Chapter Ten: Room for Two

I had barely kicked off my heels when my phone buzzed again.

Andrew Walker.

Of course.

I considered ignoring it. For once, I wanted a long bath, a bowl of overpriced cereal, and the comfort of peeling off my lashes without being summoned like a foot soldier.

But curiosity — or foolishness — won.

I answered.

“What now?”

“I’ll have a driver at your place tomorrow morning,” Andrew said, voice cool as ever. “Pack what you need.”

I sat up on the couch. “Excuse me?”

“You’re moving in with me.”

I blinked. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“You live in a one-bedroom apartment with squeaky pipes and no security. It doesn’t align with the image we’re presenting.”

“Translation,” I snapped, “you think my apartment screams peasant.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said smoothly. “But since you did…”

“Andrew—”

“Maria,” he interrupted, firm. “We’re engaged. At least to the world. Do you think the press won’t follow you home eventually? You think Mr. Denmark’s people won’t raise a brow when they see where the future ‘Mrs. Walker’ lays her head at night?”

I stood up and paced. “This isn’t part of the agreement. I never signed up to play house.”

“You signed up to be my fiancée. This is part of it.”

He wasn’t asking. He was telling.

Of course he was.

I looked around my tiny living room. The stained throw pillows. The flickering bulb I still hadn’t fixed. The eviction notice still tucked under the fruit bowl.

He had a point. Damn him.

“Fine,” I muttered.

“I’ll send a staff member to help you pack,” he added.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Then don’t take all day.”

He ended the call without a goodbye.

Typical.

⸻

Susan, predictably, lost her mind.

“You’re moving in with him?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that.”

She tossed a pair of my jeans into the suitcase a little too dramatically. “I told you this gig was a golden ticket, but I didn’t think you’d start riding the damn rollercoaster.”

“It’s not a ride,” I muttered, folding a hoodie. “It’s a contract. He just wants me in a prettier cage.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She paused. “You don’t look okay.”

I wasn’t.

But I was also tired.

Tired of my broken fridge, tired of budgeting every breath, tired of pretending like I wasn’t drowning in a sea of unpaid bills and borrowed pride.

“I just need to get through this,” I said. “Then maybe I can buy my own place. Have some dignity.”

Susan bit her lip and looked at me, almost worried.

“I’m just saying… be careful, Maria.”

Something in her voice gave me pause.

“Careful of what?”

She shrugged, too quickly. “Of falling for the illusion.”

I didn’t answer.

Because deep down, I already had.

⸻

Andrew’s penthouse was nothing like I expected.

It was worse.

Sprawling marble floors. Walls of glass. A kitchen that looked like it belonged in a five-star restaurant, and a view of the city that made everything look small — even my doubts.

“This is insane,” I whispered as I stepped in, wheeling my modest suitcase behind me like a guest in the wrong hotel.

Andrew walked in ahead of me, tossing his keys on the table like it was any other Tuesday.

“I’ve assigned you the guest suite on the east side,” he said. “It’s spacious, private, and far enough from my bedroom.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh good. Wouldn’t want to accidentally catch a glimpse of your perfectly sculpted loneliness.”

He smirked. “Tempting as that sounds, I think we’ll both survive with a little space.”

He led me down a hallway longer than my entire apartment and opened a door to what looked like a boutique hotel room.

Soft lighting. Pale grey sheets. A balcony. Even a vanity.

“This used to be my sister’s room when she visited,” he said, pausing briefly. “She lives abroad now.”

There it was. A crumb of humanity.

“You have a sister?”

He nodded. “We’re not close.”

Of course.

“Thanks,” I said, awkwardly.

He lingered in the doorway, eyes skimming the room before landing back on me.

“There’s a dinner tomorrow night. Charity board. High profile. I’ll need you dressed appropriately.”

“You mean not from a thrift store?”

He didn’t deny it.

“Your wardrobe’s being updated. Stylist arrives in the morning.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re under contract.”

I opened my mouth to snap something back, but he was already walking away.

As the door closed behind him, I sat on the bed and exhaled for the first time all day.

The sheets were cool. The pillows soft.

But nothing about this place felt like home.

Not yet.

Still… it felt like something was shifting.

This wasn’t just business anymore. Not entirely.

And as much as I wanted to resist it, Andrew Walker had carved a space in my world.

A big, luxurious, emotionally confusing space.

And now, I had to live in it.