Manhattan stretched across the horizon across the East River as Paul and Brittany walked, their hands falling to their sides and their arms occasionally brushing. The romantic tension between them seemed taut, electric, with Brittany occasionally glancing up at him with hopeful eyes. Slipping her thin arm through his, her drunkenness her excuse, she sighed evenly, saying:

“You really knew how to turn this day upside down for me.”

Paul chuckled lightly, slipping his hand against the small of her back. The darkness had ascended over their shoulders, allowing the Manhattan lights to twinkle above their heads, giving everything a fantastical appearance. With Brittany’s background, growing up far from the rev of the city, she felt completely enamored, as if the world was opening its secrets to her, giving her all she needed to survive.

“You know, I have a predicament of my own,” Paul began then, gazing down at her. “A bit more complicated, admittedly, than your scholarship and work situation. But in essence, my parents have decided that I don’t deserve to be a part of the Le Montaigne company, nor that I should receive my inheritance unless I’m married off.”

Brittany halted, blinking up at him with laughter in her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Isn’t that the storyline of every storybook prince or princess?”

“It’s a bit romantic, isn’t it?” Paul said. “At least, on paper. But in the real world, with the weight of this on my shoulders, I know I have to make strides to marry. I don’t have much time. And I can’t imagine that love for someone will just fall into my lap, so to speak.”

“It’s a lot to ask your heart to do,” Brittany whispered. She halted, gazing into his eyes, sensing the air changing around them. Shifting, she removed her arm from his and stood, like an island, waiting for a call from shore.

After a dramatic pause, Paul leafed through his pocket and drew out a back box. Popping it open, he revealed a vintage engagement ring, its diamond large and its surrounding jewels twinkling in the bright city lights. Brittany brought her hands to her mouth, immediately enamored, yet with a pulsing doubt in the back of her mind: This wasn’t how she’d imagined her “marriage” going. She’d imagined love. She’d imagined a career, a job, a life alongside someone, rather than just picking up the pieces of a broken one and throwing them at a wall.

“Brittany,” Paul said, not bothering to get down on one knee, probably not wanting to make a more ridiculous show out of this most ridiculous affair. “I know I only just met you. But I promise to cherish how much you’d help me, if you so choose to marry me. And I promise to pay for your schooling and any other expenses in the coming years. Because, if you agree to marry me, you’ll be saving my life.”

The speech was passion-filled, earnest, leaving Brittany’s heart rattling around in her chest. Earlier that morning, as she’d brushed her teeth, wrapped eyeliner around her eyes, hummed along to the radio station, she hadn’t a clue that someone named Paul Le Montaigne existed. And now—she was going to agree to be his public fiancé? All in the name of money?

“Don’t worry,” Paul said then, pushing through her hesitation. “I won’t ask you to fall in love with me, like the people in the film. That stuff doesn’t happen in the real world. Out here, it’s just bills and the crushing weight of our parents’ expectations.”

Brittany sighed, bringing her hands forward to collect the box, in which the ring sat, filled with expectations and promise. The fire in Brittany’s belly still burned with lust for this man before her, the most gorgeous person she’d seen up close. The fact that he even wanted to spend an hour with her—let alone a fake eternity—made her feel electric, alive.

She stuttered into it, hating how unsure she sounded. “Sure—yes.”

With a flourish, Paul took the box back, bringing the band over her fourth finger and then lifting her hand to his mouth, kissing it with supple lips. His dark, penetrating eyes told her she’d just crossed a boundary she could never uncross; that her life had just altered, shifted for good.

“I don’t think you’ll regret this. It’ll be the best decision of your life, linking up with the La Montaigne family. Just you wait,” he boomed.

Leaving her at the banks of the river, he turned toward the skyline, lifting his phone and dialing his parents. With a bright, unnatural voice, he told them:

“Dad. Mom. Oh, good. You’re both here. I wanted to tell you that I’ve given what you said a great deal of thought. You were right to pressure me into getting my life together. And for this reason, I’ve asked my new girlfriend, a gorgeous designer named Brittany, to be my wife. She’s said yes.”

A long pause happened, then. Paul brought his hand to his waist, listening—his head tilted.

“No. She’s not an heiress, Mom.”

“And no. She doesn’t come from new money. Jesus, Dad.”

“She’s just a marvelous woman. You’ll have to meet her. She’s going to be your daughter in law, for god’s sake. Merde. Alors…” He trailed off.

After another dramatic hole in the conversation, during which Brittany’s ears filled with the chaos of the city around them, he hung up the phone. Spinning back toward her, he looked arrogant, bright eyed. He shrugged, giving her a simple smile.

“And just like that, we’re getting married,” he said. “Better buckle your seatbelt, as they say. Things are about to get wild.”