“Look,” Reed chimes in, chuckling as he tries to break the tension, “I don’t care what you two are up to, but I have a proposition.”
I close my eyes and count to three, willing my heart to steady. But all I can think about is Jonathan. I should feel nothing but annoyance -- maybe even repulsion. Instead, a traitorous warmth unfurls through me.
Jonathan clears his throat. “What are you proposing?”
Reed grins. “You should marry my sister.”
I nearly choke. “What?”
Jonathan’s eyes widen in horror. “You can’t mean that. Don’t do this to me.”
I shoot him a glare. “Really? Is it so terrifying to imagine marrying me?”
“Absolutely.” He nods, looking more distressed than amused.
I roll my eyes. "Reed, if this is about what you just saw, trust me—I have no intention of repeating that disaster. I mean, sure, I accidentally touched him, but that’s it."
Reed’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “I promise it has nothing to do with that little mishap. It’s because you, dear Jonathan, need saving. You need to be seen as responsible. And since you told everyone you’re engaged, a fake marriage is your only way out.”
I snort. “I can’t imagine you ever being responsible.”
Jonathan glares at me, and Reed continues, “He needs a fake wife to convince the lawyer and the board that he’s fit to take over the company.”
“So you want me to be his fake fiancée? Have you lost your marbles, Reed?” I retort.
“And when did I ever agree to let you dictate my life?” Jonathan interjects.
Reed grins broadly, clearly having orchestrated this long in advance. “Emma, what better inspiration for your writing than a situation like this? Consider it a story unfolding in real time.”
“I write murder mysteries, Reed, not a romance about a fake marriage,” I say dryly.
Reed shrugs. “Then write one where the fake wife ends up murdering her husband.”
That idea—vicious, dark, and oddly tempting—makes me feel a tingle of delight. Jonathan, however, looks alarmed.
“Don’t give her ideas. She’s already daydreaming about murdering me,” he warns.
“But I haven’t done anything,” I remind him.
“She won’t say yes, so why bother asking?” Jonathan says.
“You don’t speak for me,” I snap. “I’m here, and I can decide for myself.”
Jonathan edges closer, closing the gap. My breath catches, and for a split second, the world feels smaller, as if he’s the only thing in it. “So are you saying yes? Will you marry me—fake or not—and even kiss me with those poisonous lips of yours to seal the deal?”
My breathing slows as I meet his gaze. For a moment, doubt flickers in my mind, my heart pounding as I weigh the insanity of it all.
But instead of backing down, I hear myself say, “Maybe I will. Maybe it’ll inspire me enough to finally write my next book.”
I feel every breath he takes, a torrent of conflicting emotions—anger, frustration, and something painfully tender—that I try to shove aside.
“It’s settled then!” Reed claps, drawing us both out of the tension. The clap makes Jonathan step back, and I finally exhale. “You’ll take my sister as your wife, fake or not!”
Jonathan mumbles, “You seem to enjoy torturing me.”
I shrug. “I haven’t made up my mind. I’ll think it over. I don’t just hand out favors.”
“Of course, Emma. Take your time,” Reed says, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, as if he’s already picking out a wedding dress.