CHAPTER FOUR

Catherine woke up the next morning to 247 missed messages.

She lay in bed, staring at her phone screen, watching notifications cascade in real-time. Texts. Emails. Social media tags. Three voicemails from her mother that Catherine deleted without listening to. A message from Marcus that made her stomach clench: *We need to talk. This thing with Blackwell is insane. Call me.*

She blocked his number.

There was also a message from an unknown number: *Car will arrive at 5:45 PM. Dress code: elegant but understated. Victoria values punctuality. - Harry*

Catherine groaned and buried her face in her pillow. Last night felt like a fever dream—the betrayal, the kiss, the contract. Surely she couldn't have actually signed an agreement to fake-date a billionaire for six months. That was absurd.

But her phone kept buzzing with evidence that yes, she absolutely had done that.

Nina had stayed over, passing out in Catherine's guest room around 2 AM after they'd finished both bottles of wine and compiled a list of "Things Catherine Needs to Know About Being Fake Engaged to a Billionaire." The list included items like "Learn what foie gras is," "G****e proper champagne flute holding technique," and "Figure out how to walk in the obscenely expensive heels you'll probably be gifted."

Catherine hauled herself out of bed and into the shower, letting hot water wash away the remnants of yesterday's chaos. When she emerged, Nina was in the kitchen making coffee, looking surprisingly functional for someone who'd consumed an entire bottle of Malbec.

"So," Nina said, handing Catherine a mug. "You're having dinner with Victoria Blackwell tonight. The Victoria Blackwell. Manhattan society matriarch, philanthropist, and according to Wikipedia, a woman who once made a governor cry at a fundraiser."

"That's not helping my anxiety."

"I'm not trying to help your anxiety. I'm trying to prepare you for the fact that you're about to be scrutinized by one of New York's most formidable women." Nina pulled up photos on her tablet. "Look. This is Victoria at last year's Met Gala. Notice the posture? The expression? This woman does not suffer fools."

Victoria Blackwell was elegant in the way that old money always was—understated designer clothing, perfectly styled silver hair, a smile that looked warm but had edges. She stood next to Harry in several photos, and Catherine could see the resemblance in their bone structure, their identical steel-gray eyes.

"She's Harry's only living family," Nina continued, reading from an article. "His parents died in a plane crash when he was sixteen. Victoria raised him, took over the company until he was old enough to assume control, then handed it back when he turned twenty-five. They're reportedly very close."

Catherine's chest tightened with unexpected sympathy. Harry had lost his parents young. Had been raised by this formidable grandmother. That explained some of the controlled exterior, the emotional distance.

"Stop it," Nina said, watching Catherine's face.

"Stop what?"

"Feeling sympathy for him. He's not a tragic hero in need of rescue. He's a calculating businessman who offered you a contract because you're emotionally unavailable and convenient."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because you have that look."

"What look?"

"The Catherine Hayes 'I can fix this person with enough understanding and emotional labor' look. You do not need to fix Harry Blackwell. You need to play your part, get your money, and get out with your heart intact."

Nina was right. Catherine knew she was right. But something about Harry's directness last night, his unexpected fairness in the contract negotiations, the way he'd agreed to end the arrangement immediately if either of them met someone real—it suggested a man more complicated than just cold and calculating.

Which was exactly the kind of thinking that would get Catherine hurt.

"What do I wear?" Catherine asked, deliberately changing the subject.

They spent the next hour going through Catherine's closet. Most of her wardrobe was professional—dresses appropriate for wedding consultations and venue tours, nothing particularly fashionable. Finally, they settled on a navy blue wrap dress that Nina declared "elegant without trying too hard" and simple gold jewelry.

"And your hair?" Nina asked. "Up or down?"

"Down. Half-up maybe. Victoria values subtlety, according to Harry."

"Listen to you. 'According to Harry.' You're already talking like you're actually dating."

Catherine threw a shoe at her. Nina dodged, laughing.

---

At 5:45 PM precisely, Catherine's buzzer rang. She looked out the window to see a black Mercedes sedan with a driver in a suit standing beside it.

"Oh my God," Nina breathed, peering over Catherine's shoulder. "That's a company car. He sent a company car for you."

"That's... normal, right? For this kind of thing?"

"Catherine. You're playing the role of Harry Blackwell's fiancée. Nothing about this is normal."

The driver introduced himself as James and held the car door open with the kind of professional courtesy that made Catherine feel simultaneously pampered and deeply out of her element. She'd taken plenty of car services for wedding venue tours, but this was different. This was a driver assigned specifically to her, treating her like she mattered, like she was important.

The drive to Westchester took forty-five minutes. Catherine spent the time googling Victoria Blackwell and trying to calm her racing heart. The Blackwell estate appeared gradually—first massive iron gates, then a long driveway lined with oak trees, finally a mansion that looked like it belonged in an English period drama.

"Holy shit," Catherine whispered.

James smiled slightly. "The estate has been in the Blackwell family for four generations. Mrs. Blackwell is quite proud of its history."

He pulled up to the entrance, where Harry stood waiting. He'd changed from last night's tuxedo into charcoal slacks and a black sweater that somehow made him look both more casual and more intimidating. His expression was carefully neutral until he saw Catherine emerge from the car, then something flickered across his face—approval, maybe, or satisfaction.

"Catherine." He extended his hand, helping her from the car. "You look perfect."

"Thanks. I think. This place is—"

"Overwhelming? Yes. Victoria believes in making impressions." Harry kept her hand in his as they walked toward the entrance. "Quick refresher on our story?"

"We met two months ago when I came to consult on an event here. You were visiting Victoria. We bonded over architecture—Victorian and art deco specifically. You asked me to dinner. We've been seeing each other quietly since early September because you wanted to avoid media scrutiny after your previous relationship."

"And you agreed to keep things private because?"

"Because my business benefits from discretion. Wedding planners can't afford scandal." Catherine had worked out that detail this morning. "Plus I appreciated not being thrust into a spotlight immediately."

Harry's lips curved. "That's good. Natural. Remember, Victoria is perceptive. The key to lying effectively is believing the lie yourself while you're telling it."

"Comforting advice," Catherine muttered.

"Also, she's going to ask about marriage timeline. Say we haven't discussed specifics yet but we're both committed to the relationship."

"Wait, she's going to ask about—"

The door opened before Catherine could finish. A butler—an actual butler—stood in the entrance. "Mr. Blackwell. Miss Hayes. Mrs. Blackwell is waiting in the conservatory."

Harry's hand moved to Catherine's lower back, guiding her through a foyer that featured marble floors, a sweeping staircase, and artwork that Catherine recognized as legitimate impressionist pieces. Her wedding planning business was successful, but this was a different level of wealth entirely.

The conservatory was a glass-enclosed room filled with plants and comfortable furniture arranged around a fireplace. Victoria Blackwell sat in a high-backed chair, tea service arranged on the table beside her. She was exactly as she'd appeared in photos—elegant, composed, and radiating the kind of authority that made Catherine want to stand up straighter.

"Harry, darling." Victoria rose, and Harry crossed to her immediately, kissing her cheek with obvious affection. "And this must be Catherine."

Catherine found herself subjected to the most thorough visual assessment of her life. Victoria's steel-gray eyes—identical to Harry's—traveled over Catherine's dress, her jewelry, her posture, her expression. Catherine resisted the urge to fidget.

"Mrs. Blackwell," Catherine said, extending her hand. "It's lovely to meet you."

Victoria's handshake was firm. "Please, call me Victoria. Mrs. Blackwell makes me sound ancient." She gestured to the furniture. "Sit. We'll have tea, and you can tell me how you managed to capture my grandson's attention. He's been remarkably resistant to relationships since that unfortunate incident with Margot."

Harry's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at the name. Catherine filed it away—Margot, the previous relationship that had been public and apparently ended badly.

They settled into chairs, Catherine beside Harry, close enough that their knees almost touched. Harry's hand found hers, lacing their fingers together in a gesture that looked entirely natural.

Victoria poured tea with practiced elegance. "So, Catherine. Harry tells me you're a wedding planner."

"Event planner specifically," Catherine corrected gently. "Though weddings are a significant part of my business. I own Ever After Events—we specialize in luxury, bespoke celebrations."

"And you met here, at the estate?"

"Yes, about two months ago. I was consulting on an event—" Catherine paused, realizing she didn't actually know what event. Harry squeezed her hand slightly.

"The autumn fundraiser," Harry supplied smoothly. "You were looking at the conservatory as a potential ceremony space."

"Right. The autumn fundraiser." Catherine smiled at Victoria. "Your estate is stunning. I was looking at the conservatory and Harry came in. We started talking about the architecture of the house—the Victorian elements combined with more modern additions. I mentioned I'd studied architecture briefly, and Harry gave me a complete tour."

"Three hours," Harry added. "I bored her with detailed explanations of every renovation."

"You didn't bore me," Catherine said, and was surprised to find she meant it. She could actually imagine enjoying a conversation with Harry about architecture, about design principles, about the history embedded in old buildings. "I appreciated someone who understood the bones of a space, not just its aesthetic appeal."

Victoria's expression had shifted slightly—still assessing, but with a hint of approval. "And then?"

"And then he asked me to dinner," Catherine said. "I said yes, even though dating clients or their family is generally a terrible business practice. But I—" She paused, looking at Harry, and found herself speaking something that felt surprisingly true. "I couldn't say no to him."

Harry's eyes darkened, his thumb stroking across her knuckles. The gesture was subtle but intimate, and Catherine felt that electric current from last night's kiss spark again.

"We've been seeing each other since then," Harry said. "Quietly, because I wanted Catherine to myself for a while. No media scrutiny, no public pressure. Just us figuring out if this was real."

"And is it?" Victoria asked bluntly. "Real?"

The question hung in the air. Catherine's heart hammered. This was the moment—sell the lie convincingly or watch the entire arrangement collapse.

"Yes," Catherine said quietly. "I know it's fast. I know people will say we barely know each other. But when I'm with Harry, I feel—" She searched for words that were true enough to sound genuine. "I feel like I can breathe. Like I don't have to perform or be what everyone expects. I can just... be."

It was true, in a strange way. Last night, in the chaos and pain, Harry had offered her an escape, a way to reclaim control. With him, she didn't have to be the good daughter or the understanding ex-fiancée or the perfect wedding planner. She could be angry and hurt and reckless.

Victoria studied them both for a long moment. Then she smiled—a real smile that transformed her face. "Good. Because I was worried Harry would never recover from Margot's betrayal. That woman nearly destroyed him."

"Victoria—" Harry's voice held a warning.

"Oh hush. Catherine should know what she's dealing with. Three years ago, Harry was engaged to Margot Sinclair. Daughter of a business partner, beautiful, charming, utterly mercenary. She was using Harry to secure investments for her father's failing company. When Harry discovered the deception, she went to the press with intimate details of their relationship, painted him as cold and controlling, tried to destroy his reputation."

Catherine felt genuine anger rise. "That's awful."

"It was calculated and cruel," Victoria agreed. "Harry closed himself off after that. Refused to date seriously. I was beginning to think he'd never trust anyone again." She reached across and patted Catherine's hand. "Which is why I'm so delighted he found you. You seem real. Genuine. Not someone looking for the Blackwell name or money."

The irony wasn't lost on Catherine—she was literally doing this for money. But Victoria's words stung anyway, highlighting the deception.

"I have my own career," Catherine said carefully. "My own life. I don't need Harry's money or status. I just... want him."

Harry's hand tightened on hers, and when she looked at him, his expression was unreadable.

They spent the next two hours talking—about Catherine's business, about Harry's upcoming acquisition, about Victoria's charity work. Catherine found herself relaxing despite the underlying deception. Victoria was sharp and funny, with observations about society that made Catherine laugh genuinely.

When dinner was served—an elegant meal in a formal dining room that featured yet more impressive artwork—Victoria asked the question Catherine had been dreading.

"So when should I expect a wedding?"

Catherine nearly choked on her wine. Harry answered smoothly. "We haven't discussed specifics yet. I want to give Catherine time to be sure. After Margot, I'm not rushing anything."

"You're sure though?" Victoria pressed, looking at Catherine.

"I'm sure I want to see where this goes," Catherine said honestly. "I'm sure that being with Harry feels right in a way nothing else has lately."

That was true too. The contract, the arrangement—it felt right. Like taking control after months of being passive in her own life.

Victoria seemed satisfied. "Just don't wait too long. I'm seventy-eight years old. I'd like to see at least one of my grandchildren happily settled before I die."

"You're not dying," Harry said dryly. "You're healthier than most fifty-year-olds."

"Still. Weddings are better when the matriarch is alive to attend."

After dinner, Victoria excused herself with transparent obviousness. "I have calls to make. You two should take a walk through the gardens. They're lovely at night."

Harry led Catherine outside, and they walked in silence for several moments, their breath visible in the cold November air. The gardens were indeed beautiful—lit with subtle landscape lighting that made everything look dreamlike.

"You did well tonight," Harry said finally. "Victoria liked you."

"She's easier to like than I expected. And I feel terrible lying to her."

"It's not entirely a lie. We are together, in a sense. Just... under different terms than she assumes."

Catherine stopped walking, turning to face him. "Harry. What happened with Margot? Beyond what Victoria said?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "That's not relevant to our arrangement."

"It is if I'm supposed to be convincing as your girlfriend. I need to understand what I'm playing against. What people expect our relationship to look like compared to your last one."

For a moment, Catherine thought he wouldn't answer. Then Harry sighed. "Margot was my father's business partner's daughter. We'd known each other casually for years. When we started dating, I thought she understood my world, my priorities. Turned out she was using our relationship to manipulate me into investing in her father's failing company. When I discovered it and ended things, she went nuclear—sold stories to tabloids, released private emails, made me look like a monster."

"That's why you need Victoria convinced you're settled now," Catherine realized. "The trust fund isn't just about the money. It's about proving you've moved past Margot, that you're capable of healthy relationships."

"Victoria thinks Margot broke something in me. Maybe she did." Harry's voice was carefully neutral. "But relationships based on honesty and clear expectations don't break people. They're just transactions both parties agree to."

Catherine heard the words he wasn't saying—that he'd been hurt deeply enough to believe love was a lie, that emotional distance was safety, that contractual clarity was better than messy feelings.

She understood it. After yesterday, after Marcus and Lily, she understood it completely.

"This is going to work," Catherine said. "We're both too damaged to make it complicated."

Harry's laugh was short and bitter. "That's the most depressing foundation for a fake relationship I've ever heard."

"But it's true."

"Yeah." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that felt almost tender. "It's true."

They stood in the cold garden, two people united by betrayal and pragmatism, and Catherine thought maybe this arrangement was exactly what they both needed—something finite, controlled, safe from the chaos of actual feelings.

She just had to remember that for six months.