Laney I hadn’t dreamed extensively of my wedding day when I was a little girl. Admittedly though, when I had thought about it, I’d always imagined it would be full of flowers, music, white lace, and love. In reality, I was riding the trolley into downtown, alone and watching the rain trickle down the window. There was no something old, new, borrowed, or blue—unless my mood could cover the latter. Instead of wearing a pretty white gown, I had on gray slacks, a white shirt, and a matching suit jacket. It was my best suit, but it was far from bridal. Far from even remotely resembling an outfit anyone would associate with a wedding—least of all with the bride. I also didn’t have my dad at my side to walk me down the aisle. That bit stung worse than the rest of it. My father, my rock and anchor, didn’t even know I was getting married today. He hadn’t been home when I’d woken up this morning, so I’d left him a note saying we needed to talk later, but I still had no idea how I was going to break this news. I wasn’t sure if this was going to kill him or if he was going to kill me. Time would tell, I supposed, but none of this felt good. None of it felt right and yet, I was determined to follow through. Life isn’t about chocolates and flowers. Apparently, it’s about contracts and paperwork. Welcome to adulthood. Can I cancel my subscription yet? I sighed and fiddled with the neat bun I’d tied my hair into. My makeup was light and natural. Simple. There was no ring on my finger and no bouquet in my hand. All I had was a folder in my lap containing a contract I’d already signed and a stomach full of knots I couldn’t untangle. I turned toward the window, looking out at a city that was dull and gray under the rain, the sidewalk glossy with puddles and mottled, weak sunlight. It seemed not even the weather gods were feeling celebratory today. Thanks, dudes. I appreciate the show of solidarity. Truth be told, I’d considered cutting and running more times than I could count this morning. Over and over again, I’d questioned my sanity, but every time, I’d arrived at the same conclusion—I couldn’t back down now. I was this close to getting two of the three things I’d always wanted most. After this year, the business and the baby would be mine. Love would have to wait, and frankly, it wasn’t like it’d been hurtling toward me at any great speed anyhow. I was sure dating would be just as dull and disappointing next year. Just shy of eight, I st epped off the trolley and into the miserable drizzle falling from above. I tucked my chin and k ept the folder hugged to my chest, praying the pages would get too soaked to mean anything.
My heels clicked with soft splashes against the sidewalk as I walked the rest of the way to Fremont Tower, every footst ep echoing just a little too loud in the quiet streets. A few lights were on inside the building, but most people were still sle eping. Like the rest of the city. I guess that’s what happens when you schedule a wedding at this hour on a Saturday morning, at a corporate office, no less. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have even thought it was possible to pull off something like this literally overnight, but I was starting to realize that money could buy you pretty much anything if you had enough of it. Another sigh slipped out of me as I crossed the sle epy lobby, a little wet, a lot uncertain, and shivering slightly from the cold. “Laney Rhodes,” I muttered to the security guard through mildly chattering teeth. “I’m here for Sterling Westwood.” The man at the desk barely looked at me before buzzing me through, much unlike the scene I’d had to kick up to gain entrance to this building the last time I’d been here, but I guess that was just one small example of all the ways my life would change after today. No more having to beg people to let me in anywhere. All I’d have to do was say my name. Lovely. I grimaced as I rode the elevator up alone, wondering if I’d made a mistake not bringing Gwen with me for company after all. As I ascended, the numbers glowed above the door, ticking upward, too slow and much too fast at the same time. My heart thudded unevenly against my ribs, my palms sweating against the folder. Despite being cold and wet, I was still sweating bullets, entirely uncertain what to expect when I got up there. When the doors opened though, I was met with nothing but silence. Empty corridors. Frosted glass and slick marble. Everything in Sterling’s world felt expensive, heavy, and meticulously arranged. Where the hell do I fit into that? I don’t. Just as I was about to spin on my low-slung heels and run back to the elevator to es cape before it officially became official, he appeared. Sterling st epped out of a conference room mid-sentence, cutting someone off without even looking back. “Give me a minute,” he commanded, his eyes locked on mine from the second he saw me. God, those eyes. They pinned me in place, so unnervingly blue that for a moment I forgot that I’d been about to run. There was something different about them today though, and it took me a beat to realize that it was the lack of ice. There was nothing cold about that gaze right now. All I could do was stare at him when I realized it, watching as his whole posture changed when he looked back at me. The smooth confidence gave way to something else. Something quiet. Alert. Intense. Something that made me feel like the air between us was pulsating with more than just contractual obligation and mutual agreement. The spell broke when he spoke as he strode toward me, his pace fast and clipped, brow furrowing with worry. His gaze left mine to swe ep across the length of my body.
“You’re pale,” he murmured. “You’re also damp. Are you all right? What happened?” “It’s raining.” I handed him the folder and brushed my hands down the front of my suit. “I’m fine.” His hand moved to my elbow, warm through the fabric. I st epped back automatically, not looking at him as I turned toward the room he’d emerged from. “Let’s just get this over with.” He hesitated for half a beat but didn’t argue. Just gave a nod and gestured for me to follow. I fell into st ep beside him, my heart hammering against my ribs. I rolled my fingers into fists in my palms in the hopes that it would stop my hands from shaking, feeling the rigid set of my shoulders, but unable to relax enough to change it. We walked into a conference room that looked exactly like the ones in movies where hostile takeovers happened. Exactly like the one in which he’d told me that day that Megan had well and truly screwed me. In the center was a polished table with leather chairs neatly pushed in around it. Bottled water with condensation still clinging to the sides on a sideboard. A man I didn’t recognize, wearing a gray suit and a serious expression, sat at the head of the table with a portfolio open in front of him. “Ms. Rhodes,” he said, tone brisk and emotionless. “I’m Peter Long. Senior partner with Long, Smith, and Shore. I’m here to review the terms of the contract with both you and Mr. Westwood in order to ensure that you’re both fully aware of what you’re signing.” I nodded stiffly and sat down. Sterling took the seat next to mine, but he didn’t scoot closer like a normal about-to-be-newlywed might’ve. He k ept a safe distance, as if this was just another business meeting he was conducting at this table, and he folded his arms on top of it as he turned his attention to Peter. Most of the terms of the contract, I knew by heart at this point, but I noted the most important parts again. One year. Shared residence. Reasonable public appearances. Attempt to conceive within the first six months. Negotiation window at the end of twelve. I didn’t flinch. I’d made my peace with it. Or I was trying to, anyway. When he was done, he took the folder I’d given to Sterling and paged through the documents inside. Then he pushed the contract over to Sterling. He signed. I’d signed, and when we were done, Sterling reached into his briefcase and pulled out a different document. It seemed heavier. The paper thicker, the edges embossed. The state seal in the corner. My heart slammed to a brief stop. “The marriage certificate,” he said, pushing it across the table so I could see it. As I glanced down, I swallowed hard. Again. Nothing dislodged the rock in my throat at the sight of my name on that document, my vision even blurring a little around the edges. Before I could say a word, another man strode in. Also wearing a suit. A dark navy that wasn’t perfectly fitted but looked professional enough. “This won’t be officially recorded until Monday, but I’ve got everything I need to file,” he said, nodding at both of us in turn. “Judge Lansing has already pre-approved it.”
Of course, he has. Still, it seemed reasonable to check. I looked up at the new guy, wondering what he thought of what was happening here. How much he knew. I supposed it didn’t really matter, but he seemed normal. Like me. Or at least, like I used to be. “And you are?” I asked, my voice breathier and softer than usual. The guy offered me a tight, polite smile. “Eric Reed. Judge Lansing’s clerk.” He turned to Sterling. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Westwood. Congratulations.” As he left, I glanced at Sterling. My husband. He’d barely blinked. Like knowing judges was just part of the job. Like greasing the wheels of justice came as naturally to him as breathing. Gah, I need to stop being surprised by stuff like this if I’m going to survive the next year. If his father was the king of San Francisco, Sterling was the prince. Just like Gwen had said, which meant I’d just married into royalty with nothing but a business plan and a good head for budgeting. I looked down at the paper in front of me again, my name printed in an ordinary, even boring, font. Laney Rhodes. That name wouldn’t be mine much longer. The contract was signed. The marriage was real and there was no going back now. It’d taken less than ten minutes. No vows, no lace, and no flowers, but it was done. Just the shuffle of paper, the scrape of a pen, and two signatures bleeding ink into legal permanence. I suddenly became aware of the deafening silence in the room, so quiet that I could hear the faint hum of the HVAC system and the soft buzz of the attorney’s phone vibrating in his pocket. Somewhere outside this monstrosity of a building, the city was waking up, but in this room, in this moment, it felt like we were suspended in something colorless and cold. Then Sterling turned to me. Once again, those eyes locked on mine, his devastatingly handsome face completely straight as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. All sharp edges and lack of emotion as he came back holding a small, black box. I blinked at it, a little stunned despite our exchange last night. I’d honestly forgotten about this part, but when he opened it, the air between us shifted. The ring inside was nothing like I would’ve expected. A de ep, blood-red ruby gleamed at the center, flanked by two sharp, clean diamonds. The setting was art-deco, ornate but elegant, with gold so rich and warm, it looked almost liquid. My hand trembled as he slid it onto my finger, followed by a simple gold band that nestled perfectly beneath it. The fit was exact, but I’d promised myself I was going to work on not being so surprised by everything. Once the cool metal was resting firmly against my skin, he slipped his own ring on without any ceremony. It was a matching gold band, minimalist but expensive. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and warm near my ear. “I know you don’t like diamonds, but I do. It’s my birthstone. That’s why they’re there.” I turned my head just enough to murmur back, “Didn’t take you for a sentimental guy.”
Suddenly, I could practically feel his smile. Not on my cheek, not on my skin—just hovering there near my ear, close and unspoken. When he pulled away, I stood, half-expecting that to be it. He’d say goodbye, I’d go home, and we’d each sit with the strange silence of what we’d just done. Instead, Sterling touched the small of my back, his palm resting there lightly but intimately. Like he had a right to touch me like this. Like we were connected somehow. Legally, we were. “Come on. I take it you haven’t eaten.” “I’m fine,” I lied. I felt his gaze cut to the side of my head. “You’re shaking.” “It’s cold,” I said. “I got wet on my way in, remember?” He didn’t argue or comment. Just shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, enveloping me in his residual warmth and an expensive scent I couldn’t quite pinpoint but instantly knew I could become addicted to. Without skipping a beat, he held the door open for me and guided me to the elevator with that gentle, intimate touch on my back. We rode down in complete silence. Then he led me out of the building and we waited under the awning outside for just a few seconds before Steve pulled up. He didn’t say a word as he raced around the car to open the back door. Between the two of them, I was nestled inside the warm interior of the town car so fast, I’d barely gotten a few splatters of rain on me this time. Steve offered me a smile but k ept his mouth shut as he drove us, without needing an instruction telling him where to go, to a small diner tucked between two glossy towers downtown. It was the kind of place I would have missed if I didn’t know to look for it. Inside, it smelled like strong coffee and butter, with tile floors and brass accents that felt like old money trying to pretend it wasn’t. We got a window seat and Sterling ordered for both of us without even asking permission this time—black coffee, eggs soft, toast not burned. Somehow, it didn’t annoy me that he made the decision. Maybe it was because my hands were still cold, my new ring resting heavily on a finger that had been bare until mere minutes ago. Or maybe it was just because I didn’t want to think too hard about anything for fear that the reality of what had just happened would really sink in. Whatever the reason, I found myself quite appreciating not having to decide on breakfast right now. The server brought our coffee. Sterling stirred his before he looked up at me with that ever-steady gaze. “Here’s what happens next,” he said, not warmly, but not harshly either. I imagined this was as close as the guy got to being gentle. All I had to do was listen as he laid it out. “We’ll move into my penthouse together.” “Okay.” He nodded. “The guest suite will be turned into a nursery when the need arises. You can choose whether you want to be in volved with the decoration, but obviously, I’ll cover all the expenses. All the staff have signed nondisclosure agreements and I’ve created a shared calendar for us. On it, you’ll find the schedule for our joint appearances. My daily schedule is there as well. It will be updated as my meetings are confirmed. You’ll have legal support for the business. My assistant will schedule our first doctor’s appointment.” “You’ve thought of everything,” I said and took a sip of coffee. It was good, bitter but grounding.
“I try.” When he fell silent, I blurted out. “I haven’t told my dad about this yet.” “My father knows, but the rest of my family are in for quite a surprise as well,” he confessed, his mouth lifting at one corner. “We’ll deal with it. Together.” He lifted his mug. “To conference room weddings.” After pausing for a brief moment, I clinked mine against it. “To well- organized disasters.” He held my gaze, that one corner of his mouth hooking just a little bit higher, and it suddenly wasn’t the warmth of the coffee that settled in my chest. It was the way he looked at me, direct and calm, like he wasn’t pretending this was something it wasn’t, but also wasn’t treating it like something to be ashamed of. A ribbon of genuine warmth slipped through me, as delicate as it was dangerous, and it made me look away first, turning my gaze on the window and the rain-dappled glass, the traffic beyond as the city finally, lazily started stretching its legs. All of this was just business. A strictly professional relationship—with a baby in the near future. One way or another, I was getting knocked up by a man who was legally my husband, but in reality, no more than a business partner. Boy, life really knows how to throw a curve ball sometimes.