five

Moving into Alexander's penthouse was surreal. The place was massive three floors of modern luxury with floor-to-ceiling windows, a chef's kitchen I'd probably never use, and more space than one person could ever need. It felt more like a museum than a home.

"Your room is on the second floor," Alexander said, carrying one of my suitcases up the stairs. He'd insisted on helping despite having staff who could do it. "Master suite is on the third floor, so you'll have plenty of privacy."

Privacy. Right. Because we were roommates, not a married couple.

"Thanks," I said, following him down a hallway lined with abstract art. "This place is... impressive."

"It's too big," he admitted, pushing open a door. "I bought it because my publicist said a CEO should have an impressive residence. But honestly, I mostly just sleep here."

The room he showed me was beautiful spacious, with its own bathroom and a view of the city that took my breath away. There was even a small sitting area with a couch and bookshelves. It was nicer than my entire apartment had been.

"Is it okay?" Alexander asked, and I realized he actually looked nervous about whether I'd like it.

"It's perfect," I assured him. "Really. Thank you."

He nodded, setting down my suitcase. "I'll let you get settled. I have some work to catch up on, but there's food in the kitchen if you're hungry. And Emma?" He paused at the door. "This is your home now too. For the next two years, at least. Don't feel like you have to tiptoe around or ask permission for anything."

After he left, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to process everything. Three days ago I'd been living in my cozy apartment above the gallery, single and independent. Now I was Mrs. Alexander Knight, living in a penthouse worth more than most people made in a lifetime, married to a man I barely knew.

My phone buzzed. A text from my father: "Your mother arrived safely in Switzerland. Starting treatment tomorrow. Thank you, Emma."

I stared at those words until they blurred. This was why. This was the whole point. Mom was getting the treatment she needed, she had a chance now. That had to be enough.

I spent the next hour unpacking, hanging clothes in a closet that was bigger than my old bedroom, trying to make the space feel like mine. It was strange, occupying this beautiful room but feeling like a guest in someone else's life.

Around eight, there was a soft knock on my door. Alexander stood there, changed out of his suit into jeans and a t-shirt. It was jarring, seeing him look so normal. So human.

"I was going to order dinner," he said. "Any preferences?"

"I'm not picky."

"That's not what I asked." He leaned against the doorframe, studying me. "What do you actually want to eat, Emma?"

"Thai food," I admitted. "Pad see ew, extra spicy."

He smiled, pulling out his phone. "See? That wasn't so hard. I'll order from the place downtown. They deliver fast."

Twenty minutes later, we sat in his living room with takeout containers spread across the coffee table. It should have been awkward—newlyweds eating Thai food in silence—but somehow it wasn't. Alexander put on some jazz music, low and unobtrusive, and we ate and didn't feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless conversation.

"Can I ask you something?" I said eventually, twirling noodles around my fork.

"Depends on the question."

"Why did you really agree to this? And don't say it was just for the shareholders. There had to be other options."

He set down his container, considering. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

"I'm tired," he said simply. "Tired of dating people who only see my bank account. Tired of wondering if anyone actually likes me or just what I can give them. At least with you, I know exactly where we stand. It's honest, in its own way. No pretense, no games."

"That's incredibly sad," I said softly.

"Maybe. But it's also peaceful. No one's heart gets broken because no one's pretending to be in love." He looked at me with those dark eyes. "Except I keep forgetting that part. The not pretending part."

My heart did a stupid little flip. "Alexander—"

"I know, I know. Friends only. You've made that clear." He picked up his food again. "Tell me about the gallery. What's next for you, workwise?"

I let him change the subject, grateful and disappointed in equal measure. We spent the next hour talking about art and business and everything except the fact that we were married. It was easy, comfortable. Too comfortable.

When I finally went to bed that night, I lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling of my beautiful prison. I could hear Alexander moving around upstairs in the master suite, and I found myself wondering what he was thinking. If he was having as much trouble sleeping as I was.

---

The next few weeks fell into a routine. Alexander left early for work, usually before I woke up. I'd spend my days at the gallery, working with artists, planning exhibitions. We'd have dinner together most nights—sometimes cooking, more often ordering in—and talk about our days like regular people. Like friends.

Except friends didn't have to attend charity galas together as a married couple. Friends didn't have to hold hands for photographers or smile adoringly at each other for magazine interviews.

"The new Mrs. Knight," one reporter gushed at a fundraiser. "Tell us about married life! You two seem so in love."

"It's been wonderful," I lied smoothly, Alexander's arm around my waist feeling both foreign and familiar. "Alexander is everything I could have hoped for."

"And the honeymoon? Where are you lovebirds headed?"

Alexander and I exchanged a quick glance. We hadn't discussed a honeymoon. Hadn't even thought about it.

"We're keeping that private," Alexander said with a charming smile. "Some things should stay between a husband and wife."

The reporter ate it up, and we moved on to the next conversation, the next performance. By the time we got home, I was exhausted from pretending.

"You did well tonight," Alexander said as we rode the elevator up to the penthouse. "Very convincing."

"Years of practice," I said, then added more quietly, "Sometimes I forget we're pretending."

He looked at me sharply. "Emma"

The elevator doors opened, cutting off whatever he was going to say. We walked into the penthouse in silence, the air between us thick with unspoken things.

"I'm going to bed," I announced, heading for the stairs.

"Wait." His hand caught my wrist, gentle but firm. "We need to talk about this. About us."

"There is no us. That's the whole point."

"Isn't there?" He pulled me closer, and suddenly we were standing too close, his eyes intense on mine. "You feel it too. I know you do. The way things shift when we're together. The way that kiss at our wedding felt like"

"Like nothing," I interrupted, even though we both knew I was lying. "It felt like nothing because it was nothing. We're playing pretend, Alexander. That's all this is."

"And if I don't want to pretend anymore?" His voice was low, dangerous. "What if I want this to be real?"

I should have pulled away. Should have reminded him of our agreement, of the two-year expiration date, of all the logical reasons why this was a terrible idea. But instead I stood there, frozen, my heart pounding as he leaned closer.

"Tell me you don't feel anything," he whispered, his lips inches from mine. "Tell me I'm imagining this, and I'll back off. I'll be the perfect business arrangement husband, and we'll never talk about this again."

I opened my mouth to say exactly that. To end this before it began, to protect both of us from the inevitable hurt that would come from blurring these lines.

But the words wouldn't come.

Because the truth was, I did feel something. Had been feeling it since that first dinner, maybe even before. And pretending I didn't was getting harder every day.

"I can't," I whispered. "I can't tell you that."

Something fierce and triumphant flashed in his eyes. "Then let me kiss you. Really kiss you, not for show. Just once, and if you don't feel anything, we'll never speak of it again."

It was a terrible idea. Possibly the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. But when he cupped my face in his hands, when he looked at me like I was something precious, something real, I couldn't make myself say no.

"Just once," I agreed.

This kiss was nothing like our wedding kiss. That had been soft, tentative, for show. This was raw and honest and desperate. His hands tangled in my hair, my arms wrapped around his neck, and we kissed like we'd been holding back for years instead of weeks.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I knew I'd made a mistake. Because that kiss changed everything.

"That felt real," Alexander said, his forehead resting against mine. "Tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me you felt it too."

"I felt it," I admitted. "But Alexander, this is dangerous. We have an end date. In less than two years, we walk away from each other. If we do this, if we let it become real, someone's going to get hurt."

"Maybe," he agreed. "Or maybe we find something worth fighting for. Worth changing the rules for."

"I can't think about that right now." I stepped back, putting distance between us before I did something even more stupid. "I need time. To figure out what I want. What this is."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Take all the time you need. But Emma? That kiss wasn't nothing. Whatever this is between us, it's not nothing."

As I went to bed that night, my lips still tingling from his kiss, I knew he was right. This wasn't nothing anymore.

And that terrified me.