Page 5 of Defending What's Mine

Her nose scrunches up at the mention of Wade, and I file that reaction away for later. “Fine,” she says, giving in just enough to keep the conversation going. “Let’s hear your genius idea.”

“All right,” I say, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. “We met a few months back at some fancy charity event your parents forced you to go to. You were bored, sneaked out to get some air, and found me doing the same. Sparks flew. We’ve been sneaking around ever since, but now we’ve decided to come clean and tell your family.”

She blinks, processing the story, and then shakes her head. “Sneaking around? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s supposed to be madly in love with me,” I tease. “If you have a better idea, let’s hear it.”

She lets out a sigh that’s probably meant to sound exasperated, but I catch a hint of a smile before she hides it. “I guess it’s not the worst plan.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say, my grin widening.

The truck falls into silence again, but this time it’s a little less tense. Charlotte shifts in her seat, probably trying to getcomfortable with the fact that, for the next week, we’re going to be glued at the hip. I glance over at her, studying, watching as she stares out the window like it’s more interesting than me. She’s definitely not thrilled about this, but I find her annoyance oddly entertaining.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence again. “What’s the story with Wade? You hate the guy, right?”

She gives a short laugh, devoid of any humor. “Hate is a strong word. I prefer to say that I would rather spend a week locked in a room with a thousand mosquitoes than marry him.”

I let out a low whistle. “Wow, that bad, huh?”

She rolls her eyes again, but there’s a slight smile on her lips. “You have no idea.”

We fall into a pocket of silence again, but this time it doesn’t sit sharp between us. It feels... looser. Like maybe we’re starting to find a rhythm—two professionals caught in a tangled situation, trying not to trip over each other.

I keep my gaze on the road, but my attention drifts sideways. Out of habit, I read her cues the way I’d scan a room—subtle shifts, tells. Charlotte’s sitting tall, her arms crossed, but her fingers are tapping an erratic beat against her thigh. A signal. Anxiety. Despite the razor wit and ice-queen posture, she’s not as indifferent as she pretends.

She’s in over her head,I think, and not for the first time. Hell, so am I. But if she’s willing to trust me to lead through this mess, I’ll take that seriously.

I lean back in my seat, voice easy, casual. “So, just to be clear—on this retreat, we’re madly in love, can’t keep our hands off each other, and I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

A sharp snort escapes her, quick and unguarded. “In your dreams, Hawke.”

I grin, letting the grin bleed into my tone. “You’ll have to do a better job convincing your family than that.”

She turns, studying me with a long, assessing look. Calculating, guarded. I hold her gaze without flinching. Let her take the full measure if she needs it. After a beat, she exhales, shaking her head. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I smirk, can’t help it. The push and pull between us is becoming its own game. “I think it’s going to be a lot of fun.”

She groans and sinks deeper into her seat, as if the upholstery might swallow her whole. I catch the small movement out of the corner of my eye and bite back a laugh.

Cute.The word flashes through my mind unbidden, landing harder than it should. Because truth be told? She’s more than cute. She’s fire wrapped in ice, and when she lets a crack show—when she groans like this, flustered and fed up—it’s damn near irresistible.

I grip the wheel a little tighter, ground myself in muscle memory.Stay sharp, Hawke. Stay professional.

But even as I shift gears and press on, one thought keeps circling: this fake fiancé gig is going to be a hell of a lot harder than I expected.

And maybe—for reasons I probably shouldn’t admit—I’m not entirely dreading it.

4

Charlotte

The moment we pull up to the resort, I already feel the tension creeping up my spine. It’s a stunning place—an opulent, sprawling estate nestled in the mountains, all snow-capped peaks and twinkling lights. Normally, I’d be thrilled to spend a week here, but not when it involves Wade Sinclair and his overbearing parents. And my grandmother.

I love her, I do, but…damn, let me marry who I want. I’m surprised she hasn’t traded me for a goat yet.

I barely have a second to breathe before I spot Wade standing at the entrance, flanked by his parents like some sort of awkward family photo. His perfectly tailored suit and smug expression are just as charming as I remember, which is to say, not at all.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “They’re here already.”

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