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“What do you mean? How could you be getting married if you don’t have a fiancée?”
“I’m supposed to have an arranged marriage,” he explains. “I’m supposed to get married in the next six months to secure the CFO position in the company.”
“Really? So you don’t get it if you don’t get married?”
“No. It’s grandfather’s rule. The position would go to the next best suitable married person.”
He goes on to tell me about Priscilla De Rosa and how he caught a lucky break. I’m amazed to hear that he was contracted before birth to marry her and I never knew. If things had gone well with her, he’d be married by now.
I’m just wrapping my head around that when he tells me about his recent conundrum with his father and Portia Fairchild.
I know enough about her and her family to know they’re high society. Way back when my parents were wealthy, they traveled in the same circle, but they were never as close to the Fairchilds as they were with the Le Blanches.
I listen to Asher and hold my breath as though I’m underwater because I still don’t really know what he’s going to ask me to do.
“I’m supposed to go back to my father with a name tomorrow.”
“And do you have a name?”
He stares back at me, tentative and uncertain. “Yours… If you agree to fake date me.”
My breath snags in my throat like fabric getting caught on a branch.
I blink rapidly, trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth but my brain struggles.
Fake date?
Fake datehim?
Him, the guy I’ve obsessed over for as long as I can remember.
My heart stutters, pounding so loudly the sound clogs my ears and drowns out the world around me. It’s a good thing I’m sitting because I feel like the floor has been ripped out from under me, leaving me suspended in disbelief.
For a moment I wonder if this is a joke but the longer I look at him, the more I realize it’s not.
Asher’s serious expression confirms that much and a cold rush floods through me.
I never saw this coming. How could I?
And this crazy idea sounds like somethingIwould come up with. Not him.
“Asher…”
“Think about it,” he says quickly. “You don’t have to agree just because I helped you out but I’d need to know soon.”
“Would you marry Portia Fairchild if I don’t agree?” I check.
“No. I won’t marry her. I went on a date last night with a woman I’d most likely choose. I just feel like I need more time to get my head together.”
A strange wave of panic grips me on hearing that.
If I say no he’ll pick this other woman. And he’d actually get married to her.
He liked her. Liked her enough to marry her. Hejustsaid so.
My chest tightens painfully at the thought of him marrying someone he just met. I’ve loved him all my life and now I’m faced with the possibility of losing even this fragile connection.
“If you agreed I’d have some more time to think.”
