Page 36 of If the Ring Fits

I force a casual shrug. “It’s relatively new.” And 100 per cent fake.

Sarah chuckles. “Oh, well, have a good one, then.” She gives me a wave before heading out with the others.

As their voices fade down the hall, my muscles unwind with relief that Sarah believed I could have a girlfriend. My personal life has been practically nonexistent for years now,consumed by ninety-hour work weeks and an unrelenting drive to succeed. If it wasn’t for this charade with Rowena, my evening plans would comprise a re-heated meal and spreadsheets, as usual.

I shoot Sam a text that I’m ready to head out and make my way down to the lobby, my mind already jumping ahead to tomorrow’s meetings. But as I slide into the backseat of the car, my thoughts drift unexpectedly to Rowena.

When we first agreed to this ruse of an engagement, I saw it as just another obligation to juggle, one more complication in an already demanding life. But the other day, when we went to pick a ring, something shifted.

A strange warmth took residence in my gut as I watched Rowena bypass the flashiest diamonds in favor of a vintage ring, one with a soul as she put it. One that reminds me of Rowena herself—quietly luminous, with hidden depths. And when she slipped it on to try, the way her eyes lit up, crinkling at the corners… I smile at the memory.

“Good day, sir?” Sam meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.

I settle back against the leather headrest. “Not bad, Sam. Not bad at all.”

As the city blurs past the car windows, it hits me that for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m looking forward to getting home. To seeing her.

Sunshine indeed.

A short while later, I stride into the foyer of my penthouse, loosening my tie and shrugging out of my suit jacket. The usual stillness of my apartment is punctuated by the unexpected clinking of dishes and the indistinct murmur of music. Curious, I follow the sound to the kitchen.

And there she is. Rowena is standing behind the island in leggings and an oversized T-shirt, transferring something froma skillet onto two waiting plates, her hair piled into a haphazard bun. She’s singing along absent-mindedly to the pop song on her phone, her hips swaying almost imperceptibly to the beat.

And there it is again, this warmth ballooning in my chest, threatening to take up all the space.

“Hey.”

Rowena startles as I come up behind her, then turns with a smile. “Oh good, you’re home! I hope you’re hungry.”

I glance past her to the kitchen table, noting the place settings. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to have dinner with someone else at home.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I say, trying to navigate this foreign terrain of domesticity.

Rowena just laughs. “It was no bother. I hope you don’t mind that I set up in the kitchen. That dining room table is so long, we’d have to text each other to pass the salt.”

Under her glasses, her eyes dance cheerfully, making my lips twitch in response. “Fair point. So, what’s on the menu?”

“A pregnancy-friendly feast, courtesy of the fabulous Mrs. Rosa Doherty. We’ve got frittata with chard and a quinoa salad. Your housekeeper was keen to cook for your pregnant future wife.”

I raise an eyebrow.

Rowena shrugs, looking suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t know what else to tell the staff. I thought it was best to just go along with the whole fake marriage thing?”

I nod pensively. It’s a good call. The fewer people who know the truth, the better.

We sit to eat and, after we’ve gotten a few bites down, Rowena picks at the food on her plate with her fork, asking, “So what is it you wanted to discuss tonight?”

I grab my phone and pull up the file I typed earlier with a list.

She mock-frowns at me. “Please tell me we’re not mapping out our fake relationship on a spreadsheet.”

I flash her a sheepish grin. “Are bullet points better?”

Her eyes go to the ceiling, but I catch a flicker of amusement there. “You’re hopeless.”

I set the phone on the table, sliding it to her side. “Not a spreadsheet, just some notes.”

“Okay, Mr. Bullet Points.” She slides the phone right back at me without looking at it. “What’s the first item on the list?”

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