Page 10 of If the Ring Fits

Maybe the fake engagement alone will do the trick, and we won’t need to actually get married. But if that’s not the case, I’m ready to walk all the way down the aisle to convince Dominic. And we’re not in the Middle Ages when a marriage was forever. Reversing everything afterward won’t be hard. A divorce would be clean, simple, with no strings attached. She gets her stability; I get my title—everyone wins. If I have to play family man for a little while, so be it. I’ve done crazier things to get ahead.

And once it’s done, Dominic won’t be able to take the job back even if I don’t get married or get divorced. Investors wouldn’t have it. A change in CEO requires a good explanation to be justified. Having me installed and then removed for no apparent reason a few months later would only project uncertainty. The last thing any hedge fund wants.

Her laughs fills the air, bringing me back to the present. “Haha, you’re funny!”

I stay silent, letting the gravity of my impromptu proposal fill the void.

After a long pause, her voice takes on a more somber edge. “Wait… are you being serious right now?”

I exhale. “I know it sounds bonkers. But I’m totally serious. That’s how desperate I am.”

“Yes, but a fake engagement?”

“Look, my boss is no fool. It’ll take time to convince Dominic. I’ll need to fully commit to playing the part of the family man—engaged with a kid on the way.” I fidget with mycufflinks, hoping she’ll see the logic in my admittedly mad plan. “And you’d be taken care of. I’d put you on my medical insurance. It would give you space to get back on your feet financially with no pressure while you figure out your next career move and have the baby.”

The seconds stretch endlessly as I wait for her reply. I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth.

I wait and wait, my mind racing as I strive to imagine what her face might look like and try to guess what she’s thinking. Will she laugh in my face? Call me insane and storm out? Or could she see the twisted brilliance of this plan? My palms are slick with sweat as I wait some more, giving her time to absorb the enormity of what I’ve said.

Finally, she speaks again. “I might be old-fashioned, but shouldn’t you at least ask my name before you propose?”

I grin at her witty comeback. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m Adrian West, and you are?”

“Rowena Taylor.”

“Rowena,” I repeat, letting the lovely name roll off my tongue. “That’s such a beautiful name.”

She chuckles, the sound light and silvery. “Definitely makes me fake wife material?”

“Absolutely.” I grin like an idiot. Her sense of humor is refreshing.

“You’ve never even seen me,” Rowena points out, amusement lacing her tone. “What if I’m hideous?”

“This would be a platonic arrangement.” Trying to be tactful, I let out a soft, hesitant hum, adding, “So it wouldn’t matter how you look.”

“But aren’t investment bankers supposed to have wildly beautiful wives?”

“An ugly wife-to-be could make me appear less shallow,” I quip back without missing a beat.

Her infectious laugh echoes through the bathroom, and a foreign warmth twists deep in my stomach, knowing I’m the one who made her laugh even on her lowest day.

“Well, that sure takes the pressure off,” Rowena says, still chuckling. There’s a pause and then, “So, how would this arrangement work?” Rowena asks hesitantly.

“Since you said you can’t make rent, and we’d have to pretend anyway, you should move in with me. You’d have your own bedroom and private bathroom, of course.” I picture my spacious penthouse apartment, imagining a faceless woman inhabiting one of the airy guest rooms. “It’s a big place with plenty of space. We wouldn’t step on each other’s toes, and I’m at the office most of the time. We’d just need to put on a bit of a show on public appearances.”

“How many public appearances?”

“Who’s the one worried about me being repulsive now?”

“If we only have to be roommates, I care more about you being kind and…clean. Also, hopefully not into heavy metal.”

I laugh again. “Definitely not into heavy metal. And I have cleaning ladies.”

“But what if we’re not compatible?” she presses me.

“If you’re pregnant, we mustn’t be too far apart in age,” I reason. “And you sound nice.”

“Yeah, you sound nice as well.”

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