six

I woke up to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the immediate, crushing memory of last night's kiss. My fingers went to my lips automatically, like they could still feel the pressure of Alexander's mouth on mine, the way his hands had felt in my hair, the sound he'd made when I'd kissed him back.

This was bad. This was so, so bad.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. 6:47 AM. Alexander would already be awake, the man apparently ran on four hours of sleep and black coffee. Part of me wanted to hide in this room forever, avoid the inevitable awkward conversation about boundaries and mistakes and how we definitely couldn't let that happen again.

The other part of me wanted to march upstairs and finish what we'd started.

I chose the coward's option, shower, get dressed, and escape to the gallery before he could corner me for another one of those intense conversations that made my brain short-circuit.

But when I crept downstairs twenty minutes later, dressed and ready to flee, Alexander was waiting in the kitchen. He stood at the counter in running clothes, hair damp from what I assumed was a morning workout, drinking coffee and reading something on his tablet. He looked up when I entered, and the expression on his face made my stomach flip.

"Running away?" he asked, his voice neutral but his eyes knowing.

"I have an early meeting," I lied.

"Emma." He set down his coffee with deliberate care. "We're going to have to talk about it eventually."

"There's nothing to talk about. We kissed. It was a mistake. Let's move on." I headed for the door, desperate to escape before my resolve crumbled.

"A mistake." His voice stopped me. "Is that really what you think it was?"

I turned back slowly. He was standing now, arms crossed, studying me with an intensity that made me want to squirm. "What else would it be?"

"The truth," he said simply. "The first honest thing that's happened between us since this whole arrangement started."

My heart was racing. "Alexander, I can't do this right now"

"When can you do it? Because I'm tired of pretending, Emma. I'm tired of lying to myself about what I feel when you walk into a room. About how I look for excuses to spend time with you. About how that kiss last night was the most real thing I've felt in years."

The words hit me like a physical force. This was Alexander Knight, the man who kept everything locked down and controlled, standing in his kitchen at seven in the morning telling me he had feelings. Real feelings.

I wanted to run. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to protect my heart and throw caution to the wind in equal measure.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," I whispered.

"I know." He moved closer, slowly, like he was afraid I'd run. "But it did. And we can either acknowledge it and figure out what to do, or we can spend the next two years dancing around each other and pretending we don't feel anything. Your choice."

"What happened to the business arrangement? To keeping things simple?"

"Nothing about this has been simple since the moment I met you." He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "Tell me what you want, Emma. Not what you think you should want, not what makes sense. What do you actually want?"

The honest answer terrified me. But he'd asked for truth, and somehow, standing here in the morning light with him looking at me like I was something precious, I couldn't make myself lie.

"I want to stop thinking about that kiss," I admitted. "I want to stop noticing how your voice changes when you talk about your mother. I want to stop feeling disappointed when I come home and you're still at the office. I want this to be simple and business-like and safe." I looked up at him. "But most of all, I want you to kiss me again, and that's the most dangerous thing I could possibly want."

His breath caught. For a moment, we just stood there, the air between us electric with possibility and danger and all the things we weren't supposed to feel.

"Emma" he started, reaching for me.

My phone rang, shattering the moment. We both jumped, and I fumbled it out of my pocket, grateful and frustrated in equal measure for the interruption.

It was my father. At 7 AM.

My blood went cold. Dad never called this early unless something was wrong.

"I have to take this," I said, answering before Alexander could respond. "Dad? What's wrong?"

"Emma." My father's voice was strained in a way I'd never heard before. "It's your mother. There's been a complication with the treatment. They need to do emergency surgery, and the doctors..." He paused, and I heard him take a shaky breath. "They're saying the next twenty-four hours are critical."

The world tilted. I reached out blindly and felt Alexander's hand steady me, his other hand taking my phone.

"Richard, it's Alexander. What hospital?" His voice was calm, commanding. CEO mode. "Okay. We'll be on the next flight. Don't let them start anything until we get there. I'll have my lawyers review the consent forms. Emma's her medical proxy, they can't proceed without her signature." A pause. "I know. We'll be there soon."

He hung up and immediately started making calls. I stood there, frozen, trying to process what I'd just heard. Emergency surgery. Critical. Twenty-four hours.

I might lose her. After everything, after the marriage and the sacrifice and the treatment that was supposed to save her, I might lose her anyway.

"Emma, look at me." Alexander's hands were on my shoulders, grounding me. "We're going to Switzerland. I'm having the jet prepared now. We'll be there in ten hours, maybe less. Your mother is strong, and she has the best doctors in the world. She's going to fight, okay?"

I nodded numbly, not trusting my voice.

"Go pack a bag. Casual clothes, warm layers” Switzerland is cold this time of year. I'll handle everything else." When I didn't move, he cupped my face gently. "Emma. I've got you. I promise. We'll get through this."

The tenderness in his voice broke something in me. I nodded again and somehow made it to my room, mechanically throwing clothes into a bag while my brain screamed that this was my fault, that I'd been so worried about my feelings for Alexander that I'd forgotten what really mattered, that my mother was dying and I wasn't there.

Twenty minutes later, we were in Alexander's car, speeding toward the private airfield. He drove with one hand, the other clasping mine tightly. We didn't talk. There was nothing to say.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Emma Knight, we need to talk about your husband. Call me before you read tomorrow's headlines. Victoria James, Seattle Tribune"

I stared at the message, confusion cutting through my panic. Victoria James was the reporter who'd broken the original tabloid story about Alexander that had started this whole mess. What could she possibly want now?

"Everything okay?" Alexander asked, glancing over.

I should tell him. Should show him the text. But something made me hesitate. Maybe it was the stress, or the fear about my mother, or the lingering confusion from this morning's almost-confession. 

"It's fine," I heard myself say, deleting the message. "Just Jess, checking in."

He nodded, focusing back on the road, and I tried to ignore the guilt twisting in my stomach. I'd just lied to my husband ”fake husband, whatever” when he'd literally just asked me to be honest with him.

But I had bigger problems right now. My mother was in emergency surgery. Alexander and I had almost crossed a line we couldn't uncross. And apparently, some reporter had information about Alexander that she thought I needed to know.

As we pulled onto the airfield and I saw the sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to get much, much more complicated.

And I had no idea if my heart or my mother would survive what was coming.