Page 43 of “Not” Engaged to the Grumpy Billionaire

“Too sweet,” he counters.

“Too boring,” I shoot back, tossing a pineapple into the cart. Max laughs, and I feel a flicker of pride for making him smile.

We wander through the aisles, filling the cart with essentials and more than a few snacks. Max insists on choosing a box of cereal based solely on the cartoon mascot, and I let him, earning a playful scowl from Nate.

“You’re going to spoil him,” Nate says, but there’s no real bite in his tone.

“Maybe,” I admit, smirking. “But he deserves it.”

Max grins at me, his blue eyes sparkling. “You’re the best, Liz.”

My heart squeezes, and I ruffle his hair. “Don’t let your dad hear that.”

“I heard that,” Nate says, but his lips twitch into a small smile.

As we near the checkout, Max suddenly looks up at me, his expression serious. “Liz?”

“Yes, Max?”

“Are you gonna be my real mom?”

The question stops me cold. My mind blanks, and I stare at him, unable to form a coherent thought.

“What makes you ask that?” I manage to say, keeping my voice light.

He shrugs. “Because I like you. And Dad likes you too. Right, Dad?”

I glance at Nate, whose jaw tightens slightly. He doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches unbearably.

“Well,” I say finally, forcing a smile. “That’s very sweet, Max. But let’s focus on paying for all these snacks, okay?”

“Okay,” he says easily, turning back to the cart.

But I can’t shake the weight of his question—or the way it makes my chest ache.

At the checkout, Nate stands close, his arm brushing mine as we unload the cart. I can feel his presence like a gravitational pull, steady and unyielding.

As we leave the store, Max grabs my hand again, chattering excitedly about the gummy worms we bought. Nate walks on my other side, silent but watchful.

And I can’t help but wonder: What am I doing?

Because pretending to be Nate’s fiancée is starting to feel less like pretending.

Chapter ten

Nate

The house is silent, the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes every creak of the floorboard sound like an alarm. I stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the dark corners of my office.

Work. That’s what I should be focused on. There are contracts to review, emails to send, plans for the marina expansion to finalize. But my mind keeps drifting, circling back to the same thought, the same person.

Liz.

Her laughter echoes in my head, light and unrestrained, the way it filled the store earlier today as she teased me about pineapples and sour gummy worms. The memory alone is enough to make my chest tighten, and I slam the laptop shut with more force than necessary.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She’s off-limits. Off. Limits.

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