Page 59 of Merry Fake Bride

Eating my fill was the only thing that made thewelcome homefrom my father worth it.

“Wow.” Her smile rises. “What are heartbreaker waffles?”

“If I remember correctly, they’re two large heart-shaped waffles smothered in chocolate sauce, raspberry compote, two balls of vanilla ice cream, two wafers, and a whole host of mixed fruits. You’re not allergic to any of that, are you?”

“No.” Devon chuckles, though her gaze continues to flick back to the waitress with an unreadable look in her eyes. “Sounds tasty.”

“Very. Although something I’m very overdressed for.”

That brings Devon’s attention back to me. “That’s saying something.”

“My faults are numerous.”

“Mmhmm.” Her eyes wander over me for a moment until they reach my gaze, then her teeth sink into her lower lip and she sighs. “I’ll get straight to the point. I called because I want to make a deal. I’ll marry you, but I need to be clear that this is nothing more than a smart business decision, understand? I’m only in this for the money that will help me secure the land rights the bakery sits on and then we’ll split.”

“I understand.”

“That’s it?” Her head tilts. “You just…understand?”

“It was my suggestion.” My palms rest on the table. “And I’m glad you changed your mind.” I'm eager to find out why, because she seemed so against it the last time we spoke. Something must have happened, but if she’s unwilling to share, then I’m not going to pry. Anything like that risks pushing her away again.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand.” Devon drums her fingers against her cast. “What do you get out of this deal?”

“Honestly?” I puff my cheeks softly. “I’ve watched a lot of bad deals go down in my father’s name even before he passed. When he was alive, I was just a bystander, and since his death, I’ve been nothing but the Grim Reaper trying to make sure his memory is honored. None of them have felt good, and it took me this long to realize I don’t need to appease him anymore. That and, for a little while, it will be nice not to field a hundred questions about my dating life.”

“Your dating life?” She barely conceals her interest. “I read online that there’s some weird gamble on whether the Sycamore heir will marry before he’s forty.”

I grimace and flex my fingers against the table. “My mother’s painful idea of a joke.”

“Sounds like unjust pressure to me.”

My gaze softens as my heart skips a beat. “That’s exactly what it is, yes.”

“Is that all there is to it?” Devon shifts in her seat and leans back in the booth.

Her walls are still up.

Every time I think I’ve hurdled over one, I find another handful waiting to block my way.

“You don’t trust me.”

“No,” she answers immediately. “I don’t.”

“You’ve made your desires clear. This is to be purely business. We will marry, and I will grant you unrestricted access to my accounts in order to fight for the rights your family deserves. Once you win and everything is safely in your name, we can divorce amicably. I will present all of this to you in writing, and you can have your lawyer look over it so you know it’s legit.”

Devon’s head tilts and her eyes narrow.

Even in the sickly light of this warm, quiet diner, there’s still a sparkle in their depths that draws me in.

“But why?” Her lips purse. “Why are you even offering a solution like this? You’re rich. Surely, there are other ways you can fuckup this deal or avoid questions about your dating life. Why something as extreme as this?”

I don’t have an answer.

Not one I’m willing to admit out loud.

The invitation to spend more time with Devon through however long it takes for this deal to pass is all that drives me.

Just a few more weeks of her company at one of the warmest and hardest times of the year, to nurture a crush that has nowhere to go, is equal parts terrifying and satisfying.