Page 21 of Dirty Secret Love

Her face doesn’t move one bit, she’s still doubting me.

“The snowstorm was in full force, making the city look like a winter wonderland. Rather than dropping you off at your hotel, I welcomed you into the warmth of my penthouse. We spent an unforgettable week together.”

She bites her lip with a hint of playfulness. I think I’m finally selling this. She’s a tough customer, but if we can agree on a few things—well, on a lot of things—everything should be alright. This fabricated meet cute is just the beginning of our story. I know we have to polish everything we supposedly did during that week.

“You’re telling me that I was in New York because I had a work thing?” she asks, and I can sense the doubts again. “If that’s the case, this is not going to fly.”

Grinning, I respond, “Yeah, but as I said?—”

She cuts me off, waving a dismissive hand. “Hold on. Anyone who knows me, truly knows me, is aware that I wouldn’t ditch something like a conference or training for a guy.”

I step a tad closer to her, bridging the gap but not so much as to invade her space. Lowering my voice, I say, “Ah, but that’s where the charm came in. I’m not just any guy, but your best friends’ cousin. Plus, I was irresistibly persuasive. Showed you a side of the city you’d never seen. We even took that clichéd carriage ride in Central Park. Magical, wasn’t it?”

Her lips press together tightly, probably trying to suppress a smile. “Swoony, sure. But you expect people to believe we’ve been an item since then?”

Taking a moment, I exhale, adopting a more sincere tone. “No. You didn’t think it was practical for us to date,” I say, my voice tinged with a hint of sadness, even regret for letting her go. “You had reservations about long-distance relationships. I was too busy with my business, and you couldn’t leave Heartwood Lake.”

I wait for her to say something, but she’s just staring at me with guarded features. She’s more likely waiting for me to continue with the story. But she’s making me feel as if we’re two chess players locked in a strategic challenge, each waiting for the other’s move.

So, even when I don’t know if I’m going to win this game, I continue by smiling and tapping into those acting classes I took in high school. They shouldn’t go to waste, I shall do something good with them, like convincing not only the town, but also this woman that I can be an excellent fiancé.

“Well, I let you go,” I say, filled with sadness and looking at her with love. “Yet, when my uncle reached out and asked me to help him with the ranch, I saw it as the universe giving us another shot. Technically, I didn’t have to come, but I offered my help because I wanted to see if we could work something out.”

Sutton remains fixated on one detail. “But there were other women in the picture.”

“They’ll tell you it was nothing more than friendship,” I counter. “Ever since I came, I’ve been telling everyone that I have someone waiting for me.” I wink. “It was my way of maintaining boundaries. But now I can use it for something else.Us. I can twist it, so they think I was working to convince you to accept my love. To be mine.”

“With my ten-carat ring, that’s”—she looks at her hand—”well, not here.”

I roll my eyes. “Minor details.”

“Where are you getting that ring?” She clearly doesn’t believe that I can deliver.

I lean in slightly, a secretive grin playing on my lips. “You’ll see.” I refrain from mentioning Cal is working on the other part of my plan.

There has to be a way to show my wealth. He’s having Ansel bring some of my belongings so I look the part. Among those things, he’ll bring Mom’s ring, which is bigger than ten-carats, but I doubt Ruth Asher will care that it’ll exceed her expectations.

ChapterEleven

River

Pushingoff from where I stand, I take a few steps toward the kitchen. “What if we start with coffee?” I offer.

“Is this how you swooned me in New York? By taking me to a fancy coffee shop?” Sutton asks, vaguely interested in my narrative.

“No. You were wet, shaken, and cold when I found you, so I took you to my house and prepared you . . . hot chocolate?” I ask, hesitating, as if trying to remember the exact details while keeping her interested.

She perks up from her seated position on the couch and ambles over to the kitchen island, taking a seat on a barstool. “Did it have marshmallows?”

“Mini snowflake marshmallows,” I confirm and begin to look around to see if they have ingredients for hot chocolate instead of coffee. I’m trying to do this as realistically as possible. Of course there aren’t snowflake marshmallows, who knows where Elle gets them. But at least I have the basics here.

Sutton quirks an eyebrow, her skepticism apparent. “I don’t think anyone would believe that a guy like you would have designer marshmallows—if they even exist.”

“That’s exactly what you said when I handed you the mug and a bowl full of marshies,” I respond, pretending to recall what happened during that day. I even smile by the pretend nostalgia of what should’ve been the best moments of my life. “Then, I told you about my youngest sister, Elle, who insists on keeping my pantry stocked with all her favorites.”

Sutton smirks, amused. “Marshies?” she inquires, her tone teasing. “Aren’t you a bit old to call them that?”

I let out a soft chuckle, my gaze distant. “That day I told you how much my family loved them. Mom always referred to them as ‘marshies’ and even made them from scratch occasionally. You seemed enchanted by my family’s stories—of us snuggling with mugs of hot cocoa by the fireplace, reading fairy tales together. I felt so comfortable with you, that I told you that’s exactly what we were doing the day Mom passed.”

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