My Pleasure, Miss Fiancée

The coastline was deserted.

Cecilia walked barefoot along the gravel shoulder, heels dangling from two fingers, limping slightly with each step.

She had to be out of her mind. There was no other explanation. 

What kind of sane person drives out to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night?

And now--perfect. 

No gas, no cell service, not even a single pair of headlights in sight.

She sighed and kept walking, one slow step at a time, knowing full well she probably wouldn't make it out of here before sunrise.

But then again, what did it matter?

There wasn't going to be a groom tomorrow anyway. Showing up to that farce of an engagement now would just make her the laughingstock of Manhattan. 

So why bother?

Her stomach growled. Loudly.

She placed a hand over it and muttered, "Fantastic. Starving, stranded, and humiliated. What a day."

Then--

SCREECH. BANG.

A sudden screech of tires sliced through the still night. A silver sedan came barreling into view and slammed headfirst into a stone barrier by the edge of the road.

Cecilia blinked, stunned. 

The car had appeared out of nowhere, maybe a few hundred feet ahead, and it had hit hard--like a discarded soda can.

She hesitated for a second, then moved closer. 

The driver inside wasn't moving.

Knock-knock-knock--

She rapped her knuckles against the window. 

No response.

Leaning in, she squinted through the glass. The dim moonlight revealed only the silhouette of a man slumped over the steering wheel--unconscious, maybe worse.

She wasn't exactly known for her bleeding heart. She wasn't the type to play hero. 

But the car... it didn't look totaled. The front was crunched, sure, but it might still drive.

And right now, she needed a ride.

That was all the justification she needed.

Mutual benefit, she decided.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a rock and smashed it against the driver's side window.

Bang--Bang--Bang.

The glass splintered under the blows. The car shuddered.

Then--

CLUNK.

The door suddenly swung open from the inside.

"Shit," Cecilia muttered. The rock slipped from her fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

The man inside groaned and raised a hand to his head, clearly dazed. He shook it a few times, trying to clear his vision--then froze when he saw the strange woman staring at him in headlights.

Cecilia paused, reevaluated her tone, then said with forced calm, "I was, uh... saving you."

Silence.

The ocean wind howled around them, sharp and relentless. No one else in sight. Just them, the wrecked car, and the waves breaking in the distance.

The man swayed slightly, then braced himself against the car door. His breath was shallow. He looked up at her, eyes sharp despite the fog in them, his voice hoarse.

"You know how to drive?"

Cecilia blinked. "...Yeah?"

"Good." He exhaled sharply. "I need to get to Newark."

Before she could process that, he was already pushing past her, rounding the crumpled hood, and dropping into the passenger seat.

Cecilia stood there, stunned.

That's it? No 'thank you'? No 'who the hell are you'?

All her prepared speeches about shared misfortune and helping a fellow human being died in her throat.

All her well-prepared lines--gone to waste. She couldn't decide if she was relieved or deeply annoyed.

"You coming or not?" His voice was low, edged with exhaustion.

Grumbling, she slid into the driver's seat.

Inside the car, the scent of cologne hung faintly in the air--clean, woodsy, expensive, mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

She risked a glance at him.

Even in the dim light, his profile was arresting--the sharp cut of his brow, the defined line of his throat, the way his chest rose and fell with each steady breath. 

The entire car felt charged with his presence, an unspoken tension thickening the air.

Cecilia quickly tore her gaze away, lips pressed tight.

She started the car, stepped on the gas, and drove off into the night.

***

Not long after, the sky began to lighten.

A sliver of dawn broke through the heavy clouds, casting a pale, golden glow across the hood of the idling car.

Cecilia didn't smoke.

But when she spotted the half-crushed pack of Marlboros jutting from Liam's coat pocket, she didn't hesitate. 

She plucked one out, stepped out of the car, lit it, and took a deep drag.

Jesus.

The smoke burned like hellfire down her throat.

"Cough--cough--goddamn--" She doubled over, hacking violently.

She coughed violently, eyes watering, but forced herself to take another pull--like maybe the ache in her lungs could drown out the one in her chest.

A sudden shift in weight. The passenger door swung open.

He was awake. And his eyes were sharp now, focused directly on her.

"Morning," Cecilia rasped, stubbing the cigarette out on the pavement. She jerked a thumb toward the highway entrance behind them. "Another thirty minutes. Maybe less if you like speeding tickets."

His gaze flicked to the sunrise, then back to her. A ghost of a smile--more grimace than grin--tugged at his lips. "Change of plans. Not going."

Cecilia's brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

Liam didn't elaborate. Just leaned against the dented car, arms crossed, studying her with those unsettlingly sharp eyes.

"What?" she snapped.

"Pretty sure that's my line." He didn't blink. "What are you staring at?"

"Me?" Cecilia tilted her head, lips curling. "Just a heartbroken man who got left behind."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, pivoting to face her fully. "Well then," he countered, voice dripping with irony, "I'm looking at a woman who got ditched at her own wedding."

Touché.

"Okay, okay," she huffed. "Truce. Neither of us wins the 'Worst Day Ever' award."

The man exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Liam Sinclair," he said, introducing himself. "Meeting like this, in the middle of nowhere? Has to be fate."

"Cecilia Martin." She offered her name in return, polite and composed. Then she stepped closer.

At around five-foot-seven, she was tall--but even standing this close, he still loomed over her.

This man--just the right height, just the right face, and most importantly, completely absent from high society's radar. 

Odds were, he was perfectly ordinary. 

The realization sparked something reckless in Cecilia's mind--something stupid, something perfect.

She lifted her chin, eyes glinting with calculated mischief as a dazzling smile played across her lips. "Well then. Since god clearly orchestrated this meeting..." 

A deliberate pause, her gaze dropping to his mouth before snapping back up. "...how about returning the favor? I did save your life, after all."

He raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Tomorrow's supposed to be my engagement party," she said, voice smooth. "But I'm missing one thing."

He gave her a curious look.

She smiled wider. "A fiancé."

He stared at her for a second, then let out a low, surprised laugh--"Heh."

She wasn't what he'd expected.

Bold. Brazen. Brilliant.

And, against all odds...fun.

His lips pulled into a crooked smirk, and without breaking eye contact, he extended his hand toward her.

"My pleasure," he said, voice low and steady. "Miss Fiancée."