로그인Callum knew what she meant.
He also knew, immediately, that his first answer would be the wrong one.
“It was tactical.”
Ailsa looked at him across the back seat.
Wrong.
Callum exhaled.
The car moved away from the gallery, Edinburgh sliding past the windows in broken reflections.
Ailsa folded her hands in her lap.
“Tactical.”
“Yes,” Callum said.
“Meaning?”
“The pre
Callum was closing his laptop when Ailsa said, “I want to stay.”He looked up.She stood beside the sofa with her shoes in one hand and the expression she wore when she had already made a decision.“Tonight?”“Yes. Here.”Callum set the laptop aside.They had eaten dinner at his apartment because neither wanted another restaurant. There had been no public obligation, no crisis, and her car was downstairs.She could leave.She was asking not to. The distinction mattered to Callum. Nothing had stranded her in his apartment, and no public story improved if she stayed until morning. Whatever happened next belonged only to them.“What does stay mean?” he asked.“Sleep. In your bed. With you.”Callum waited.“Just sleep.”“All right.”“No assumption that being in your bed means anything else is happening
Ailsa had spent most of her adult life distrusting promises that came with invisible footnotes.Forever was the worst of them.By Wednesday evening, she had decided that for now deserved better treatment.Callum was in his kitchen opening a bottle of sparkling water when she arrived.“You brought a bag,” he said.“It contains dinner.”“That was almost disappointing.”Ailsa set the paper bag on the counter.“What did you think it contained?” Ailsa asked.“I know better than to answer that.”“Good.”He took the containers from her and began setting them out.Nothing about the scene looked important, which was why Ailsa had chosen it.They had spent three days talking about marriage as though the future were a legal dispute waiting to happen. She was tired of letting a possible ending consume the relationship that actually ex
Callum slept badly, although nothing Ailsa had said should have surprised him.She had told him from the beginning that marriage was not waiting somewhere beyond enough trust, enough time, or enough proof that he was different from the men she distrusted. He had accepted the condition when the engagement was fake because it solved the immediate problem.Now the relationship was real, and never had acquired weight.He stood at his kitchen counter the next morning with untouched coffee in front of him and admitted what he had avoided naming in the car: the word hurt because part of him had begun to want a different future.For years, marriage had been an instrument in the Sinclair world, tied to alliance, continuity, and family expectation. He had resisted being assigned one without ever deciding that marriage itself was worthless.Somewhere between Ailsa refusing the family ring and falling asleep against his shoulder after a bad day, the possibilit
Ailsa held Callum's gaze across the back seat.He had not answered yet.That mattered.A quick reassurance would have been easy. He could have said of course, kissed her hand, and made the question sound smaller than it was.Instead, he looked as if he were checking every word before letting it near her.Finally he said, “Yes.”Ailsa waited.“Yes what?”“Your original never still means what it said.”The tightness in her chest eased, but not enough.“I need more than that.”“I know.”The car slowed outside her building.Neither of them moved toward the door.Callum glanced at the driver.“Give us a few minutes, please.”The privacy screen rose.Ailsa looked down at the ring on her hand.“When we made the agreement, the no-wedding clause wasn't a temporary defense.”Call
Callum knew what she meant.He also knew, immediately, that his first answer would be the wrong one.“It was tactical.”Ailsa looked at him across the back seat.Wrong.Callum exhaled.The car moved away from the gallery, Edinburgh sliding past the windows in broken reflections.Ailsa folded her hands in her lap.“Tactical.”“Yes,” Callum said.“Meaning?”“The press line needed the engagement to have a future.”Her expression tightened.Callum heard himself and understood the problem a second too late.“A public future,” he added.“That is not better.”“No.”The driver turned onto a quieter street.Usually, by this point, Ailsa would have shifted closer or taken his hand without making anything of it.Tonight there was a deliberate space between them.
Ailsa knew the wedding question was coming because three different people had warned her about it.That did not make hearing it less irritating.The arts benefit had barely reached the press line when a reporter called, “Ailsa, has all the drama this week changed the wedding plans?”Callum’s hand rested lightly at the back of her waist, exactly where they had agreed public contact could sit.Ailsa turned toward the microphones.“There are no wedding plans to change.”A few reporters laughed, assuming she was being clever.The first reporter did not.“So still no date?”“Still no date.”He had done this before. Months ago, when their attraction had been real but the relationship had not, he had let her answer the same question without rescuing the credibility of the engagement at her expense.Now the engagement was still fake, but the relationship beneath







