Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
He looks at me, his expression unreadable. “Did you like it?”
“Not really,” I admit. “It always felt... fake. Like we were putting on a show for everyone else while ignoring what was really happening.” And I want to tell him this is the first time in my life where it feels real. This fake engagement is the most real thing that has happened to me.
“What was really happening?” he asks, his voice soft.
I hesitate, then shrug. “Just... the usual family stuff. However, my grandmother always wanted us to portray the perfect family. I feel like it made my parents cold. I think it’s why they’re trying to save me now from a marriage I don’t want. It’s like they’ve finally realized Wade was all wrong for me.”
He nods, and for a moment, there’s an understanding between us that doesn’t need words.
As we continue walking, the conversation flows more easily. He tells me about his first deployment, how he almost missed his sister’s wedding because of a storm, and how he once got chased by a bull on a dare. I tell him about sneaking out of fancy parties as a teenager, my embarrassing attempt to join the debate team, and how I used to dream of running away to the mountains.
Somewhere along the way, the distance between us shrinks. And then, without warning, I feel his hand brush against mine. It’s brief, just a light touch, but it sends a jolt of awareness through me.
Before I can react, his fingers close around mine, his grip warm and steady. I glance up at him, surprised, but he’s looking straight ahead, his expression calm, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I don’t pull away. Instead, I let my hand stay in his, marveling at how right it feels. For once, I don’t overthink it. I just walk, my heart beating a little faster with every step.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I don’t have to pretend.
We decide to explore the resort to see everything it has to offer.
I glance at Asher as we step off the main path of the resort, winding our way along a smaller trail lined with wildflowers and moss-covered stones.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask, stepping carefully over a gnarled root. “Aren’t you supposed to be shadowing me like a proper bodyguard?”
He gives me a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest smile. “I’m still shadowing you. You’re just leading me into the wilderness now.”
I laugh. “I suppose I should be flattered by your dedication.”
“You should,” he deadpans, though there’s a playful gleam in his eyes.
The path curves, and sunlight flashes through the trees ahead. We emerge into a clearing where a wide, glassy lake stretches out before us, framed by tall pines and crowned with wisps of mist. The water is still except for the occasional ripple of fish just beneath the surface.
“Oh,” I breathe. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not bad,” Asher agrees, scanning the treeline automatically—still in protection mode, always.
I walk closer to the shore, pebbles crunching beneath my boots. The sun warms my back, and for the first time in days, I feel the tightness in my chest ease. There’s no Nancy Sinclair watching from across the room here, no Wade lurking with fake charm. Just this lake, these trees, and Asher’s steady presence beside me.
He crouches, picking up a flat stone and testing its weight in his palm.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching curiously.
“Skipping rocks,” he says simply. “You’ve never done it?”
I shake my head. “I’m more of a beach chair and cocktail kind of girl.”
He stands, tossing the stone in one smooth, practiced motion. It skips—one, two, three, four times before sinking.
I raise my brows. “Okay, that was impressive.”
“It’s all about angle and spin,” he says, already crouching for another. “Here.”
He hands me a small, flat stone. His fingers brush mine and my pulse ticks up in response. Stop it, Charlotte. It’s just a rock.
I turn toward the water. “Angle and spin,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes at the lake like it’s a worthy opponent.
“Hold it between your thumb and forefinger.” His voice is closer now, low and calm. I feel him step behind me, not touching but near enough that the warmth of his body seeps through the space between us.
I adjust my grip.
“Good. Now, low stance.” He chuckles softly. “Like you’re doing a half squat.”
“Great,” I say wryly. “My first fake fiancé date and I’m squatting at a lake.”
“Trust me.” There’s humor in his tone, but it’s gentle.
I lower myself a bit.
“Now flick your wrist when you release. Don’t just throw—spin it.”
I exhale and let the stone fly. It plunks unceremoniously into the water.
I groan. “That was pathetic.”
He laughs, the sound rich and unguarded. “Not bad for a first try.”