Page 3 of Defending What's Mine

“Can’t you just tell Grandma that she’s old and her values are stuck in the 1950’s?” I stare at the open suitcase on my bed, a pile of dresses and perfectly coordinated outfits mocking me with their cheerful patterns. My mother’s voice drones on in the background, listing all the reasons why Imustgo along with this ridiculous charade.

“You know how much your Grandmother values marriage and family.”

I inwardly roll my eyes. “And her heart is set on Wade Sinclair? You should tell Grandma what a real piece of shit he is.”

My mother opens her mouth to scold me about my language, but instead she pinches the bridge of her nose as she sucks in a deep breath. “Charlotte, darling, you know how important this retreat is. Your father’s company?—”

“Is hanging by a thread,” I finish for her, zipping up one of the many garment bags I’m supposed to bring along to this week-long family disaster. “I’ve heard it all before, Mother.”

She sighs dramatically, as if I’m the unreasonable one here. "Darling, the Sinclair family is going to be there, and if you don’t have arealfiancé by your side, well... they’ll expect the engagement to Wade to be finalized." She stares straight at me. “We’re doing this to protect you. I know you don’t want to marry Wade. This is the only way.”

“To hire a fake fiance? To pretend I’m marrying some random stranger?”

My mother places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s either pretend to be engaged to the security detail, or really get engaged to Wade.”

I roll my eyes so hard, I’m pretty sure they’re going to get stuck. Wade Sinclair, the walking, talking heir to the Sinclair fortune. The crowned prince. Too bad he’s about as charming as a wet mop and twice as self-centered. “Fine,” I huff out, upset that my grandmother is pushing this idea of marrying Wade so hard.

“We can’t let your father’s company take the hit. If your grandmother doesn’t believe you’re fully happy with this,” she looks down at her phone for a split second before returning to look at me, “Asher, then your grandmother will pull her investment. She’ll destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for. Can you please do this for the company?”

“For the company,” I mutter under my breath, folding a silk dress with more force than necessary. “Not for me.”

“Exactly. So, just for the week, you’ll pretend to be engaged to this… ex-military man.”

“Fine.”

My mother gives a satisfied nod, as if this entire plan isn’t completely absurd. “Right. Your father hired him for security,but he’ll do nicely as a fiancé stand-in. Tall, handsome, a bit rough around the edges—just the type to make Wade jealous.”

I shove another pair of shoes into my suitcase, my irritation growing with each passing second. “Why can’t we just uninvite the Sinclairs. Tell Grandma they couldn’t make it?”

“Because the Sinclairs hold too much influence,” she says, as if that explains everything. “We need them on our side.”

I know she’s right—about the influence, at least—but that doesn’t make this any less infuriating. Pretending to be madly in love with a man I’ve never met? Spending a week playing the perfect fiancée while fending off Wade’s creepy advances and keeping my parents’ business afloat? Keeping my grandmother happy? Not exactly my idea of a relaxing getaway.

My fingers hover over the last dress I’m supposed to pack. It’s a white lace number that screams “I’m so in love, I’d definitely wear this while strolling hand-in-hand with my fiancé through a picturesque meadow.” I toss it in without folding it. Maybe wrinkles will make me look more authentic.

My mother leaves the room, and I sigh, trying to remember why I’m doing all of this.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock at my door, and I glance up, expecting to see one of the house staff. Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered man steps into the room, his presence taking up more space than seems possible. He has dark hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in days, a rugged face with a few too many sharp angles, and eyes that are scanning me with the kind of casual interest that makes my skin prickle.

“Charlotte Lane?” he says, voice low and gravelly, like he’s already tired of this whole thing before we’ve even started.

Which irks me. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s so gorgeous. Maybe it’s because instead of being snarky, I’d rather have him toss me on the bed and lay claim to me right here and now.

I need to stop reading my sci-fi romance novels late into the night.

“That’s me,” I reply, crossing my arms as I assess him right back. So, this is the infamous Asher Hawke, my fake fiancé. I bite back a groan. He’s definitely the tall, dark, and dangerous type, but his clothes—black jeans, worn boots, and a plain, fitted t-shirt—scream more “security detail” than “sophisticated society fiancé.”

Great.

He steps farther into the room, giving my half-packed suitcase a glance before turning his attention back to me. “Your mother sent me up here. Said we should go over the plan.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The plan?”

“Pretending to be in love,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something—annoyance, maybe—in his eyes. “I hear we’re engaged now.”

My lips twitch, but I refuse to smile. “Lucky me.”

He cocks his head, studying me for a beat too long. “Lucky? That’s one way to look at it.”

---