Page 36 of Devotion
I winced and yanked the phone away from my ear. Screaming into the phone was usually my department. My habits must have rubbed off on her. Bad influence travels both ways.
“I know.”
“Like, actually crazy. Not figuratively crazy. Clinically, certifiably, needs-a-diagnosis crazy.”
“I know. But Anna, the money…”
“I know about the money. I can do math, Miley. But I can also see where this is going, and I need you to hear me.” Her voice went serious. “This man is dangerous to get entangled with. You have been in love with the idea of him since you were fifteen years old.”
“I’m not in love with him.”
“No. But you’re standing on the edge of it and I can hear it in your voice. So I’m going to say this once.” I could hear her gathering herself. “Don’t fall in love with him. That’s not part of the deal.”
“It’s not even a possibility, Anna.”
“Uh-huh.” The sound she made was packed with disbelief. Loaded with it. Overflowing. “I know how much you already adore him. But this is real life and this is your life. You’re not a character in one of those movies you watched. You’re Miley Torres. You have a sister, a niece, and a restaurant to rebuild. Be careful. Please.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.” Anna pressed.
“I promise.”
“Good.” Her voice slid back into teasing. “Now go make the rich man some breakfast and don’t let his blue eyes talk you into anything your brain hasn’t approved first.”
I said goodbye and hung up before Anna could say anything else that sounded like a prophecy.
I sat on the bathroom floor for a long time after. Phone in my lap, the number in my head. Half a million dollars.
Friday. I had until Friday.
The terrifying part wasn’t the decision.
What scared me was that I already knew my answer.
CHAPTER 10
Miley
Friday came with the inevitability of a train you can hear but can’t outrun.
Trisha arrived with the contract.
She walked into the kitchen where I was making breakfast, set a brown folder on the counter, and said, “Light reading. Coffee?”
I opened the folder. Twelve pages of legal language so dense it needed its own translator—clauses, subclauses, terms that made my eyes cross. I read it at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee going cold beside me.
Ninety days. Public appearances as Christopher’s wife. I would attend events, maintain the appearance of a stable marriage, and live in his household. In exchange, a lump sum at conclusion, health coverage, and a wardrobe budget for public appearances. The contract included a mutual NDA; neither party discloses the arrangement.
“You’re free to ask me questions or any clarifications,” she said.
I nodded. She’d been three seconds too late. I’d already signed it with unsteady fingers. My signature stared back at me,and I hoped the universe wouldn’t find a way to make it bite me in the butt.
The gala was that evening.
The Annual Vale Industries Charity Gala. Three hundred guests. Investors, board members, press, and enough wealth in one ballroom to solve most of the world’s problems. Trisha told me about it like she was briefing a soldier for deployment, which, based on the dress code and the guest list, wasn’t far off.
Eleanor selected my gown. A gold, floor-length dress that moved like water when I walked and made me look like someone who belonged in rooms I’d never been invited to. I stood in front of the mirror in the guest suite, turning slowly, trying to recognize the woman looking back at me—hair pinned high with soft pieces escaping at her jaw, mouth painted into something more confident than I felt. She looked like she’d been poured into someone else’s life and was waiting for the owner to come back and reclaim it.
