Page 10 of Practically Perfect Together

I feel rather than see her slight intake of breath, the barely perceptible shiver that runs through her at my proximity. It's not part of the act—we're the only ones who could possibly notice it—and the realization sends an unexpected jolt through me.

"Beginner's luck," she whispers back, her voice slightly less steady than usual.

I should lean away. Return to a respectable distance. But something keeps me close enough that I can smell her perfume. It’s subtle and elegant, making me think of rain-washed mountains.

"What do you think, Jameson?" Harold's voice breaks the moment, and I straighten, realizing I've missed a question.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, hoping my momentary distraction wasn't obvious.

"I was saying that young people today often rush into marriage without truly knowing each other," he explains. "But you two seem to have a solid foundation. What's your secret?"

I glance at Savannah, whose composed expression gives nothing away. "Balance," I answer honestly. "Savannah plans for every contingency, and I..." I search for the right words. "I help her remember to enjoy the moments in between."

It's not an act, not really. It's what I think we could be, in some parallel universe where she wasn't all business and I wasn't just a convenient fake fiancé.

"That's it exactly," Dorothy says approvingly. "Complementary strengths. The key to our forty-seven years."

As the evening winds down, I find myself playing the role of devoted fiancé with increasing ease. My hand finds the small of Savannah's back as we walk the Bennetts to their lodge suite. My eyes seek hers naturally when something amusing is said. I finish her sentences not because it's what a fiancé would do, but because I'm starting to anticipate her thoughts.

"We're so pleased you could join us for dinner," Dorothy says as we reach their door, embracing Savannah warmly. "I can see why Jameson fell for you."

"The feeling is mutual," Savannah replies, and there's something in her voice that makes me glance at her sharply. She sounds sincere.

"I'll check in tomorrow to finalize the retreat details," she adds more professionally as we say our goodbyes.

The Bennetts disappear into their suite, leaving us alone in the quiet hallway. For a moment, neither of us speaks, as if we're both unsure how to behave now that our audience is gone.

"Well," Savannah says finally, smoothing her already-perfect dress, "that went better than expected."

"You sound surprised," I say, leaning against the wall. "Did you doubt my fiancé skills?"

That draws a small smile from her. "I doubted our ability to be convincing together. We're not exactly..." she gestures vaguely between us, "compatible types."

"I don't know," I muse, studying her face in the soft hallway light. "I think we make a pretty good team."

Something shifts in her expression—a flicker of vulnerability quickly masked. "For business purposes," she clarifies.

"Right," I agree, though the word feels hollow. "Business."

We walk in silence toward the main entrance, our pretense no longer necessary but something else lingering in its place. Something undefined and unexpected.

"You surprised me," I admit as we step outside into the cool evening air. "With how easily you adapted to all those personal questions."

"I'm good at improvising when required," she says, with a ghost of a smile.

"And here I thought you had a detailed flowchart for every conversation possibility."

She laughs. It’s a genuine sound that I'm beginning to crave. "I considered it, actually. A decision tree for potential questions."

"Of course you did." I can't help grinning at her. "Did you account for Dorothy asking about our honeymoon plans?"

"No," she admits with a slight grimace. "That was an oversight."

"Good thing I jumped in with that story about us dreaming of Italy."

"Yes, about that," she says, giving me a curious look. "How did you know I've always wanted to visit the Amalfi Coast?"

I hesitate, surprised she's noticed that detail. "Lucky guess? You mentioned Italian art history once, when we were discussing the paintings in the lodge's west wing."

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