It’s been a stressful week, and by the time Friday evening rolls around, I feel jittery and shaky and so confused. Today, I said the final goodbyes to my new coworkers. They don’t know that yet. They won’t until Monday. Leaving early has ripped me in two. I’ve really enjoyed the job for the two weeks I’ve had it. Yesterday, I got to meet some of the kids from one of the church groups the organization is helping. Their appreciation was touching and their excitement infectious. I feel like a phony shit for walking out on them all.

Worse, the phony trend will continue tomorrow. I’ll be a fake bride. I’ll fake smile for my fake wedding to Carson before I fake run out on him prior to reaching the altar. He’ll fake being shocked and heartbroken, while I’ll manufacture fake drama the whole tragic night before I truly slink off alone, probably to cry real tears.

Sunday morning, I’ll be back on a plane with my sisters, winging toward my old life in Los Angeles, owing them a crap ton of explanations, and without the man I love.

I don’t know if I can do it.

My sisters arrived yesterday. They both liked Carson immediately, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s awesome—handsome, funny, charming when he wants to be. Eryn and Echo both have given a thumbs-up to Charlotte and said that if they had to part with me for a man, a new city, and a new life, they understand my choice.

I wanted to cry because I can see myself here, too. As Mrs. Carson Frost. Keeping my job and racing to the new home we toured last Sunday afternoon and loved. He put in an offer on the property Monday morning. We found out last night that the sellers accepted. I’m sadder than I thought I would be that I won’t be living in that dream house with him. Someday, another woman will. I’m jealous of her already.

How would he react if I said I might want to stay?

“Are you ready for this?” Eryn sidesteps closer as we all mill around the empty ballroom, waiting for our wedding rehearsal to begin. The hotel is beautiful, and I have no doubt our “wedding” will be exquisite.

I give her my best fake impression of happiness. “Yeah. I’m excited.”

She frowns at me. “You should be. He’s great. Really. If West and I shared half the love you and Carson seem to, we might have made it to our wedding day.”

I swallow down more guilt. Eryn rarely talks about her ex-fiancé anymore. Weston Quaid was a good guy, if a little rough around the edges. He seemed to worship her—right up until the end. “I think you did share love. Twenty was too young to get married, and he got spooked.”

“Because he didn’t love me enough.” She gives me a tight grin as if she doesn’t want me to candy-coat the truth. “But better to know that before we got married than after.”

She’s right, but that doesn’t ease her pain. I have no doubt some part of her is still attached to West. “I know your wedding dress has sentimental value for you. Thanks for lending it to me.”

“It was gathering dust in the closet, so I’m glad someone will finally put it to good use. We’re lucky it didn’t need more than a little hem and tuck for it to fit.”

When I tried it on after the tailor rushed through the few alterations in the last twenty-four hours, it fit as if it were made for me. Even slipping the gown on was both a joy and a sorrow. With lacy straps that hug my shoulders, an embellished bodice that dips to show the right amount of cleavage, and a tulle skirt that’s pure romance, it’s perfect. Or it would be if I were actually getting married.

I’m so torn about this fake wedding. Honestly, I’m torn about my relationship with Carson in general.

“Okay, everyone in their places,” Vasha calls out.

I spy him cutting up with his two groomsmen. Luis, one of the guys he went to college with, is darkly handsome and recently married. His other pal from a previous job, Sam, has a more cool, aristocratic appeal—until he smiles, which seems to be often. In fact, they’re all laughing now, clinking booze in plastic glasses, looking as if they don’t have a care in the world. When my “groom” slants a glance my way, I know instantly he’s got something on his mind.

Nerves knot my tummy. I’m not sure which outcome to hope for anymore—for him to call off this farce right now or tell me he wants to make it real.

“I need my bride and groom,” the wedding planner shouts, motioning me over with a flip of her hand.

I head toward her dutifully, dreading this pretense. Even looking at Carson now hurts. Making love is a bittersweet torture. It’s impossible to believe that in twenty-four hours, I might see him again for the last time. Though we’re in love, I’m worried it’s not enough. What if we say we intend to make our relationship work from across the country? All right, but for how long? What event would change our circumstances? And what happens if one of us gets lonely or becomes frustrated that we can’t be together? Or decides the deprivation isn’t worth the effort anymore and calls to break up? Or maybe stops answering the other’s calls and texts? I can’t afford to fly across the country, and he can’t spare the time away from Sweet Darlin’.

Once I leave, I don’t see us working out. And that’s killing me because I can’t imagine living without him.

“Carson,” Vasha calls again.

She might be five feet tall with long black hair and a round, youthful face, but looks are deceiving. This woman is as cuddly as a tigress. Everyone is a bit afraid of her—except Sam, who keeps eyeing her like he’d enjoy the chance to prove he can more than handle her claws.

Carson lopes in our direction. Vasha huddles us together and gives some instructions that barely register in my racing brain. He takes my hand and nods on our behalf.

“Great,” the wedding planner says, snapping her fingers and signaling to someone we can’t see to dim the lights.

The room falls silent.

“Bride and groom, tell your attendants what they need to be doing. I’m going to make sure the music is ready. Everyone must be in their places in five minutes.”

With that, she’s gone, focusing her considerable attention to some other detail I would never have even considered.

When I spin around to find my sisters and flub passing along whatever I didn’t hear, Carson stops me. He wraps his hand around my wrist and sends me a searching stare. “You okay, sweetheart?”

I’m not sure what to say. “This is harder than I thought it was going to be.”

“Being dishonest with Eryn and Echo? With everyone else?”

“Yeah.” That’s part of the problem, anyway. But certainly not all of it.

How do I tell him I have second thoughts about jilting him at the altar? He’s hinted now and then that we might make more of our relationship someday, but he hasn’t once suggested that we actually get married tomorrow. I don’t want to presume he’s interested in becoming husband and wife. Or ask, only to find out he’s decided that’s a no for him. But I think he still wants us together. He makes love to me every night like he can’t stop touching me, like he can’t breathe without me. I cling to him in sleep because I’m afraid I’ll wake to find him gone. I don’t want to be that woman who’s too insecure to tell the man she loves that she wants more from their relationship, but I’m tripped up by my childhood. If my own parents couldn’t really love me, why should this wonderful man? On the other hand, if I tell Carson I might want to be his wife for real and he wants that, too, someone will have to sacrifice so we can be together. Is either of us ready for that?

Why is this such a tangle?

“Talk to me,” he says softly, taking my hand.

To everyone else, it probably looks like a tender moment between a couple ready to commit their lives to each other. But his worried stare is a demand that I fess up—fast.

“Not right now. Vasha is—”

“Being paid for her time, so she can wait a few minutes. This is about you,” he insists. “Do you need some time alone? Or with me? Tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen.”

“Later,” I promise. “This needs more than five minutes, and everyone is staring.”

Carson glances around and realizes I’m right. He gives me a terse nod. I understand him well, so I know the jerk of his head isn’t any frustration he has with me. It’s annoyance on my behalf. He’d do most anything to make me happy…except give up the life he’s worked hard to build. I’d do the same for him, which is why I’m standing in the middle of this massive ballroom about to practice saying an “I do” I won’t utter tomorrow while I’m near tears.

“Definitely later. Whatever’s upsetting you, we’re going to talk it out.”

I send him a thankful nod. He gives me a soft press of his lips.

The gentle gesture nearly bowls me over. It makes me want to hold on to him and never let go.

Suddenly, Eryn grabs my arm and leads me to the back of the room, by the double doors leading inside. “What is going on? You act like it’s a funeral, not a wedding.”

“It’s just an emotional time.” I don’t point out that if she and West had made it this far, she would understand because, A, I’m lying about the whole situation, B, the reminder will only upset her, and C, it’s not her fault that West left just before their wedding with nothing but a terse note and an apology.

“But the emotions should be happy.”

Why is my middle sister choosing now to be sage instead of snarky?

“Lighten up, sis,” Echo thankfully butts in. “I’m sure she’ll be shitting joy tomorrow. Let her be a little worried and nervous tonight, okay?”

I grip her hand. “Thanks, brat.”

“You’re welcome, bitch.” My youngest sister winks.

By now, someone has given Vasha a microphone, and heaven help us all. She starts barking orders like a drill sergeant. No one is safe.

“Okay, groomsmen, file in from this side door.” She waits until Luis and Sam have sauntered across the low-shag carpet. Sam gives the pretty wedding planner a wink, which she completely ignores except for a roll of her eyes. “Now the groom…”

From the back of the room, I watch Carson approach his buddies. He’ll do this tomorrow. He’ll wait at the altar people have built for this sham ceremony and peer at the crowd with his counterfeit smile while they all stare back. I wonder how real his feelings will be. No doubt as real as my own.

I have to stop tripping over these maudlin thoughts. I’ve committed to this plan. I need to see it through.

Vasha calls my sisters up the makeshift aisle one at a time. She tells Eryn to slow her steps, then arranges everyone at the front, pointing out where standing flower arrangements and other items will be so no one trips. Finally, she motions me to begin my bridal walk. Shoving aside the thought that my procession now is the only time I’ll actually reach Carson’s side at the altar, I put one foot in front of the other, my heart physically aching.

Once we’re all in place, the planner and the minister both give us a few reminders, then we’re blessedly done.

Dinner is a subdued affair, and I’m sure it’s because my mood is dampening everyone else’s. Eryn and Echo flank me on one side of the table. Luis and Sam bookend Carson on the other, so there’s no privacy for us to talk. Vasha begged off because she had too much to do. Carson’s parents are no longer alive, and mine didn’t come because they couldn’t get away from work, as usual. There really was no time to invite out-of-town guests, so we’re done with the lovely seafood restaurant and wine in under ninety minutes. I wish I could say I enjoyed it, but with every second that ticks by, I just want to crawl in bed beside Carson and cry that this night will probably be our last.

“All right, man,” Luis slaps him on the back as soon as the check is paid. “Now you have to let us take you out for a proper bachelor party.”

“Complete with strippers, booze, and regret,” Sam quips.

“Yeah, sis,” Echo chimes in. “You need one last partyfest before you become a boring married broad.”

“Exactly. A few shots should help you face ’til death do us part,” Eryn says with a salty expression.

“It’s not bad at all,” Luis says, defending his married state. “In fact, it’s pretty damn wonderful.”

My middle sister snorts. An argument ensues.

I glance Carson’s way. He looks as enthusiastic about the idea of having one last rager with his peeps as I am, which is to say not at all.

“You know, guys, I don’t need to stare at a stripper and shove bills into her G-string to feel as if my bachelorhood is complete. I just want to call it a night and spend it with my girl.” He reaches across the table for my hand.

I grip it like a lifeline.

“Not acceptable,” Sam shoots back. “Besides, we were going to splurge for your lap dance in the VIP lounge from Destiny Whipped Cream or whatever her made-up name is. Only the best for you, buddy.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Carson drawls.

“Ella?” Echo asks.

“You know, I think I’d rather turn in, too. A bride needs sleep to look her best on her wedding day.”

Eryn leans over and whispers in my ear. “Or maybe you need some sister time so you can talk about whatever second thoughts you’re having.”

If only. “I’m not. I just want to spend tonight with Carson. Do you need a ride back to the hotel?”

After we work out that Sam will take my sisters to the place they’re all staying at in his rental, Carson and I dash out of the restaurant. I’m eternally glad he chose an eatery that’s less than three minutes from his apartment.

As if by mutual agreement, we make nothing but small talk on the way, mostly about Vasha. He tells me that Kendra texted him some pictures from their elopement in Vegas. He hasn’t seen or heard from Gregory Shaw to know what the man’s reaction to the marriage is.

When we finally reach Carson’s place, he opens the door with a quiet click and drops his keys. My heart starts to race. My palms sweat. I still don’t know what to say. How far am I willing to go for love? Can I give up everything? Should I?

The second he shuts it, he turns to me in the dark and grabs my shoulders. “Ella?”

“I don’t want to talk right now.” I reach for the buttons of his shirt and start slipping them free, one by one.

He takes hold of my wrists to stop me. “I think we have to.”

“Not yet. I need”—to feel you one more time before we have a chat that might change everything between us forever—“you.”

Slowly, he releases me and nods. “All right, sweetheart. Because I need you, too. But we’re talking afterward.”

We exchange a glance for an uncertain moment. The silence hangs between us, and as I stare into his blue eyes, I can’t imagine never being with him again.

Then, as if we can read each other’s minds, we break the still at the same moment, each lunging for the other, arms outstretched, lips ready, hearts beating as one.

I attack the buttons of his shirt again as he grabs my face and tilts my head for a kiss that makes me shiver and robs me of thought.

“What are you doing to me?” he mutters as he comes up for air only long enough to search my face.

I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I’m betting it’s connection, desire, and love—exactly what I’m looking for on his face.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I pant.

“I used to be reasonable, logical, so damn sure.”

I nod. “And everything feels crazy now.”

“Yeah. Except for being with you.” He thumbs my lower lip before he kisses me again.

Then we don’t need words. Our lips speak them. Our fingers convey meaning. Our hunger translates what’s in our hearts.

Carson peels away the sundress I wore to the rehearsal as I step out of my shoes. He unhooks my bra as I tear the crisp white shirt from the waistband of his slacks. We attack his fly together, his fingers focused on the fastening, mine on the zipper. The second he’s open, Carson shoves his boxers down. I do the same with my lacy, barely there panties. He takes my hand, and I assume he’s going to lead me to his bedroom. Instead, he pulls me closer, then bends and lifts me against his chest.

“What are you doing?” But I already know, and as much as I don’t want to be affected by the romantic gesture, I totally am.

“Taking you to bed in my arms,” he growls as he darts across the apartment in ground-eating steps.

I don’t want to hurry through our last night. Some part of me wants it to last, but I need it to start now, go longer, stay with me forever…just in case.

When we reach the bedroom, he manages to have me on the mattress, flat on my back, before I can even blink. Next, he flips on the lamp, grabs a condom from the nightstand, sheathes himself, and crawls between my legs in the span of a single breath.

“Tell me you’re wet,” he demands, gripping his cock and positioning the head against my opening.

I shiver with thrill. “Drenched.”

Some part of me wants to tease him, torment him with naughty suggestions I’d love him to make real, delay our gratification until we’re both an instant from exploding. But we’re already on the edge in our hearts. Our bodies won’t be far behind.

“Good. I’ve got to have you. Right now.”

That’s all the warning I get before Carson reaches under my ass, lifts my hips to him, and drives inside me. I gasp when he’s immersed deep, to the hilt. He sparks nerve endings that never quite go dormant when he’s around.

The friction has me crying out and writhing beneath him. Carson knows my body so well now. He’s learned it methodically over the past sixteen days. He knows how much I like to feel the sting of my scalp when he tugs at my hair, like he’s doing now. He quickly discovered how much I love the little bites he nips up and down my neck when he’s fucking me. He also figured out how crazy I go when his strokes are slow and controlled and a delicious torture because I have to wait for each and every one.

But I’ve learned him, too. Carson loves my nails in his back, my whispered words in his ears, and my legs wrapped tightly around his hips.

“You’re so deep inside me.” The words spill from my mouth. “It feels so damn good and I…ah. Yeah. That spot. There.” As he drags over the sensitive area behind my clit with his cock slowly, I grit my teeth and sink my nails into his skin a bit more. “Carson, please…”

I know he likes to hear me beg, too. He knows how to make me plead for his mercy so easily. Sometimes, I try to fight him. Sometimes, I even succeed for a minute or two. But inevitably, like now, he drowns any resistance I have with a passion so consuming I can’t muster the will to stop myself from beseeching him to give me the dazzling bliss only he can.

Every time between us is stunning and breath-stealing, but tonight it’s as if he’s so zeroed in on me—on us—that he delivers every stroke, every touch, every kiss precisely when and where I need it to surrender all of myself to him with dizzying speed.

“Fuck, Ella. Yes, sweetheart. This is… God, I need you.” His strokes pick up speed and I can’t hear his next words. His lips brush my neck, making me shudder in his arms. My heartbeat gongs in my ears. I’m only aware of the way he fills me, the way he overwhelms me, the way we’re both bellowing for breath as we move together toward a pinnacle that will—shockingly—surpass all those we’ve shared before.

“Carson. Babe… More. Deeper. Please! Don’t stop.” My voice is a high-pitched cry as I’m perched on the edge of a climax that I know will undo me completely.

He digs his fingers into my hips. His methodical strokes deepen until I’m clawing and wailing, my body thoroughly electric and alive.

“Ella. Listen to me.” He tugs my hair again until he snares me with his gaze. “You. Will. Not. Leave. Me.” He punctuates each word with an emphatic thrust that leaves me no doubt how he’s feeling.

I love him, too. My heart is alive and celebrating this one glorious moment, even though it’s already bruised and weeping at the thought of what tomorrow will bring.

“Hear me?” he demands, pumping inside me furiously. “Tell me. Say it. Right now.”

I’m torn. The words are on the tip of my tongue. I’m desperate to agree. Dying to, actually. I want to let myself commit to him in this moment so I can blame the pleasure he’s using to coerce me later. If I promise him, I have to follow through, right?

But I don’t speak. This is the rest of our lives, and we are adults. Plus, the ecstasy catches up to me before I can utter a word. It clutches my throat, seizes my vocal chords, and robs me of thought. I can only hold on to Carson tighter as I squeeze my eyes shut and unravel all the way down to my soul in a pleasure that’s both sharp and burning…and yet exquisitely pleasurable. Carson’s strokes pick up speed, igniting every nerve ending and tissue already swollen and on fire for him. He stiffens and grunts as he pours himself out. I keen for him until my throat hurts. Until I run out of breath. And still the ecstasy stretches on, almost vibrating inside me.

I open my eyes to him during this endless, timeless perfection. He’s waiting, staring. I see love there—so much. The kind of steadfast, I’ll-always-put-you-first devotion I’ve never had, especially not from my own parents.

Isn’t this really what I’ve been searching for my whole life?

Finally, the grip of our mutual pleasure breaks, and we’re left staring at one another, without breath, without words. Heartbeats and gazes speak for us. Besides, what can words convey now? We’re in love. And we don’t know if it will lead to anywhere except heartbreak.

He rolls to his left, taking me with him until I’m on top. I collapse onto his chest, arms around him. He clasps me tight. I don’t know if it’s the orgasm or the solemnity of the moment or maybe I can blame PMS. But I begin sobbing, falling apart in his arms.

It’s not like me. I’ve always had to be the strong one for my sisters. I’ve always managed to keep them—and myself—going, even when the world might have looked dim. Right now, I only see the rest of my miserable life stretched out before me without Carson.

Who knew that taking a simple job to pretend to be his girlfriend for two and a half weeks would rip my soul in two?

“We have to talk about it, Ella,” he says as he eases free and disposes of the condom.

“I know.”

“I want you to stay with me. Keep your job. Move into the house I bought. Just…be with me.”

His words tear my chest open and make me bleed. It’s so tempting and yet so complicated. “You make it sound easy, like all I have to do is say yes. But—”

“I’m asking you to give up a lot, I know. Your aspirations, being near your sisters… We’ve talked through all that. But the problem goes deeper for you, doesn’t it? What’s really holding you back?”

I can’t put it into words. A fear that I’ll give up everything and somehow still be alone. My head is telling me that, with Carson, it’s not logical. But what if I make the leap and he’s so wrapped up in Sweet Darlin’ that he forgets me? Loses interest in me? Drifts away from me? I’ll be in an unfamiliar state without any family or friends of my own. I won’t have my own space. I won’t even have a job I secured by myself. Yes, I could simply pull up and move back to California, move near my sisters again and pick up the pieces. I’m not worried about where I’d live. I’m worried about the devastation to my heart.

What’s Carson giving up to prove he’s serious about us?

I don’t want to doubt him, and some part of me knows the question is unfair. But I can’t help how I feel. The emotions just…are. Trying to argue them away seems pointless. I know from experience they only come back until you figure them out.

That anxiety, the fear of ending up alone, is something I’ve never overcome.

“If that’s really what you want, I need to think.”

He nods. “Sweetheart, that ring belongs on your finger.”

I’ve become so used to wearing it in the last couple of weeks its weight feels completely natural, even comforting. In fact, I have a terrible premonition that I’ll feel naked without it. “When you first gave me this ring, it was purely for the purpose of outwitting Gregory Shaw.”

“Things change, Ella. Do I still want to keep him from getting any deeper into my company? Of course. Is that the only reason I want you to wear my mother’s ring? Hell no. If I’m being honest, it never was. I’ve been hoping for a while that I could convince you to stay here with me.”

My heart is in my throat. I shouldn’t be surprised he feels this way. I probably suspected it deep down. Everything between us has been like lightning—fast and bright. We feel so right together. Meant to be. Which doesn’t make any logical sense because we only had our first real face-to-face solo conversation sixteen days ago. Should we even be talking about our future, much less forever?

“What would we do with the wedding? Continue the jilting as planned, then say afterward that we’ve decided to live together and figure it out?”

“We could do that.” He cradles my face in his hands. “Or we could go through with it.”

“Actually get married?”

His blue eyes soften as he reassures me with the adoration in his gaze. “Exactly. We have a wedding, a minister, your family, my friends, a valid wedding license… The details are done. I don’t know that we could have planned the event any better ourselves.”

We couldn’t have. I’m terrible at organizing such things, and despite the few things Kendra tossed in to needle Carson in the hopes he’d back out, everything is exquisite and elegant. It will be a wedding to remember, and Shaw certainly spared no expense. It’s a dream come true.

But I don’t know if it’s really real—or lasting.

“And you’re not saying that simply to pull the ultimate one over on Gregory Shaw?”

“What?” He jackknives up, nudging me to his side. “Is that what you think? Let me be clear. I love you. If I got to choose what happens tomorrow, I’d marry you and move you here with me so we could be together forever. But you have to want that, too. I can’t want it enough for both of us.” Suddenly, he’s on his feet and snatching a blanket from the back of a nearby chair. “I’m going to sleep in the office. I think you need the time alone to decide what you want tomorrow to be. Think long and hard, Ella. Because I’m playing for real.” He strides to the door. “Let me know what you decide.”

Then he’s gone, the click of the door the only sound to break the otherwise terrible silence. I sink to the mattress alone, in sheets rumpled by our lovemaking and smelling like sex.

He’s right. I need to make decisions. How far am I willing to go? How much will he break my heart if I say yes and this doesn’t work out? How much will I regret it if I don’t try at all?

I curl up with the sheets. Tears come. It’s going to be a long night.