Page 18 of The Love Clause

"Sorry," I whisper, though I make no immediate move to get up. "Gravity hates me."

"I've got you," he replies, his voice low and rough in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

For a breathless moment, we're frozen in this accidental intimacy, something electric passing between us. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I find myself wondering what would happen if I leaned just a little closer, if I closed the small distance between us.

"You two lovebirds coming to dinner?" Harrison's amused voice breaks the spell. "Or should we leave you alone?"

Reality crashes back. I scramble off Elliot's lap, feeling my cheeks burn as several guests glance our way with knowing smiles.

"Just saving her from a fall," Elliot explains smoothly, rising to his feet with far more composure than I feel. His hand settles on the small of my back again, guiding me toward the dining room. "She's graceful in many ways, but walking in a straight line isn't one of them."

"It's the artist in me," I joke weakly. "Straight lines are boring."

As we follow the group to dinner, Elliot leans down to murmur in my ear, "Quick thinking during the game. You're…surprisingly good at this."

"Thanks," I whisper back. "You're not so bad yourself, considering you're basically allergic to spontaneity."

His lips curve into a small smile. "Perhaps I'm developing an immunity."

The strange tension between us lingers as we take our seats at the dinner table. I can still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on my waist, the solid warmth of his thighs beneath mine. For a terrifying moment during that accidental embrace, I'd forgotten we were pretending.

And judging by the way Elliot's eyes keep finding mine across the table, I'm not entirely sure he didn't forget too.

SEVEN

Elliot

I don't do campfires.I don't do rustic outdoor seating fashioned from logs, or stargazing, or any of the deliberately quaint activities that wealthy people engage in to feel momentarily connected to something primal. Yet here I sit, a tumbler of expensive scotch in hand, watching the flames leap and dance while Harrison regales the group with stories of business deals from decades past. The fire casts everyone in amber light, softening edges, creating an illusion of warmth that goes beyond temperature. I tell myself I'm merely playing my part, the devoted fiancé enjoying a couples' retreat. I tell myself the strange tightness in my chest when I watch Josie laugh across the fire circle is just concern about our charade.

Dinner had been a carefully choreographed affair—five courses, each paired with an appropriate wine, served in the lodge's grand dining room beneath antler chandeliers. Josie had handled it with surprising grace, only using the wrong fork once and covering it with a self-deprecating joke that charmed eventhe most proper guests. We'd been seated apart during the meal, a strategic error I hadn't anticipated, giving me too much time to observe her from a distance.

Now, as the evening has moved outdoors to this elaborate fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs and strategically placed blankets, I find myself once again watching her more than is strictly necessary for our arrangement.

She's across the circle, engaged in animated conversation with Melissa Harrison and her husband. The firelight catches in her hair, turning the dark strands to burnished copper in places. She's wearing one of the outfits Claire selected—a soft sweater in deep green and fitted jeans—but she's added her own flair with a colorful scarf I don't recognize. She gestures as she speaks, her entire body involved in whatever story she's telling. Melissa throws her head back in laughter, and even her more reserved husband chuckles behind his hand.

I should be pleased. Josie is ingratiating herself with Harrison's family, exactly as our arrangement requires. Instead, I feel a peculiar irritation at how easily she connects with these strangers, how natural she seems in this setting despite being so far from her usual world.

"Quite a woman you've found yourself," comments a voice beside me. I turn to find Harrison himself has taken the empty seat to my right, his own scotch in hand. "Not what I expected for you, I must admit."

"In what way?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

"She's alive, my boy." Harrison chuckles. "Most of the women at these corporate functions, they're like beautiful furniture—decorative but ultimately inanimate. Your Josie, she's a firecracker."

I glance back at her, now demonstrating something that involves a dramatic mime of walking multiple dogs. "She's certainly unique."

"The best ones are." Harrison's eyes grow distant, focused on some memory. "My Margaret was like that. Completely inappropriate at formal events, always saying exactly what everyone was thinking but too polite to mention. Drove my mother to distraction." His smile is fond. "Forty-two years together, and she never stopped surprising me."

I don't know how to respond to this sudden intimacy, this glimpse into a love I'm supposedly emulating. "She sounds remarkable."

"She was." Harrison nods toward Josie. "Hold onto that one, Elliot. Legal brilliance is common enough. A woman who makes you laugh—truly laugh, not that polite chuckle you do at client meetings—that's rare."

Before I can formulate a response that won't sound defensive or dismissive, he pats my shoulder and rises, moving to join another group. I'm left with his words echoing uncomfortably in my mind, a prescription for a condition I don't have.

Across the fire, Josie glances over and catches me watching her. Instead of looking away, she smiles—a genuine smile that reaches her eyes—and gives a small wave. Something shifts in my chest, a subtle recalibration that I refuse to examine too closely.

The evening progresses, conversations flowing as freely as the alcohol. The temperature drops steadily as night deepens, the mountains stealing the last of the day's warmth. I notice Josie hugging herself, rubbing her arms despite the sweater. She's too stubborn to go inside, too engaged in conversation to acknowledge her discomfort.

When she finally makes her way back to my side of the circle, dropping into the empty chair beside me, her teeth are nearly chattering.

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