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Inside my car, I checked Vanessa’s text message for the food. Then I called it in and headed to Saigon Bistro.

You seem carefree when you whistle.

Her voice echoed in my head. I hadn’t noticed that I’d whistled again until she pointed it out. I used to whistlewhenever I sketched. It was a calm trance when I was at ease. The whistling used to annoy my sister. Vanessa had put me in a comfortable state of mind that allowed dormant aspects of myself to emerge. No one and nothing had been able to do that.

What else could she lure out of me?

There was no doubt that she was as attracted to me as I was to her. I desperately wanted to know how long my Lily Pad could refrain from kissing me. I knew she wanted me to addthat clause to the contract to protect herself. But I saw through her and had my own agenda.

She should have reviewed the contract more carefully when I gave her a copy so we could both sign it in front of each other. All she had cared about were the demands she requested and not the fine print that was added, which benefited both parties who were attracted to each other.

I got dinner and drove home, loving the idea that I was going home to her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

VANESSA

I acquaintedmyself with every room in Attikus’s house, including the art studio. However, I struggled to enter his bedroom. I stood at the open door, staring into a room with gray walls and a massive bed. The door had been left open, so I could see plenty without having to enter. I didn’t want to invade his privacy, yet curiosity anchored me to the doorway. One step over, and I’d be inside. But that one step would be like stepping over the demarcation line, wouldn’t it?

You’re his fiancée. You should know what his room looks like.

But I was hisfakefiancée. That didn’t give me permission to be nosy, right?

Not nosy.You’re researching a mysterious man who agreed to be your husband for six months. To ensure your safety, you need to analyze him like a plant under a microscope.

I slapped a hand on my forehead. I’d never sounded as ridiculous as I did at this moment.

What was wrong with me? This was his home, and I should respect it. When he said to make myself at home and take atour, I was certain he was referring to the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and dining room. I was certain he didnotmean his bedroom or the office across the hall.

I’d walked past his bedroom to see that his door was open. If he didn’t want anyone to look inside, he should’ve closed it.

Would I want him to enter my bedroom when I wasn’t home? Probably not. But this was his home, so he could enter any room he wanted, including my suite.

I valued my privacy, and I hoped he would do the same for me. Turning around, I walked back past the three empty bedrooms and down the wide staircase to the first floor, where my suite was.

Why did wealthy people need such big houses if only one person lived in them? The bigger the house, the more maintenance and cleaning required. Then again, Attikus probably had a service that came weekly.

I walked back to the living room, admiring the homey decor. He’d likely hired an expensive interior designer to achieve this comfortable living space with its masculine flair. Earth tones, paired with wood and metal furniture, illustrated a pleasant elegance. Despite that, the home would improve with more greenery. He had only three plants in the entire house, and one of them was plastic. For an owner of vegetable farms, he had little flowers or plants around. I made a mental note to check out the greenhouse later.

I envisioned a design plan for him as I walked through the house. Maybe I’d add some colorful accent pillows to the brown couch and loveseat. I planned on making this place prettier while I was here. After the six months, he could remove everything or keep it.

I sat on the wide couch and propped my feet on the matching ottoman. My mom’s predicament surfaced, but my conversation with Leo settled my nerves. My heart pounded as the truth sankin. I’d hired men to break the law—men who didn’t hesitate to cross lines I’d never even approached before. And now? I was no different. An accomplice. A lawbreaker. Maybe even worse. But then again . . . who really bore the weight of guilt here? Who was the true villain in this story? Those who placed my mom in prison for something she didn’t do? Or me trying to save her so she could live a comfortable life?

The prosecutor had an enormous pile of evidence against my mom—witnesses who said they had seen her stab him. They claimed to have recordings from their cell phones to support their statement. The police officer hadn’t listened to what I had to say and probably tampered with the evidence. The judge had appeared to sympathize with the dead man’s family and ignored the fact that he had attacked us first.

Money had so much power; it ruled everything. It could destroy the lives of innocent people in a flash. My mom and I were victims of that. I needed wealth to combat wealth.

Was it wrong of me to step outside of the law to protect those I loved? Sometimes, things weren’t black or white. Shades of gray existed for this reason. As an artist, I loved every shade of every color that wasn’t defined as the typical red, blue, green, yellow, and so on. I appreciated things could be sea-foam sky blue, mystical green, petal pink, or angry red.

The palette of life consisted of various hues that couldn’t be defined. That inexplicable aspect was its beauty and wisdom.

I heard Attikus’s car in the garage and jumped to my feet. My heart thudded erratically, and I cursed myself for my ridiculous reaction.

Stop it. Behave like a normal person.

I walked over to the kitchen and stared at the door connecting to the garage. When he opened the door, a swoosh of energy overcame me, washing off the worry that had clung to me minutes ago.

His face brightened, and a question sparked in his eyes. He was probably wondering why I was standing in his kitchen like a fool. I wanted to know the answer to that too.