Chapter 9

The Whitney Museum's private viewing was supposed to be a smaller, more intimate affair than the gala. Sophia quickly discovered that "intimate" in Manhattan social circles still meant two hundred of the city's most influential people gathered in one space, all eager to see Ethan Cross's mysterious fiancée up close.

"Remember," Ethan murmured as they approached the museum entrance, "we're madly in love and completely comfortable with each other. Think of it as an extension of last night."

"Right. Madly in love." Sophia adjusted the emerald green dress Victoria had selected a stunning piece that hugged her curves and made her feel like she could conquer the world. "Any other last-minute tips?"

"Just one." He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. "Stop overthinking it. The woman I danced with last night, the one who charmed half of Manhattan society? She's still there. Trust her."

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The gesture was casual, affectionate, exactly what an engaged couple would do. So why did it make her pulse race?

"Ready?" he asked, offering his arm.

"As I'll ever be."

Inside, the museum had been transformed into an elegant cocktail space. Contemporary art pieces lined the walls, their bold colors and abstract forms creating a striking backdrop for the evening's festivities. Sophia recognized several pieces from her art history classes, works that were worth more than most people's houses.

"Ethan!" A woman with silver hair and impeccable posture approached them, her smile warm and genuine. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Margaret, you look stunning as always." Ethan's greeting was warm, and Sophia could tell this was someone he actually liked. "I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Sophia Martinez. Sophia, this is Margaret Ashford, the Whitney's head curator."

"It's wonderful to meet you," Sophia said, shaking the woman's hand. "Thank you for including me in such an exclusive event."

"The pleasure is mine. I've heard wonderful things about your work in event planning. Perhaps we should discuss collaborating on some future exhibitions?"

"I'd love that."

Margaret beamed. "Excellent. I'll have my assistant contact you next week." She turned to Ethan. "You've found yourself a keeper, my dear. Don't let this one get away."

"I don't intend to," Ethan replied, his arm tightening around Sophia's waist.

As Margaret moved on to greet other guests, Sophia felt a flush of pleasure. It had been months since anyone had wanted to discuss her work professionally, and the validation felt incredible.

"That was wonderful," she said to Ethan. "She actually wants to work with me."

"Of course she does. You're brilliant at what you do." His pride seemed genuine, not just part of their act. "Come on, let me introduce you to some other people who might be interested in your services."

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions and conversations. Ethan guided her through the crowd with practiced ease, introducing her to gallery owners, museum directors, and wealthy collectors who threw elaborate parties. By the end of the evening, Sophia had collected a dozen business cards and several promising leads.

"You're good at this," she said as they took a moment to admire a particularly striking sculpture.

"At what?"

"Networking. Making connections. You've probably just tripled my potential client base."

"That wasn't networking. That was me showing off my fiancée to people who should know how talented she is." He handed her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"One is business. The other is personal pride."

The distinction shouldn't have mattered, but it did. The idea that he was genuinely proud of her, that he wanted to help her succeed, sent warmth spreading through her chest.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For believing in me. For tonight, for the introductions, for..." She gestured vaguely, struggling to find words. "For seeing me as more than just a convenient solution to your problem."

Something flickered in his eyes, an emotion she couldn't quite read. "Sophia, you're not"

"Ethan Cross, you magnificent bastard."

They turned to see a man approaching, tall and lean with the kind of weathered handsomeness that came from years of outdoor adventures. His smile was wide and genuine, and he moved with the easy confidence of someone completely comfortable in his own skin.

"James," Ethan said, and Sophia heard real affection in his voice. "I didn't know you were back in town."

"Just got in from Dubai this morning. Couldn't miss the chance to see what has the art world buzzing." James's gaze shifted to Sophia, and his smile widened. "And to meet the woman who's finally managed to tie down Manhattan's most eligible bachelor."

"James Morrison, meet Sophia Martinez," Ethan said. "Sophia, this is my oldest friend and the only person I trust with my life."

"That's quite an endorsement," Sophia said, shaking James's hand.

"It's well deserved. I've been trying to get this man to settle down for years." James's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I have to ask, what's your secret? How did you manage to succeed where countless others have failed?"

"I have no idea," Sophia said honestly. "I'm still trying to figure out what he sees in me."

"Are you serious?" James looked genuinely surprised. "Ethan hasn't shut up about you for months. The way he talks, you'd think you hung the moon."

"James," Ethan warned, but his friend ignored him.

"I mean it. He called me from London last month, going on and on about this amazing woman he'd met. Said you were different from anyone he'd ever known, that you challenged him and made him want to be better." James grinned. "I thought he'd finally lost his mind."

Sophia felt her cheeks heating. "He said that?"

"Among other things. Very eloquent for a man who usually communicates in grunts and spreadsheets."

"That's enough," Ethan said, but he was smiling. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Someone else to embarrass?"

"Probably, but this is much more fun." James winked at Sophia. "I like you already. Anyone who can make this workaholic blush is good in my book."

"I don't blush," Ethan protested.

"You're blushing right now."

Sophia looked up at Ethan and realized James was right. There was definitely color in his cheeks, and the sight of it made her heart do something acrobatic in her chest.

"I should probably rescue him," she said to James. "He looks like he might spontaneously combust."

"Good call. But first, you have to promise me something." James's expression grew serious. "Take care of him. He pretends to be invincible, but he's not. He's been through a lot, and he deserves someone who sees past all the armor he wears."

"I will," Sophia promised, surprised by how much she meant it.

After James moved on to terrorize other guests, Ethan was quieter, his usual confident demeanor slightly subdued.

"He's wonderful," Sophia said as they walked toward another section of the gallery.

"He's a menace. I can't believe he told you all that."

"About you talking about me? I thought it was sweet."

"It was supposed to be private."

"Why? Are you embarrassed about having feelings for your fake fiancée?"

The question was meant to be teasing, but Ethan stopped walking, turning to face her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"Nothing about my feelings for you is fake," he said quietly.

The words hung in the air between them, charged with meaning. Sophia felt her heart racing, her mouth going dry. They were standing in the middle of a crowded gallery, surrounded by people who knew them, who would be watching their every interaction. This was not the time or place for confessions.

"Ethan..."

"I know. I know this complicates everything, and I know it's not what we agreed to." He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "But I can't keep pretending that what I feel for you is just part of the act."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that somewhere between signing that contract and tonight, this stopped being about revenge for me." His gray eyes were dark, intense. "I'm saying that when I look at you, when I touch you, when I watch you charm a room full of people who should intimidate you but don't, I forget that any of this is supposed to be fake."

Sophia's heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. "But the contract...."

"Forget the contract. Forget Isabella, forget the whole damn revenge plot." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to that intimate whisper that made her knees weak. "What do you want, Sophia? Not what's practical, not what makes sense. What do you want?"

Looking up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, the hope and fear warring on his face, Sophia realized she was standing at that cliff again. One word from her could change everything between them, could turn their careful arrangement into something real and terrifying and beautiful.

"I want..."

"Sophia Martinez, as I live and breathe!"

The interruption came from a woman Sophia didn't recognize, a petite brunette with sharp eyes and an expensive handbag. She approached them with the predatory smile of a gossip columnist who'd just spotted fresh prey.

"Catherine Wells, New York Social Scene," the woman said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "I've been dying to meet you. You're quite the mystery woman."

"I'm not mysterious," Sophia said, accepting the handshake while internally cursing the timing. "Just private."

"Of course. But our readers are fascinated by the woman who captured Ethan Cross's heart. Can you tell us how the proposal happened? Was it romantic? Spontaneous?"

Sophia glanced at Ethan, who had smoothly shifted back into his public persona, his momentary vulnerability locked away behind his usual confident mask.

"It was perfect," she said, looking back at him with what she hoped was appropriate adoration. "Completely unexpected, but perfect."

"Details, please. Our readers love details."

"It was private," Ethan said firmly. "Some moments are too precious to share."

"But surely you can give us something? A hint about the wedding plans? When's the big day?"

"Soon," Sophia said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice. "We don't want a long engagement."

"How wonderfully romantic. And the ring is stunning. May I?"

Sophia held out her hand, letting Catherine examine the sapphire. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Ethan has impeccable taste."

"Indeed he does." Catherine's smile was sharp. "In jewelry and in women, it seems. Tell me, what's it like dating Manhattan's most eligible bachelor? I imagine you have to fight off quite a bit of female attention."

"I'm not worried about other women," Sophia said, meeting Catherine's gaze steadily. "When you're with someone who makes you feel like the only woman in the world, jealousy becomes irrelevant."

"How confident. And what about you, Ethan? Any advice for our readers about finding lasting love?"

"Choose someone who sees you, not just what you can provide," Ethan said, his eyes never leaving Sophia's face. "Someone who challenges you to be better than you thought you could be."

Catherine scribbled notes furiously. "And the wedding? Can you give us any hints about the planning?"

"We're keeping it intimate," Sophia said. "Close friends and family only."

"How refreshing. So many society weddings are such productions these days." Catherine's smile was predatory. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in an exclusive interview? Perhaps a photo spread?"

"We'll consider it," Ethan said diplomatically.

After Catherine finally moved on, Sophia felt drained. The constant performance, the careful balance between truth and fiction, was exhausting.

"You handled that well," Ethan said.

"Did I? I feel like I'm walking through a minefield."

"You're doing better than you think." He guided her toward a quieter corner of the gallery. "But we should probably talk about what I said before we were interrupted."

"Should we?"

"I laid my cards on the table, Sophia. I think I deserve to know where you stand."

She looked up at him, this complicated man who'd entered her life like a hurricane and turned everything upside down. Three weeks ago, she'd signed a contract to be his fake fiancée for six months. Now she was wearing his ring, living in his apartment, and falling for him so hard it scared her.

"I don't know where I stand," she said honestly. "This whole situation is so far outside my experience, I don't know how to process it."

"Then don't process it. Just tell me what you feel."

"I feel terrified," she admitted. "I feel like I'm in over my head, like I'm playing a game I don't understand the rules to."

"What else?"

"I feel like I'm falling for you, and I don't know if that's because of the situation we're in or because of who you actually are." She looked down at her hands. "I feel like I'm losing myself in this fantasy life, and I don't know how to find my way back to reality."

"What if you don't have to find your way back?" His voice was soft, hopeful. "What if this could be your reality?"

"Could it? Really?" She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "Because I'm scared, Ethan. I'm scared of wanting something I can't have, of believing in something that might not be real."

"It's real," he said firmly. "What I feel for you, what I see when I look at you, it's the most real thing in my life right now."

"But what about Isabella? What about your revenge plan?"

"Forget Isabella. Forget the plan." He reached out, cupping her face in his hands. "I don't want revenge anymore, Sophia. I want you."

The confession hung between them, raw and honest and terrifying. Sophia felt tears prick her eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings and the impossibility of their situation.

"I want you too," she whispered. "But I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be the woman you need me to be."

"You already are," he said, his thumb tracing across her cheekbone. "You're exactly who I need you to be."

They stood there in the quiet corner of the gallery, surrounded by priceless art and the murmur of sophisticated conversation, and Sophia felt like she was standing at the edge of the rest of her life. All she had to do was take one step forward.

"Ethan," she started.

"There you are!"

They sprang apart as Victoria approached, her expression bright and excited. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The car is here, and you have that early meeting tomorrow, remember?"

"Right," Ethan said, his voice slightly rough. "Of course."

As they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Sophia felt the weight of unfinished business between them. The conversation they'd started needed to be finished, but she wasn't sure she was ready for what that might mean.

In the car ride home, they sat in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When they reached the penthouse, Ethan walked her to her door, just as he had the night before.

"About what I said tonight," he began.

"I know."

"Do you? Because I meant every word."

"I know," she said again, her voice soft. "That's what scares me."

"It doesn't have to be scary."

"Doesn't it? This whole thing started as a business arrangement, Ethan. What if we're just confusing proximity with feelings? What if we're mistaking a good performance for something real?"

"Is that what you think this is?"

She looked up at him, this man who'd become so important to her so quickly, and realized she didn't know what to think anymore. "I think I need time to figure out what's real and what's not."

"How much time?"

"I don't know. But can we just... can we just take this one day at a time? Without putting pressure on ourselves to define what this is?"

He was quiet for a long moment, then nodded. "One day at a time."

"Thank you."

"But Sophia?" He paused at the door. "Just so you know, I'm not going anywhere. Whatever this is, whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere."

After he left, Sophia stood in her beautiful bedroom, surrounded by her designer clothes and expensive jewelry, and wondered if she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

Because the truth was, she was already in love with Ethan Cross. Had been for weeks, maybe. The problem wasn't figuring out if her feelings were real.

The problem was figuring out what to do about them.