All Chapters of The Fine Print of Falling: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in Maya’s guest bed, staring at the ceiling, the leather folder resting on the nightstand like a loaded gun. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the numbers. Five hundred thousand dollars per year. Two million total. Plus the bonus. Plus startup capital. Two million dollars to pretend to be someone’s wife for two years. I’d picked up the contract a dozen times. Read through sections. Put it down. Picked it up again. Article II: Obligations Public appearances as devoted spouse. Physical displays of affection. Cohabitation. Discretion. Article III: Discretion Absolute confidentiality. Violation results in forfeiture of all compensation. Article V: Termination Early termination permitted only under specific circumstances. Otherwise, two years. No exceptions. Two years of my life. Two years of lying to everyone. Two years as Mrs. Alexander Lockwood. At three in the morning, I got up and made coffee. Sat at Maya’s small kitchen tab

Xander arrived at Maya’s apartment at exactly six thirty. I opened the door and watched his expression change. His eyes traveled from my face down the length of the red gown, taking in the diamonds glittering on the bodice, the dramatic sweep of the skirt. When his gaze returned to mine, something dark and appreciative flickered there. “You look stunning.” “Thank you.” I smoothed my hands over the silk nervously. “Is it too much?” “It’s perfect. You’ll be the most beautiful woman there.” He stepped inside, pulling a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. “But you’re missing something.” He opened the box. Inside was a ring. Not just any ring. An enormous emerald-cut diamond set in platinum, flanked by smaller diamonds that caught the light like fire. My breath caught. “Xander.” “You’re my fiancée. You need a ring.” He took it from the box, reaching for my left hand. “May I?” I extended my hand, watching as he slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. Heavy.

Friday morning arrived too quickly. I woke at six, staring at Maya’s ceiling one last time. The movers would arrive at ten. By noon, I’d be living in Xander’s penthouse. By tonight, I’d be sleeping in a room twice the size of this apartment. My entire life packed into four suitcases and a dozen boxes. Maya was already awake, making coffee in the kitchen. She’d taken the day off to help me move. “Ready?” she asked, handing me a mug. “No. But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” “Then we go anyway.” The movers arrived exactly at ten, efficient men in matching uniforms who handled my belongings with professional care. Everything I owned fit into their truck with room to spare. Three years of living with Leo, one month at Maya’s, and this was all I had to show for it. “This is depressing,” I muttered, watching them load the last box. “This is a fresh start,” Maya corrected. “You’re not losing things. You’re gaining them.” “Tell me something about this doesn’t feel like l

I woke to my phone exploding with notifications.Not the pleasant buzz of media requests I’d grown accustomed to. This was different. Urgent. Panicked.Fifty messages in the last hour. Missed calls from Priya Yadav, from Maya, from numbers I didn’t recognize.My stomach dropped.I grabbed the phone, still half-asleep, and opened the first text. From Priya.Do not look at social media. Do not respond to any messages. I’m handling this. Xander is aware. Stay offline until I call you.Too late. I was already opening Twitter.My name was trending. Number three in the United States.I clicked on it.The first post made my blood run cold.Is this the “brilliant entrepreneur” Alexander Lockwood is marrying? Yikes.Below the text was a photo. Me, at what looked like a college party. I was nineteen, maybe twenty. Drunk, clearly. My hair was a mess, my shirt was riding up, and I was mid-laugh at something, my face contorted in an unflattering expression. I looked sloppy. Cheap. Nothi

The trip to Milan was Xander’s idea. “Lockwood Industries has a board meeting there next week,” he’d said over breakfast one morning. “You should come. We’ll make it a long weekend. You can meet with Italian suppliers for Veridian. Fabric vendors for the upholstery. Glassmakers for custom light fixtures.” “You want me to come on a business trip?” “I want my fiancée to accompany me to Italy. The business meetings are secondary.” He’d looked at me over his coffee. “Besides, people will expect us to travel together. We should be seen in public outside New York.” So here I was, thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic on Xander’s private jet, watching clouds drift past the window. The jet was exactly what I’d expected. Leather seats in cream and gray. Polished wood accents. A full galley where two cabin crew moved efficiently, offering drinks and preparing meals. A conference area. A bedroom in the back. Everything sleek and expensive and designed for people who considered commer