“Jennifer Killigan.” I couldn’t remember my cousin’s daughter’s name but knew the names of all Rex’s girlfriends in high school. Yes. I’d been that person.

  “Yes! Her. She and Mark Towers married, and Mark was the very next guy she dated after Rex.”

  “This is a distressing topic.”

  “And yet, it’s also true.” Cyrus pointed to one of the women circled around Rex. “That’s Yana. Rex took her to one work thing, one date. And now her wife is Rex’s agent. That one? That’s Kerry. They dated for two weeks. Her husband is now Kendrick—over there—a friend of Rex’s from college. They played ball together. And, see her?”

  “Please stop.” I turned and walked aimlessly . . . away. My heart did weird things and my brain felt too full.

  Cyrus’s laughter followed me and soon he was at my shoulder again. “Wait, Abby. Come on.” He wrapped his hand around my elbow and pulled me through the crowd, leading me onto a vacant—freezing—balcony.

  Snow had accumulated on the railing, a full inch, and I wrapped my arms around myself. “Why are we out here? It’s cold.”

  “Of course it’s cold. It’s Chicago in November.” He released my arm and quickly shrugged off his jacket. “Here, put this on.”

  I accepted it automatically, pulling it over my shoulders. “How will you stay warm?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m full of hot air.” He stepped back, smirking in a way that looked self-deprecating, but he did not look cold. “Look, we can go back inside in a sec. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” No, I’m not. “I mean, it’s—I thought—I don’t know. I guess, I did know that a few of his ex-girlfriends and dates had ended up with a few of his friends and acquaintances, but I didn’t realize it was every single one of them.”

  One of Cyrus’s eyebrows ticked up as he watched me, but he offered no comment.

  “That’s . . . that’s crazy, right? I feel bad for him. That the press has turned his nickname into the butt of a joke about his personal life. It’s—” I wasn’t doing a good job of explaining myself, so I slowed down, breathing out snarled emotion and breathing in calm. “It’s sad. And frustrating. He is such a decent person—a good human—and I don’t understand why it never works out for him.”

  “Maybe it hasn’t worked out because he hasn’t dated the right person,” he offered with a shrug.

  “Yeah. Yeah, that could definitely be it.” My eyes lost focus as I recalled once more the complete and utter lack of interest in Rex’s gaze when he saw me for the first time tonight, my stomach and heart giving just an echo of the dull, aching pulse I’d felt earlier.

  Had I been holding out hope that I was that right person? Not . . . consciously. But after tonight, I wouldn’t entertain the hope subconsciously either. And now that I’d well and truly given up, maybe I could be Rex’s Rex.

  Maybe I could be the girl he “dated” before he met his wife.

  “Abby?”

  I blinked Cyrus back into focus, filled with newfound purpose. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  He stared at me like he’d missed part of the conversation. “Someone in mind?”

  Ah. Yes. He had missed part of the conversation since I’d been lost in thought and debating with myself. “For Rex? Do you have someone you think might make him happy?”

  Cyrus continued staring at me.

  “Because I would like to help. Truly.” I crossed the balcony and stood directly in front of him. “It’s not too late for me to call off the wedding. If there’s someone you think he’s interested in, someone who will treat him well, and he’s been hesitant to date because of how things normally turn out for him, just tell me what I can do and I’ll do it.”

  As his gaze moved between mine, the side of his mouth curved slowly upward until he breathed a little puff of a laugh. “Uh . . .” He laughed again. “Abby.”

  “Yes?”

  His eyes narrowed though he still grinned. “I don’t know,” he said haltingly. “I think I’ve meddled enough as it is. Maybe I should—we should—just let things run their course now.” Then under his breath he added, “How does Rex make this look so easy?”

  My stomach sunk at his caginess. “But there is someone?” Maybe Alaric knows? I doubted Alaric would remember me from high school, but I could still ask.

  “Listen to me, you beautiful, sweet, lovely woman. There is no one else.” Cyrus gently cupped my hands and pressed them together between his palms. “Stop worrying about Rex. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

  “But I—”

  “Abby.”

  Both Cyrus and I turned our heads toward the deep voice, finding Rex standing just outside the threshold of the door. Though he’d said my name, his eyes were on his friend, and he looked . . .

  Well. He looked pissed.

  “Oh, hey there Rex.” Unhurriedly, Cyrus released my hands and stepped away from me, wearing an unconcerned smile.

  The larger man continued glaring at Cyrus but held his hand out to me. “We should go in for dinner.” His voice was monotone, but the slight edge of harnessed anger made my back straighten and my neck itch.

  Why was he angry? He’d been the one to leave me the moment we’d arrived to go meet very important people. And now he was angry because I was talking to Cyrus?

  Drawing myself up, I opened my mouth to point this out, but then his gaze cut to mine and the words died on my tongue. He looked angry, yes. But there was something else there too. Sadness? Frustration? Maybe something had happened inside the gala while Cyrus and I had been out here discussing how best to help Rex find a lady worthy of him.

  Deflated, I pulled off Cyrus’s jacket and handed it over to him. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” he said, his eyes twinkling with more mysterious mischief. As he glanced between me and Rex, he looked like he might laugh. Just as I made it to the door, Cyrus added, “Seriously, anytime, Abby,” and then he did laugh.

  Rex made some sort of sound in the back of his throat—a cross between a grunt and a loud sigh—and his hand closed around my fingers in a tight squeeze the moment I placed them in his palm. Holding open the door, he guided me inside first, then slid his arm around my waist, pressing me more snugly against his side than I recalled him doing before, his body tense.

  I peered up at him, watched his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow, his fuck-off-not-now expression firmly in place.

  “Are you cold?” he asked quietly, not looking at me, his voice a grumbly rasp.

  I shivered. “A little.”

  He brought us to a stop and turned me so that we faced each other, his hand now splayed on the center of my back, hot through the thin layer of silk. The harshness behind his eyes seemed to dwindle as they hooked into mine.

  “Do you have a wrap or—or something?”

  I shook my head.

  His eyebrows pulled together, and I only had a split second to register the concern in his gaze before he pulled me forward and wrapped his arms around me, bringing the front of my body fully against his. My lips parted in surprise as a burst of warm loveliness originating in the lower half of my stomach swirled and pressed outward, meeting and mingling with his heat everywhere he touched me.

  I was being hugged.

  By Rex.

  And it was an experience like no other.

  My friend Josephine said my hugs were best because there was just so much of me, so much height and my arms were long. She said it was like being wrapped in a chenille blanket with the added bonus of boobs and perfume.

  For the first time, I understood what she meant. There was just so much of Rex. He was so darn big and strong and warm and—yes—it was like being wrapped in a chenille blanket. But instead of boobs, this one had massive biceps and smelled like the warmth of sunshine on a cold day, like heat and cologne, grass and snow, an indescribable dichotomy of everything cozy and brisk.

  Dear Lord. I can properly die now. Life will never get better than this.

  After a prolonged moment that felt infinitely too short, Rex’s hands lifted to my shoulders, slid down my arms, and he pulled away.

  “Better?” he asked, ensnaring my gaze again, his voice low and soft and lovely.

  “Much,” I said, feeling warmer . . . everywhere.

  CHAPTER 14

  “I'd rather die on an adventure than live standing still.”

  V.E. SCHWAB, A DARKER SHADE OF MAGIC

  “Take the money.”

  I groaned, splashing an island of bubbles away from my stomach. “I can’t take the money.”

  The hot bath in the giant hotel tub had provided some comfort, as had the bottle of wine I’d indulgently ordered from room service. But when my brain refused to settle and my heart persisted in its sad ache, I’d called my lawyer.

  Kaylee was the only one I could talk to about this. She was my friend, and I trusted her judgment. I’d told her all about the day and evening with Rex, what Cyrus had said at the gala and how Rex had—apart from the brief hug—basically ignored me all night. Then, when the gala had ended, he’d asked the driver to drop me off at the hotel and had opted to take a different car home.

  “No, Abby. Take the money. For your own good and peace of mind, take it.”

  “I know you’re thinking about my financial future, but taking the money is out of the question.” Lifting my hand from the water, I inspected my wrinkled fingertips. I missed baths. My apartment only had a shower.

  “I’m not talking as your lawyer right now, I’m talking as your friend. Yes, taking the money, which you agreed to take and which you have earned and will earn, is best for your financial future. But I also think you need to take it because not accepting the money means you’re blurring lines that shouldn’t be blurred.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you take the money, you’ll think of Rex as a boss—not a friend with the potential for more—and you’ll see him within those boss-like boundaries. Would you care whether or not Walker commented on how pretty you looked in your dress tonight?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I see your point.” If Walker ever commented on how pretty I looked, it would weird me out. “But Walker isn’t comparable to Rex. I see Walker as an older brother, even a father figure.”

  “Fair enough, you’ve known him forever and so, sure, the boss lines have blurred there too. But let me ask you this, what do you see Rex as?”

  Lifting my eyes to the ceiling, I ignored the dull ache in my chest and the miserable weight in my stomach. “I had a big crush on him in high school.”

  “I’m sure you did, along with everyone else. The dude is seriously hot.”

  “I guess . . .” I heaved a sad sigh. “I’m so stupid.”

  “You are not stupid.”

  “You would think I’d learned my lesson, but obviously some frivolous, naïve part of me must be hoping for that fairy tale to come true. That he asked me to do all this because he likes me, but the truth is—”

  “He thinks of you as an employee, and he’s been very upfront about what he wants and expects. He spelled it out in a prenup, an excessively fair and generous prenup. That’s why you should take the money. He thinks you’re taking the money, he thinks you’re being fairly compensated for your time and effort. He probably didn’t comment on how lovely you looked tonight because he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, seeing as how you work for him.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know.”

  I laughed lightly, feeling both better and worse. “Okay. I get it now.”

  “So you’ll take the money?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I’ll accept it, but I think I’ll donate it.”

  Kaylee released the world’s most obnoxious sigh. “Why are you this way? Why can’t you do nice things for yourself?”

  “If I take the money for myself, it will make me unhappy. I learned that when I accepted the first check. Other than paying you back, I haven’t spent any of it. Having thousands of dollars in my checking account gives me nightmares—don’t ask me to explain it.”

  “I won’t. I love you, but you make no sense.”

  “But you’re right. I have to accept the money because that’s what Rex and I agreed. I’m being a nincompoop.” I nodded at my own assertion, feeling the rightness of it in my bones. “He thinks of me as an employee, not a friend, not anything else.”

  “What if he did? What if he wanted more?”

  “He would never think of me like that.”

  “But what if he did?”

  I considered the question and laughed at myself as the answer became confusingly crystal clear. I was a mess of contradictions: I wanted Rex to notice me, but I didn’t want to date him. I wanted his praise and attention and flirting, but no scary commitment or expression of feelings.

  “What’s so funny?” Kaylee asked.

  “No. Not with Rex. He . . .”

  “What?”

  “We would never be equal. I would always be at a disadvantage.”

  “Because he’s wealthy?”

  “No, it’s not that,” I said, my bones feeling heavier as I relayed the sad truth. “Because I don’t trust myself around him. I like him so much. And know it’s not just the idea of him, it’s him. I’ve gotten to know him. I feel like he could ask me to do anything, ask me for anything, and I’d say yes.”

  “Yikes.”

  “I know.”

  “So, no Rex. But I thought you didn’t want to date anyone?”

  “I didn’t,” I hedged.

  “But you do now?” A note of hope entered her voice. “You’re ready to date again?”

  I didn’t need to think about the question. I knew the answer immediately, though I was loath to admit anything out loud. The idea of dating someone, putting myself out there, trusting, was still terrifying. And as soon as I confessed the truth, I knew Kaylee would start setting me up with her surfeit of single male friends.

  And yet, something had changed recently. I’d changed. Pretending and texting with Rex had flipped a switch. A secret, dormant longing had been reignited. I wanted someone to flirt with, to have inside jokes with, someone to share my day and my burdens. Someone not Rex.

  Haltingly, I said, “I want to take things slow.”

  She squealed.

  “And, it’ll have to wait until I’m finished helping Rex.” I held up my pruned index finger from the water. “I’m not going to cheat on this fake marriage. Doing so would undo all our hard work, and I feel like dating someone on the side would be super shitty to Rex.” He’d never explicitly said one way or the other, but I doubted Rex wanted me dating someone while he and I were fake married, and he said I could end the arrangement whenever I wanted.

  What if he dates someone?

  I forced my throat to work around rocks and shards of glass in shades of envy green at the thought because it wasn’t any of my business. If Rex wanted to date someone, good. I was a placeholder, that’s it. We’d divorce, maybe they’d get married, and that would be that.

  “Fine, don’t date until you and Rex are done with the arrangement. But this makes me so happy!”

  I laughed. “Why are you so obsessed with me dating?”

  “It’s more like I’m obsessed with you finally getting over that skidmark ex of yours and leaving the memory of him in the dust where he belongs. I hate that he had so much power over you, even years later. You are the best. And I want to see you happy.”

  “I’m already happy.”

  “Okay, happier.” I could picture her rolling her eyes, but I knew she was still smiling. “I want to see you blissfully, ecstatically, rapturously happy. And free of fear. You deserve it.”

  We married at the stadium on the fifty-yard line after Rex’s Saturday practice in a whirlwind ceremony.

  Rex’s agent arranged it with the owners and the coaches, and the team photographer snapped pictures of the ceremony. Rex wore the home uniform as promised and I wore my white dress, a gorgeous strapless ball gown with a gathered bell skirt in silk taffeta and a fitted bodice. Surprisingly, Rex’s agent hadn’t thought about procuring a bouquet, and there were no rings. I didn’t particularly care about the rings, but it did seem strange not to swap something during the ceremony. Declan and I had married at the justice of the peace, no one present but us and the other waiting couples. In retrospect, my wedding to Declan hadn’t felt like a celebration so much as something to tick off a checklist, but there had been rings.

  Today, though, I had no bouquet. Ryan Johnson—yes, the quarterback for the Squalls—handed me a football to hold instead, as a joke. I thought it was an awesome idea, so I did. This seemed to buy me instant credibility with the rest of the team.

  At the end of the ceremony, after we recited our run-of-the-mill marriage vows in front of the stadium chaplain, the entire football team, the coaching staff, admin staff, and a few random stadium stragglers, Rex gave me a quick kiss—a speedy and abrupt press of the lips—before I had a single second to anticipate it. He then pressed his forehead to mine, his small, pretend happy smile encouraging my insides to play twister.

  Everyone cheered, and you know what? No rings, no bouquet, surrounded by strangers (other than Rex), I felt celebrated. I felt cherished.

  It was, by far, the strangest experience of my life. But also one of the most memorable. My smiles and laughter were real, and I felt oddly joyful. I knew it was fake, I knew all the arrangements—from having the team present to the dress that had been chosen for me—had been for the benefit of the media, lending our unconventional nuptials believability, but I loved every second of it. The adventure, the unknown, even the unexpected and disorder.

  And I especially loved throwing the football thirty yards like a badass and into the hands of running back legend Trent Komfer. Everyone cheered again.

  Congratulations and good wishes were handed out liberally; the photographer must’ve taken over a thousand pictures; and when it was all over, Rex left to change while I wandered around the football field, grinning as I contemplated my strange life. Or rather, grinning as I contemplated how strange my life had become.