Page 21 of Defending What's Mine

“Of course,” Asher says with a polite nod.

The conversation shifts to other topics, but my mind stays stuck on the idea of a wedding. Awedding. This weekend. WithAsher. The man I barely know but just kissed like my life depended on it.

I sneak another glance at him, watching as he engages in polite conversation with my father. He’s so composed, so confident, like this whole situation isn’t completely insane. And yet, despite his calm exterior, I can’t stop thinking about the way he kissed me. The way his lips moved against mine, the way he pulled me close, the way my heart felt like it might actually burst out of my chest.

It was too real. Too much.

And now I have to sit here, pretending that kiss didn’t shake me to my core, while Nancy Sinclair is out here planning our fake wedding.

“Charlotte,” Melanie whispers, nudging me with her elbow. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, forcing a smile. “Just... tired.”

She gives me a knowing look but doesn’t press further. Thank God.

As dinner continues, Asher and I keep up the pretense, playing the part of the doting couple. He’s attentive, pulling out my chair when I sit, resting his hand lightly on my back when we talk, even brushing a strand of hair from my face at one point. It’s all for show, I remind myself. But every touch, every glance feels too natural, too easy.

By the time dessert is served, my nerves are completely frayed. I excuse myself from the table, needing a moment to breathe. As I step out onto the terrace, the cool night air hits my skin, and I let out a shaky breath.

This is getting out of hand. A fake engagement is one thing, but a wedding? I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this charade without losing my grip on reality. And I feel like Nancy Sinclair is testing us. Like if we don’t go through with the wedding this weekend, she’ll call the whole thing false. Am I too paranoid? I mean, she can’t honestly expect me to get married to somebody this weekend. Every girl deserves the wedding of their dreams, not some mashup wedding thrown together in twenty-four hours.

She’s ridiculous.

The sound of footsteps behind me pulls me out of my thoughts. I turn to see Asher standing there, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, even though it’s a lie. “I just needed some air.”

He steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “Nancy’s idea threw you, huh?”

“That’s an understatement,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. “A wedding, Asher. This weekend. What are we supposed to do with that?”

“We handle it,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

I laugh bitterly. “Handle it? How? By walking down the aisle in front of all these people and pretending it’s real?”

“If it comes to that,” he says, his tone calm but firm. “But it won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

I look at him, really look at him, and for a moment, the frustration fades. He’s solid, steady, and for some inexplicable reason, I feel like I can trust him.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You don’t have to do this alone, Charlotte. I’ve got your back.”

And somehow, despite the chaos of the night, those words are exactly what I need to hear.

After we say good night to everyone, we make our way back upstairs. Together. Hand-in-hand. It’s comforting to have somebody to hold onto.

Once we enter our suite, I exhale.

“Do you think Nancy is on to us?”

Asher stares at me for a long beat before answering, “I don’t think she is. I think she’s just trying to push to cause a ripple in our relationship. Most men panic before a wedding.”

I smile, thinking that could absolutely be the reason why she’s suggesting the idea of the wedding. “That makes sense.” I raise a brow. “Most men?” I giggle lightly.

“Not me of course.” He sits on the bed, loosening his tie. “I wouldn’t ask a woman to marry me if I thought for any second I could be spooked.”

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