The next four days passed in a blur of paperwork, panic, and Maya's increasingly creative threats about what she'd do to Alexander Sterling if he turned out to be a secret psychopath.
"I'm just saying, I know people," Maya insisted, sitting cross-legged on Emma's futon Wednesday night, surrounded by half-packed boxes. "Well, I know a guy who knows a guy who maybe broke someone's kneecaps once. The details are fuzzy, but the point is—I can make things happen."
Emma taped up another box, this one full of books she'd collected since college. "You work at a marketing firm and the most dangerous thing you've ever done is lie about reading the briefs before meetings."
"That doesn't mean I don't have connections." Maya grabbed another book, frowned at the cover. "Are you seriously bringing 'The Architecture of Happiness' to your fake marriage penthouse? That's either beautifully ironic or deeply depressing."
"Can it be both?"
"With you? Always." Maya tossed the book in the box anyway. "Have you talked to Grandma Rose yet?"
Emma's hands stilled on the packing tape. "Tomorrow. I'm going to the hospital tomorrow."
"And you're going to tell her what, exactly? 'Hey Grandma, remember how I was single and struggling four days ago? Plot twist: I'm getting married on Friday to a billionaire I met when I spilled coffee on him. Totally normal courtship timeline, nothing suspicious here.'"
"Something like that." Emma sank down onto the futon beside her friend. "God, Maya. What am I doing? This is insane. I'm insane."
"Yes to both." Maya bumped her shoulder against Emma's. "But you're also brave. And practical. And doing what you have to do to survive." She paused. "My cousin looked over the contract, by the way. Said it's airtight. Actually said it's one of the most carefully constructed prenups she's ever seen—and she works for a firm that handles celebrity divorces."
"That's comforting, I guess?"
"The point is, you're protected. Legally, financially, physically—everything's spelled out. And if he violates any of it, you walk away with damages." Maya pulled her knees up to her chest. "I still think this is crazy. But it's not dangerous-crazy. It's just... sad-crazy."
"Sad-crazy?"
"Yeah. Because you're twenty-five and brilliant and you should be falling in love with someone who worships the ground you walk on, not signing a contract with someone who sees you as a convenient solution to a business problem."
Emma's throat tightened. "Maybe I'm not the falling-in-love type."
"Everyone's the falling-in-love type. You're just too exhausted to remember what hope feels like." Maya grabbed Emma's hand. "Promise me something?"
"What?"
"Promise me that even though this is fake, you won't forget what real could feel like. Don't let his cold billionaire robot thing make you cold too. Stay you. Stay warm and hopeful and believing that good things can happen, even if they're not happening right now."
Emma squeezed her friend's hand, blinking back the tears that had been threatening since Monday. "I promise."
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number, though by now she recognized the pattern—Alexander's assistant, Helen Chen, who apparently never slept and communicated primarily in efficient bullet points.
Movers scheduled for Friday, 1 PM. Please have all items you wish to keep clearly marked. Anything left behind will be donated. Car will pick you up at 11 AM for lunch before the ceremony. Dress code: business casual. Let me know if you need styling assistance.
Maya read over her shoulder. "Styling assistance? What are you, a Barbie doll?"
"Apparently I'm about to become one." Emma typed back a quick confirmation, then hesitated. "Should I ask what we're having for lunch?"
"You should ask if he's going to be there, or if you're marrying a man you've only met once."
That was a good point. Emma added: Will Alexander be joining?
The response came immediately: Yes. He's looking forward to seeing you.
"He's looking forward to seeing you," Maya read aloud in a mock-romantic voice. "Wow. Be still my beating heart. Such passion. Such longing."
"Stop it." But Emma was smiling despite herself.
"What's he even like in person? You've barely told me anything except that he's controlling and has cold eyes and speaks in contracts."
Emma thought about that meeting in the penthouse. The way he'd moved through that enormous space like he owned not just the apartment but the air itself. The brief flicker of something almost human when he'd talked about his failed engagement. The way he'd said her name—Emma—like he was trying it on for size.
"He's... contained," she said finally. "Like he's holding himself together with sheer force of will, and if he relaxes for even a second, everything will fall apart."
"Sounds exhausting."
"Yeah." Emma looked around her tiny studio, at the peeling paint and the radiator that clanked and the single window that barely let in any light. "But so is this."
Thursday morning, Emma took the subway to Mount Sinai Hospital, a bouquet of bodega flowers in one hand and a stomach full of dread. She'd been visiting Grandma Rose three times a week for the past six months, watching her grandmother slowly decline, the cancer eating away at her bit by bit.
But the past week, something had changed. The new treatment—the one Emma couldn't afford, the one Alexander had agreed to cover retroactively in the contract—was working. Grandma Rose had color in her cheeks again. She was sitting up in bed, doing the crossword puzzle, complaining about the hospital food with enough energy that the nurses were calling it a miracle.
Emma thought it was more like two million dollars' worth of medical care, but she'd take it.
"There's my girl!" Grandma Rose beamed when Emma walked in, setting aside her puzzle book. "Come here, let me look at you. You look tired. Are you eating enough? Sleeping?"
"I'm fine, Grandma." Emma kissed her grandmother's papery cheek and arranged the flowers in the water pitcher. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I might actually live to see my next birthday, which is more than I could say last week." Rose patted the bed beside her. "Sit. Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong—"
"Emma Catherine Laurent, I changed your diapers. I know when you're lying." Rose's sharp blue eyes—so much like Emma's own—pinned her in place. "What's going on?"
Emma took a deep breath. She'd rehearsed this. Had practiced the story in the mirror, with Maya, even once with her reflection in a store window. But sitting here, looking at her grandmother's expectant face, all the carefully constructed lies fled.
"I'm getting married," she blurted out.
Rose's eyes went wide. Then she started laughing—deep, joyful belly laughs that made the heart monitor beep faster. "Oh, honey! That's wonderful! When? Who? Why didn't you tell me you were even seeing someone?"
"It happened fast." That part, at least, was true. "His name is Alexander. Alexander Sterling. We met a few days ago and we just... we knew."
"Love at first sight?" Rose's hand found Emma's, squeezed with surprising strength. "Like your grandfather and me. We knew in a week, married in a month. Everyone said we were crazy."
Guilt twisted Emma's stomach. "Were you? Crazy?"
"Absolutely." Rose's smile was soft with memory. "But we had forty-two wonderful years before he passed. Sometimes crazy is exactly what you need." She studied Emma's face. "You love him?"
The lie stuck in Emma's throat. She thought of Alexander's cold eyes, his carefully constructed walls, the way he'd described their arrangement—no expectations, no intimacy, just a business transaction.
"I think... I think he could be really good for me," Emma said carefully. "And I want you to meet him."
"I'd love to." Rose squeezed her hand again. "When's the wedding?"
"Tomorrow. At City Hall. Just small, nothing fancy—"
"Tomorrow?" Rose's eyebrows shot up. "Emma, that's—"
"I know it's fast. But we don't want to wait, and with you being sick, we thought something small and simple made more sense than planning some big event months from now." Emma rushed through the explanation she and Alexander's assistant had crafted. "Plus, his family is very private. They prefer intimate ceremonies."
Rose was quiet for a long moment, her wise old eyes searching Emma's face for something. Emma forced herself to hold the gaze, to not look away, to sell the lie.
Finally, Rose nodded. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"If this makes you happy, if he treats you well, then okay." She pulled Emma into a hug, and Emma felt tears pricking at her eyes. "You've been carrying the weight of the world for too long, sweetheart. You deserve someone to share the load. You deserve to be taken care of."
Emma buried her face in her grandmother's shoulder, breathing in the hospital smell mixed with Rose's familiar lavender perfume. "I love you, Grandma."
"I love you too. More than you know." Rose pulled back, wiping at her own eyes. "Now tell me everything. What's he like? What does he do? Is he handsome?"
Emma laughed, the sound watery. "He's... intense. And yes, he's handsome. Very successful. He runs a tech company."
"Tech, huh? So he's smart."
"Brilliant, I think. And very controlled. Everything is planned, organized, thought through."
"Sounds like he balances you out nicely. You've always been too spontaneous, too trusting." Rose patted her hand. "But Emma, honey—are you sure about this? Because if you're having doubts—"
"I'm sure." And weirdly, in that moment, she was. Not about the marriage being real, but about the choice being right. "He's going to take care of things, Grandma. Your medical bills, everything. You don't have to worry anymore."
Rose's face crumpled. "Oh, sweetheart, you didn't have to—"
"I wanted to. He wanted to." Emma gripped both her grandmother's hands. "Please, just... let us do this. Let me take care of you for once."
"You've always taken care of me." Rose's voice was thick. "Ever since your parents died, you've been taking care of everyone but yourself. It's about time someone took care of you."
If only she knew how transactional that care really was, Emma thought. But she just smiled and changed the subject, telling her grandmother about the penthouse, about the flowers in the lobby, about everything except the contract and the end date and the fact that this was all just a very expensive performance.
When visiting hours ended, Rose hugged her extra tight. "Bring him by before the wedding if you can. I want to meet the man who swept my granddaughter off her feet."
"I will," Emma promised, already dreading that conversation.
Outside the hospital, her phone buzzed. Alexander.
Helen tells me you'd like me to meet your grandmother. I can arrange a visit this evening if that works.
Emma stared at the text. How did he even know? Then she remembered—efficient assistant who apparently reported everything. Right.
She'd like that. Visiting hours are until 8 PM.
I'll meet you there at 6. Ward and room number?
She sent the details, then added: You don't have to do this. I can make excuses.
His response took longer this time: We're getting married tomorrow, Emma. I should meet your family. Besides, I'd like to see the woman who raised someone brave enough to spill coffee on a stranger and then marry him four days later.
Was that... a joke? Was Alexander Sterling making a joke?
Emma found herself smiling at her phone like an idiot. See you at 6.
She had four hours to prepare her grandmother for the controlled, cold billionaire who was about to walk into her hospital room and pretend to be madly in love with her granddaughter.
This should be interesting.
Alexander arrived at exactly 6:00 PM, because of course he did. Emma was waiting in the hospital lobby, nervously twisting the ring on her right hand—a cheap silver thing she'd bought herself years ago that she was definitely going to have to replace soon with whatever massive rock his family would expect to see.
She saw him before he saw her. Saw the way people's heads turned as he walked through the sliding doors, the way the receptionist sat up straighter, the way he moved through space like he owned it. He was wearing dark jeans and a simple gray sweater that probably cost more than her former monthly salary, and he looked... different. Less intimidating. Almost human.
Then his eyes found hers, and the intensity was back.
"Emma." He crossed to her in a few long strides. "You look nervous."
"I am nervous. You're about to meet my dying grandmother and convince her you're madly in love with me. That's nerve-wracking."
"I don't get nervous." But something flickered across his face. "However, I am... concerned about making a good impression."
Emma blinked. "You're concerned?"
"She's important to you. Therefore, she's important to this arrangement." He paused, then added more quietly, "And from what you've told me, she's the only family you have left. I won't dishonor that."
Something warm unfurled in Emma's chest. "Thank you."
He held out his hand. "Shall we?"
Emma looked at his outstretched hand, remembering the contract clause about maintaining appearances. But they were in a hospital lobby. No one was watching. This wasn't for show.
She took his hand anyway.
His fingers were warm, long, and sure as they closed around hers. He didn't pull away as they walked toward the elevator, and Emma found herself acutely aware of every point of contact—his palm against hers, his thumb resting lightly on her wrist, the way their strides matched despite his being nearly a foot taller.
"Nervous now?" he asked as they rode up to the sixth floor.
"Terrified."
"Good. Me too."
Emma looked at him sharply. "I thought you don't get nervous."
"I said that. Doesn't make it true." The corner of his mouth quirked. "I've negotiated billion-dollar deals with heads of state. But meeting your grandmother feels more important."
"Because the deal falls through if she doesn't approve?"
He looked at her, really looked at her, and for once his eyes weren't cold. "Because you love her. And I don't want to disappoint you."
The elevator doors opened before Emma could process that statement. She led him down the familiar hallway, past nurses who knew her by name, to room 647.
"Ready?" she whispered.
Alexander squeezed her hand once. "Ready."
Emma pushed open the door. "Grandma? There's someone I want you to meet."
Rose was sitting up in bed, and Emma could tell she'd made an effort—her hair was brushed, she'd put on lipstick, she'd even convinced one of the nurses to bring her the nice blanket from home. She looked small in the hospital bed, diminished by illness, but her eyes were bright and sharp as they fixed on Alexander.
"Grandma, this is Alexander Sterling." Emma tugged him forward. "Alexander, this is my grandmother, Rose Laurent."
Alexander did something Emma didn't expect—he let go of her hand, walked straight to Rose's bedside, and took the older woman's frail hand in both of his.
"Mrs. Laurent. It's an honor to meet you."
Rose studied him for a long moment. Emma held her breath.
Then Rose smiled. "My goodness, you weren't kidding about handsome. Emma, you undersold him."
Alexander laughed—an actual, genuine laugh that Emma had never heard before. "She undersold you too. She said you were sharp. She didn't mention you were formidable."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, young man. Sit." Rose patted the chair beside her bed. "Tell me how you swept my granddaughter off her feet in less than a week."
Alexander sat, looking more relaxed than Emma had ever seen him. "I spilled coffee on her. Or rather, she spilled coffee on me. Ruined a very expensive suit."
"And you proposed marriage as revenge?" Rose's eyes twinkled. "Interesting strategy."
"More like I recognized someone extraordinary when I saw her." Alexander glanced at Emma, and there was something in his expression that almost looked real. "She stood there, her whole world falling apart, and she didn't apologize for being in my way. She didn't grovel. She just looked at me like I was the one who needed to apologize for existing in her space."
"That sounds like my Emma."
"And I thought—here's someone who won't break. Here's someone strong enough to stand beside me, not behind me." His hand found Emma's again, pulled her to stand next to the chair. "I've spent the last five years building walls. Emma walked right through them without even trying."
It was a beautiful lie. Perfect, even. Exactly what Rose needed to hear.
So why did it make Emma's chest ache?
"Well," Rose said softly, her eyes moving between them. "I suppose when you know, you know."
They talked for the next hour. Alexander asked questions about Emma's childhood, laughed at Rose's stories about teenage Emma's disastrous attempts at cooking, and somehow convinced Rose that marrying her granddaughter after four days was romantic rather than reckless. He was charming without being oily, attentive without being obsequious, and by the time visiting hours ended, Rose was clearly enchanted.
"You take care of her," Rose said as they were leaving, gripping Alexander's hand with surprising strength. "She's all I have."
"I know." Alexander's voice was serious, sincere. "I'll guard her with my life, Mrs. Laurent. You have my word."
Rose nodded, satisfied. "Good. Because if you hurt her, billionaire or not, I'll come back from the dead and haunt you."
"I'd expect nothing less."
In the hallway, walking back to the elevator, Emma felt like she was floating outside her body. "That was... you were amazing."
"I meant what I said." Alexander pressed the elevator button, his jaw tight. "I will protect you. Keep you safe. That's part of the deal."
"Right. The deal." Emma's brief moment of warmth evaporated. "Almost forgot this was all just performance."
"Emma—"
The elevator doors opened. A group of nurses got out, chattering loudly, destroying whatever Alexander had been about to say. They rode down in silence, and by the time they reached the lobby, the moment had passed.
"Your car or mine?" Emma asked, aiming for lightness and missing by a mile.
"I'll have my driver take you home. You should rest. Tomorrow is a big day."
"My wedding day. Right." Emma shoved her hands in her pockets. "Any other instructions from the groom? What to wear, how to smile, when to cry tears of joy?"
Alexander's eyes flashed. "You're angry."
"I'm not—"
"You are. Because I reminded you this is business." He stepped closer, and Emma's back hit the wall. "Would you prefer I lie to you? Pretend this is something it's not?"
"I'd prefer you don't switch back and forth!" Emma's voice rose, and she forced it down. "One minute you're telling my dying grandmother you'll guard me with your life, the next you're reminding me about the deal. Which is it, Alexander? Am I your business transaction or am I someone worth protecting?"
He stared at her, something warring in his expression. "You're both. And I don't know how to reconcile that."
The honesty in that statement deflated Emma's anger. "Yeah. Me neither."
They stood there in the hospital lobby, too close and not close enough, two people about to promise forever while planning for one year.
"I should go," Emma said finally.
"Emma—"
"I'll see you tomorrow, Alexander. At City Hall. Where we'll sign our contract in front of a judge and make it all legal and binding and not at all romantic."
She walked away before he could respond, pushed through the sliding doors into the cool evening air. She made it halfway down the block before his voice stopped her.
"Emma, wait."
She turned. He was standing in the spill of light from the hospital entrance, hands in his pockets, looking younger and more uncertain than she'd ever seen him.
"I know this isn't a fairytale," he said quietly. "I know it's not what you dreamed of. But tomorrow, when you walk toward me and take my hand and promise to be my wife—even if it's just for show, even if there's an expiration date—I need you to know that I'll honor those vows. Every single one. For as long as this lasts."
Emma's throat went tight. "Even the ones about love and cherish?"
"Especially those." He took a step toward her. "Because you deserve to be loved and cherished, Emma Laurent. And if I can't give you the real thing, the least I can do is give you the best imitation I'm capable of."
Before she could respond, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Alexander opened the back door himself, waiting.
Emma climbed in, and just before he closed the door, he said, "Get some sleep. And Emma? Wear whatever makes you feel beautiful tomorrow. This might be business, but you should still feel like a bride."
The door clicked shut, and the car pulled away, leaving Alexander standing alone in the hospital light.
Emma made it three blocks before she started crying. Not sad tears, exactly. Just overwhelmed, confused tears from a woman who was marrying a stranger tomorrow and had no idea whether she was making the biggest mistake of her life or the smartest decision she'd ever made.
Her phone buzzed. Maya.
How'd it go with Grandma?
Emma wiped her eyes and typed back: She loves him. Thinks he's perfect for me.
And what do you think?
Emma looked out the window at the city lights blurring past, thought about cold gray eyes and warm hands and carefully constructed walls.
I think I'm in way over my head.
That's not a no.
It's not a yes either.
Em. You get married TOMORROW. You need to figure this out.
But that was the thing—she had figured it out. She'd weighed her options, read the contract, made her choice. Alexander Sterling was offering her a way out of drowning, and she was taking it.
It didn't matter that his laugh had surprised her. Didn't matter that he'd been kind to her grandmother. Didn't matter that when he'd said he'd protect her, she'd believed him.
This was business. He'd made that clear.
And Emma was nothing if not a quick learner.
I'll be fine, she texted Maya. It's just one year. How complicated can it get?
She'd laugh at that question later. But for now, with her wedding day looming and her future uncertain, all Emma could do was close her eyes and hope she was making the right choice.
Tomorrow, she'd become Mrs. Alexander Sterling.
Tomorrow, her life would change forever.
Tomorrow, she'd learn whether brave and desperate were the same thing.
Tonight, she just needed to sleep.
If she could.