“There’s conditions to this whole fake-boyfriend thing, okay?” I said immediately upon getting into our ride. It was a spacious van with shiny black leather seats and the scent of fresh pine filling the air, drifting from the couple of air fresheners the driver had dangling from the rearview mirror. “First, no sleeping together. If there has to be a pillow fort between us, then so be it.”

Declan didn’t answer right away. I cocked my head and got a mumbled “Right, okay” from him.

Look, I’ll be honest with you, I wanted to tear the guy’s pants off right there and then. Driver, roll up the partition, please. That was all I could think. But, I also knew that my psyche was as malleable as a container of butter left out in the sun, which meant I was in no condition to be getting into a relationship right now. So this needed to stay as something fake. Something fun for the week, and then that was it. And sex complicated things for me, so I had to make sure there was none of it.

None of it, okay? Nothing. Not even cuddling… well, unless it got cold. Then maybe cuddling, but that’s it! Nothing else. No touching or anything like that.

Unless I got an itch on my back. You know, the spot that’s hard to reach sometimes. He could help me out then, and only then. No other touching allowed.

“Anything else?” Declan asked. “Or is it just the pillow-fort rule I’ve got to pay attention to?”

“Right, no, there’s more,” I said, snapping out of my daydream. “But wait…” Something was starting to click into place for me. Something I hadn’t thought about until now.

“Declan… this is an expensive van with windows tinted jet-black. That driver is wearing a hat. A suit. And you offered to buy me a new wardrobe… holy shit, are you a prince?”

He laughed at that, which seemed like something a prince would do. “You’re a pretty good detective, you know that? Ever think about moving on up past administrative stuff?”

“I have actually,” I said, “I love investigating. It’s definitely on my radar—don’t change the subject! I see what you’re doing. Holy shit, are you really a prince? Probably not of Wales or York, I would have heard of you. Is it like the Netherlands or something?”

“No,” Declan said, shaking his head, chuckling. “Think bigger.”

My eyes opened wider. “A… king?”

Declan stayed quiet for a moment and then nodded solemnly, as though I had figured out the hidden secret to an ancient riddle.

And then he started to laugh, and the facade was completely shattered. I shook my head and crossed my arms. “My full last name is Rose-Covington. My great-grandfather was the one who started the first Rose hotel and then opened a Covington because that was his wife’s last name and he didn’t want it to be forgotten. They hyphenated their names—kind of scandalous back then—and it’s been history since,” Declan explained through his endearing but also highly annoying chuckles, “Thankfully, the hotels are still doing well. Really well, actually. Especially after my mother took the reins a few years ago and implemented some long-overdue changes. I help lead all the social initiatives and outreach, along with the advertisements and getting our brand out there to a wider audience.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “So you’re a guy version of Paris Hilton?”

For a second, I thought I had offended Declan. Maybe I had taken it too far. Gotten too comfortable, too fast. It was something I hadn’t even noticed was happening until my sarcastic bitch came out to bite. Normally I kept her locked up until I was good friends with a person and were was they wouldn’t get offended or take something the wrong way. I clearly never meant actual hurt with anything I said as a joke. But Declan and I were running on, what, a few hours of knowing each other?

And yet I still felt comfortable enough to tease him…

His face flushed a deep pink, and the space between his well-maintained dark brows grew wrinkles.

And then he laughed, and the tension was broken like a heavy porcelain plate falling to the floor. “That’s hot,” Declan said, in a terrible valley-girl impression.

“It sounds like you just choked on a tomato. Don’t do that again please,” I said, laughing along with him, feeling a rush of enjoyment come over me. Also a douse of relief. Declan was down with the sarcastic-bitch monster lurking inside me, and that meant this experience would at least be enjoyable. I already felt like me and Declan could have a good time at just about any time.

Strictly as friends, of course. Or, well, strictly as fake boyfriends?

I dunno, whatever—strictly platonic. There, that fixed things.

“Fine, yes, I’m Paris Hilton if you want me to be,” Declan said as the laughing died down. “But for the record, I think she’s a boss-ass businesswoman who’s mastered her brand.” He shrugged. “And I think… that’s hot.”

I tried not to laugh, I really did. But it was no use.

“Okay, okay.” I waved my hands in the air. “Back to the rules.”

“Right, the rules.”

Outside, we were driving over the Manhattan Bridge, leaving New York City behind us as we left toward the airport, the East River stretching underneath us like a dark blue snake, slithering through the city. I looked out toward the city, almost sure I could see the spot near the river where Barry and I got married.

My heart felt like it twisted in my chest.

“Listen,” I said, wanting to get it out of the way. The laughing fit we had both just shared seemed to have chipped away at the fort I was already putting up around myself, sans pillows. “I’m going through a divorce right now. Finalizing everything; it should be done really soon. Thankfully it’s not getting dragged out. But it’s still a divorce. It even feels weird coming out of my mouth.” I shook my head, having a hard time actually cementing it all as real. It felt like I was talking about someone else. This story couldn’t possibly be mine. “As a kid I ate up every damn romance film I could get my hands on. Books, too. It turned me into a huge romantic with a massive heart, and so I thought when I’d find the one, that was it. He’d be the one. Not the second.” I swallowed, still looking out the window. Traffic was light today, so the scenery was moving fast. “And now, I’m not even sure if I’ll even get a second chance. So yeah, this thing needs rules between us and we both need to follow them and make sure no lines are crossed.”

Declan didn’t take a moment to answer. “Of course,” he said, confidence in his voice. “I totally understand and a hundred percent agree.” I heard him take a deep breath. My gaze went from the outside world to Declan, the man sitting right inside my orbit. He was wearing what I would consider airplane attire: a pair of black sweatpants with an expensive designer logo on the hip and a simple black T-shirt, a gray cap pulled backward on his head.

Bastard looked exactly like what my wet dreams were made of.

“What happened?” he asked. “I’m going to be honest here and say the first thing I noticed when I walked into Stonewall—aside from the need to wear goggles to protect from falling faux snow—was that there was a ring on your finger.”

“You’re definitely observant,” I noted. “Maybe you can moonlight as a detective with those sharp eyes of yours.” And then I braced myself because the conversational waters ahead were looking rough. “I, uhm, well, my husband was cheating on me. I found out when I came home early and found his recording setup. He tried to hide it, but you’re not the only observant one here.”

“Shit,” Declan said. “He sounds like a massive douche. Were you married to a douche constructed for submarines?”

That actually had me laughing, which wasn’t something I was expecting. “He was a functioning human the last time I checked. I don’t know, he could have definitely been a boa constrictor wearing a zip-up people suit.”

It was Declan’s turn to chuckle. The sound made me happy, even though speaking about my divorce was leaving the taste of bitter, rotten apple in my mouth.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Declan said, his voice sounding as sincere as could be. I looked over, and he was giving me a supportive smile. “I’ve only known you for a really short time, but I can confidently say that your ex-husband is a huge pile of gorilla shit, and he messed up something special with someone special.”

I had to break eye contact. I looked out the front windshield. The way Declan was speaking to me… Jesus, I just wanted to reach over and hold his hand. I wanted his thumb rubbing over my skin, and I wanted his warmth in my palm, and this may have been a really, really bad idea.

Gah damnit, Zoey. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.

Except I knew she didn’t talk me into anything. She’d just given me a nudge in the direction I was already heading. Outside, I could see the highway signs letting me know that we were getting farther and farther from the city and closer to Connecticut. “You’re right,” I said, still keeping my eyes on the highway. “He is a gorilla turd. A silverback gorilla. The big kind.”

“Well, he no longer exists to us for the remainder of this holiday retreat.” Declan raised his hands and clapped to then wipe them together. “He’s gone. Poof, your ex-husband is no more.”

I finally looked away from the road and narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you just kill him? Are you secretly a hitman? Like a Paris Hilton who moonlights as a broken but noble hitman who’s seeking revenge for his brutally murdered family?”

Declan’s eyebrows rose before he laughed, the sound once again making me happy. “You’ve got a wild imagination, don’t you?”

“I read a loooot,” I confessed. “It fuels the fires up there.” I pointed at my head and smirked.

“I gotta confess,” Declan said, tilting his head forward and smirking. “I find that reaaally attractive.” And then he must have realized how flirty he was being because he pulled back, turning his gaze out to the front windshield this time. “Not that, you know, I’m hitting on you or anything. Jesus, I’m sorry. I get carried away sometime, and you’re so damn irresistible… Shit.”

His struggle not to flirt with me was actually kind of cute, and it was definitely funny. “That’s okay,” I said, feeling like I was trying to coax a genie back out of a bottle. “I can handle a few compliments. In fact, I think I can handle a few more if you’ve got them. We can just get them out of the way now.” I adjusted myself in the chair so I was facing more of him. It was a van with two separate seats marking the middle row, so there was a spacious gap between us. “Go on, what you got?”

“I’m not,” Declan was shaking his head, a smile playing wider and wider on his face. “No, I can’t just blow my entire compliment load on the drive to the retreat. We’ve got a week.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll allow you to space out these compliments. We’ll stick to two a day. It’ll be part of the fake-boyfriend contract, amendment number four.”

“What were the other amendments?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just liked the number four.”

Declan smiled, and then he laughed, and then I thought to myself: Oh shit.

I realized I was reacting to his laugh the way a moth would react to a spotlight, and that meant I was getting myself in some deep gorilla doo-doo.

“Wait,” I said. “You never answered about being a hit man?”

Declan did the zipper motion across his lips and threw away the imaginary key, which fell into whatever ditch my imaginary resistance toward Declan’s charm was lying in.