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“Focus.” I say it to myself in the mirror before flipping off the bathroom light and turning, walking into my bedroom. The blinds shut automatically, closing out drifting light from the city and anything else that could disrupt my sleep.

Sleep is important.

For my business, for my cognitive function.

The last thing I need is to lie awake thinking about Cami all night, keeping me from being well-rested and ready for this trip with the Morenos.

And yet, what I do is toss and turn, thinking about her anyway.

CHAPTER 16

CAMI

My mind starts to float up and out of my body as I sit in a plush leather seat on a private plane, taking in my surroundings.

I am wearing Chanel, courtesy of Patrick, with the insistence that I need to look the part. It’s not even a fancy dress—just a T-shirt with the brand’s logo that cost thousands of dollars. He let me pick out anything I wanted, as long as it was designer.

The itinerary called for a few nice meals, but mostly time outside and cozy outings together. Chances to explore Finland and take in the local culture. So, when I was filling up the online carts, I tried to pick out clothes that would make sense for that.

Which is how I’m sitting in the most comfortable, most chic pair of sweatpants I’ve ever owned, with a patent leather handbag by my feet that cost more than the down payment for my childhood home. The bag has matching luggage that I couldn’t even bear to look at the price tag for. I never would have let Patrick have them loaded into the back of the car.

“Seems like an awful lot of money to spend on a temporary fiancée,” I said in the store.

Patrick laughed like it was the most charming comment he’d ever heard, laced his fingers through mine—something he hadn’t done yet and which made chain lightning flash all the way through my nervous system—and leaned down, whispering, “Careful, Cami. I’d hate for someone here to get the wrong idea about our tender, loving engagement.”

It made me feel like an international spy.

It also made me feel like a liar.

Now, I shove those feelings down and lock them away. I agreed to this. I knew that this whole thing was going to require more than decorating Patrick’s house and watching Christmas movies with him.

It’s going to require looking like we like each other. Like we love each other, even. And not saying or doing anything in public or around the Morenos that would indicate otherwise.

When the plane starts to land at Helsinki Airport—a private airfield in the back for people like Patrick Dunne, with their own planes and helicopters—my nose is practically plastered to the window so I can look at the city.

It’s not snowing right now, but it’s snowed recently, and there are still flurries drifting along the streets and shifting down from trees like powdered sugar. It makes the entire city look like a snow globe.

Obviously, Helsinki is an old place, with buildings that have been standing for hundreds of years. Now, dusted with snow, they give off an old-time feel that I never really get in the United States. The sense that the city in question has had residents for generations, and I’m just a blip in its entire existence.

For some reason, it’s a comforting thought.

“Cami, are you listening?”

I pull back from the window and glance over at Patrick, surprised to find him in his seat, looking down at his laptop rather than out the window. How could anyone be so nonchalant about landing in this city?

Patrick was surprised to find out I had a passport, though I’ve never actually used it. I was supposed to chaperone my sister Kristin’s school trip to Costa Rica, but then she got sick and couldn’t go. And it didn’t make any sense for me to go without her. We were supposed to share a room, and without her there, it would have been a bunch of high schoolers I barely knew.

So I have a passport, but I’ve never actually left the United States. And I’ve been on a plane—from Colorado to Florida—but I’ve never been on a plane like this. A private plane, with a private flight attendant and pilots who know your first name.

“Cami?”

“Sorry.” I cough, turning and looking through the window one last time before returning my gaze to my employer. “What was that?”

Patrick looks bewildered. “I thought we should go over everything again before we land.”

“Everything?” I’m not sure what that means.

He sighs, glances out the window like the world outside might chew him up and spit him out, then gestures to the folder in his hand, which contains all our notes on one another. The notes I’ve been studying for the past week while staying at his place.