while I fetched wine like we’d done this a hundred times

before.

“I only have red,” I called over my shoulder, pulling a bottle of cabe from the rack. “Nothing fancy like what you’re probably used to.”

“Red is perfect,” Alexander replied, his voice closer than I expected.

I turned to find him leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The casual pose did nothing to diminish hismanding presence. If anything, seeing him in my small kitchen, surrounded by my mismatched appliances and thrift store decor, only emphasized how out of ce he was, like finding a wolf in your living room.

“You didn’t have to get up,” I said, fumbling slightly with the corkscrew.

“Need help with that?” He pushed off the doorframe and moved toward me.

“I can open a bottle of wine, Alexander. I’m notpletely helpless.”

His lips quirked. “I never suggested you were.”

The cork came free with a satisfying pop. I reached for two wine sses from the cab, stretching to my tiptoes. Alexander stepped closer, his chest brushing against my back as he easily reached over me to grab the sses.

“I had it,” I protested, my voice embarrassingly breathy.

“I know.” His breath tickled my ear. “But this was more fun.”

The kitchen suddenly felt too small, and the air between us charged with electricity. I poured the wine with less steadiness than I would have liked, hyperaware of Alexander’s proximity.

“Here,” I thrust a ss toward him, needing some distance.

Our fingers brushed during the exchange, and I nearly dropped the ss. What was wrong with me? I’d broken up with Ryan barely a few weeks ago, and here I was getting flustered over my boss–my fake fiancé–like some romance novel heroine.

“Let’s sit,” I suggested, heading back to the living room before he couldment on my obvious difort.

I settled on the couch, tucking one leg beneath me and leaving what I thought was a reasonable amount of space between us.

Alexander sat closer than necessary, his thigh pressing against mine. Even through twoyers of fabric, the contact sent warmth spiraling through me.

He moved even closer, our bodies now firmly pressed together from knee to hip.

“Do you want to just sit on myp?” I asked dryly. “Since you’re practically there already.”

“You can sit on myp if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I bet you wouldn’t,” I snorted, taking arge sip of wine. “I’m good right here, thanks.”

“Your loss, Alexander said, but he didn’t move away. His thigh remained pressed against mine, a solid, warm presence that 1 was trying desperately to ignore.