Chapter 4: Welcome to my world

"No, no, no," the photographer sighed for the tenth time. "Mrs. Vaughn, you're too stiff. Lean into your husband."

Luna shifted awkwardly on the garden bench. "Sorry."

"Like this," Grayson muttered, pulling her closer until she was practically in his lap. His arm curved around her waist, fingers splayed possessively across her hip.

"Perfect!" The photographer beamed. "Now look at each other like you're in love!"

Luna turned to face Grayson, ready to fake yet another smile. But when their eyes met, something strange happened. This close, she could see flecks of blue in his gray eyes. A tiny scar near his eyebrow. The shadow of stubble along his jaw.

He was beautiful, in a cold, dangerous way.

"Relax your face," he whispered. "You look terrified."

"Maybe because I am," she whispered back.

Something shifted in his expression. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, the gesture startlingly gentle.

"Three months," he reminded her. "Then you never have to see me again."

"Promise?" she asked, but the word came out softer than she intended.

The camera clicked rapidly. "Beautiful!" the photographer exclaimed. "The chemistry is perfect!"

Chemistry? Luna nearly laughed. The only chemistry between them was explosive.

After what felt like hours, the photographer finally packed up. Luna slumped against the bench, exhausted.

"Is it always like this?" she asked as Grayson loosened his tie.

"Like what?"

"So... performed. Scheduled. Fake."

He glanced at her, something unreadable in his eyes. "Welcome to my world, Mrs. Vaughn."

Before she could respond, Marcus appeared with a tablet. "Good news. The brunch was a hit. Miyamoto's people are drawing up preliminary agreements."

"And the photos?" Grayson asked.

"Already getting buzz online." Marcus turned the tablet to show a candid shot of them at brunch, Luna laughing and Grayson watching her with what looked remarkably like affection. "People are eating it up. 'The Ice King Melts.'"

"That's the headline?" Grayson frowned.

"One of them. Most are along the lines of 'Mystery Woman Captures Vaughn's Heart.' They love that she's not from your circle." Marcus grinned at Luna. "The common touch."

"Common?" Luna raised an eyebrow.

"He means relatable," Grayson said quickly. "Unlike me."

"You admit you're not relatable?"

"I've built my reputation on it." He checked his watch. "Your art lesson starts in fifteen minutes. Marcus, walk her through the background details on the way."

"Wait," Luna said as he turned to leave. "Where are you going?"

"Work. Some of us have empires to run."

"And some of us have to pretend to know about art restoration," she muttered.

Grayson's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Dinner at eight. Wear something formal."

"Another photoshoot?"

"No. Just us." He hesitated. "We should probably get to know each other if we're going to pull this off long-term."

Before she could process that, he was gone.

Marcus escorted her through the mansion to a bright room lined with books and paintings. "Art 101," he said cheerfully. "Four hours with Professor Whitaker should give you the basics."

"Four hours?"

"Just enough to fake it at cocktail parties." He handed her a tablet. "Your background story. Memorize it."

Luna skimmed the document. "Luna Reyes, 24, graduated from City Arts College, specializing in canvas restoration... Wait, did you make up my entire life?"

"Not all of it. We kept your name, age, and general appearance." Marcus grinned. "I had to get creative with the rest. Hope you don't mind being an orphan raised by your aunt in—"

"I am an orphan," she cut in. "And I was raised by my aunt. In Raven Hollow."

Marcus blinked. "Oh. Lucky guess?"

She shrugged, not wanting to explain that her mother had died when she was ten and her father had abandoned them years before. Or that Aunt Mara had been more interested in her next boyfriend than in raising a child.

"Just don't make me a genius or something," she said. "I barely finished high school."

"Community college," Marcus corrected, tapping the tablet. "With honors. Not too impressive, but enough to make you qualified." He studied her carefully. "You really don't know who Grayson is, do you?"

"Rich guy. CEO. Jerk."

Marcus laughed. "Youngest CEO of Vaughn Enterprises. Fortune 500. Net worth over four billion." He paused. "And yes, definitely a jerk sometimes. But he has his reasons."

Luna wanted to ask what those reasons were, but a thin, elderly man with wire-rimmed glasses entered the room.

"Mrs. Vaughn," he said, bowing slightly. "I am Professor Whitaker. Shall we begin?"

The next four hours were a blur of art terms, techniques, and famous paintings. Luna's head spun with words like "pentimento" and "impasto" and "sfumato." By the time the professor left, her brain felt like mush.

She stumbled back to her suite, collapsing onto the bed. Mrs. Patel appeared almost immediately.

"Time to prepare for dinner," she announced.

Luna groaned into a pillow. "Can't I just eat a sandwich in my room?"

"Mr. Vaughn was quite specific about dinner."

With a sigh, Luna let herself be steered to the bathroom for yet another round of primping. This time they dressed her in a deep red gown that hugged her curves before flowing to the floor.

"Is this really necessary for dinner at home?" she asked as Emma pinned her hair up in an elegant twist.

"Mr. Vaughn appreciates attention to detail," Mrs. Patel replied.

Of course he does, Luna thought. Control freak.

At precisely eight o'clock, Luna descended the grand staircase, feeling like an impostor in her borrowed finery. Grayson waited at the bottom, his back to her, hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit.

She cleared her throat.

He turned, and for a second—just a second—his mask slipped. Something raw and appreciative flashed in his eyes before he controlled it.

"Red suits you," he said, offering his arm.

"Thanks. Where are we going?"

"The terrace."

He led her through glass doors to a secluded terrace lit with dozens of tiny lanterns. A table for two had been set with crystal and silver, a bottle of wine already breathing beside it.

"Wow," Luna breathed. "Is this how you usually have dinner?"

"Only when I need to talk business," he replied, pulling out her chair.

"So this is business?" She sat, spreading the napkin across her lap like she'd seen in movies.

Grayson took the seat across from her, studying her face. "We need to know each other. Beyond the contract."

"Why? No one's watching us here."

"Because you almost blew our cover this morning with that wine story. We need our facts straight."

Luna rolled her eyes. "It worked, didn't it?"

"This time. But what happens when someone asks about our first date? Our first kiss? My proposal?"

She hadn't thought about that. "I guess we make something up?"

"Or we could agree on the details now," he suggested as a server appeared with their first course. "Prevent any... surprises."

The server poured wine and disappeared, leaving them alone again.

"Fine," Luna said, taking a sip of what was probably ridiculously expensive wine. "First date?"

"Dinner at La Mer. After the gala."

"Never heard of it."

"Exclusive restaurant on the waterfront. Five stars. Reservation list a year long."

"Unless you're Grayson Vaughn," she guessed.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Precisely."

"First kiss?"

Something flickered in his eyes. "Outside La Mer. Under the stars."

Luna couldn't help smiling. "Romantic."

"I can be," he said with a shrug. "When it serves a purpose."

And just like that, the moment cooled.

"The proposal?" she asked, taking another drink.

"Private. At my lake house. Three weeks ago."

"Fast engagement."

"When you know, you know," he said, his voice deliberately flat.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Luna spoke again. "So who's Helena? The woman I'm pretending to be?"

Grayson's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Chen Industrial heiress. Marcus arranged it through her father."

"And she just... agreed to marry a stranger?"

"Business marriage. Merger of companies. It's not uncommon in certain circles."

"Did she run? Is that why I ended up here instead?"

His jaw tightened. "Apparently."

Luna studied him across the candlelight. "Has anyone ever told you no before?"

"Frequently. Just not publicly." He refilled their glasses. "Your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"Tell me about Luna Reyes. The real one."

She tensed. "Why?"

"If we're going to sell this marriage, I need to know who I'm married to."

Luna picked at her food. "Not much to tell. Grew up in Raven Hollow. Lived with my aunt after my mom died. Left as soon as I could."

"To come here? With no money? No plan?"

She looked away. "I had my reasons."

"Running from something?" he asked, too perceptive.

"Someone," she admitted, then immediately regretted it.

Grayson's eyes sharpened. "Who?"

"No one important."

"Important enough to make you crash a wedding for food."

Luna took a long drink of wine. "Ex-boyfriend. It ended badly."

"How badly?"

She unconsciously touched her wrist where fingerprint bruises were still fading. "I don't want to talk about it."

Grayson followed the movement, his expression darkening. "Did he hurt you?"

The question was too direct, his voice too intense. Luna pushed back from the table.

"I think I've had enough interrogation for one night."

"Luna—"

"What does it matter anyway?" she snapped. "In three months I'll be gone. You'll have your merger, I'll have my money, and we'll never see each other again. Isn't that the plan?"

He stood slowly, his face unreadable. "That's the plan."

"Good." She headed for the door, then paused. "Thank you for dinner, Mr. Vaughn."

"Grayson," he said quietly. "If we're married, you should probably use my first name."

She nodded stiffly. "Goodnight, Grayson."

As she walked away, Luna could feel his eyes on her back. For a moment, she'd glimpsed something behind his cold facade—something that looked almost like concern.

But that was ridiculous. She was just a business arrangement to him. A means to an end.

And she needed to remember that before she did something stupid.

Like forgetting this marriage wasn't real.