The morning after the kitchen kiss, Mara woke with her mouth still tingling.
For a moment she lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to convince herself it had been a dream.
It hadn’t.
Her body remembered too clearly: the way his hand had cupped her jaw, the heat of his mouth, the way the floor had seemed to tilt under her feet.
She groaned and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.
“What have I done,” she muttered into the cotton.
A soft chime from her phone cut through the fog.
She groped for it on the nightstand.
A message from Elena:
> Brunch. My place. 11. Bring the child and the idiot. We have gowns to discuss.
Mara blinked.
“Gowns,” she said aloud. “Oh God.”
The wedding.
Between clinics and contracts and press conferences and enemies with British accents, she’d pushed the actual ceremony to the back corner of her mind.
It refused to stay there.
A second text came through, this one from an unknown number.
> I hope you’re enjoying your little promotion. Some of us remember where you came from. —D
Mara’s stomach dropped.
She stared at the message until the letters blurred.
“Block,” she told herself. “Just…block her.”
Her thumb hovered over the options.
She couldn’t quite press it.
Not yet.
Not until she knew what Dahlia was planning.
With a hiss of annoyance at her own weakness, she shoved the phone aside and dragged herself out of bed.
In the hallway, she nearly collided with Liam.
He wore sweats and a T-shirt, hair rumpled, bare feet silent on the hardwood. A mug steamed in his hand.
“Morning,” he said, voice still husky from sleep.
Her heartbeat stuttered.
“Morning,” she said, clutching her robe tighter around herself.
For half a second they just…looked at each other.
Images from the night before flickered between them.
Color touched his cheekbones.
“I made coffee,” he said. “And pancakes. Sort of. They’re round. That’s all I’m willing to claim.”
“You cooked?” she asked, skeptical.
“Hallie supervised,” he said. “She has strong opinions about chocolate chips.”
“Of course she does,” Mara said.
“She also informed me that we’re getting married in exactly—” he checked an imaginary watch “—twenty days, and that I should ‘practice kissing’ so I don’t mess it up.” His mouth twitched. “She offered her stuffed rabbit as a training device.”
Mara choked on a laugh. “Absolutely not,” she said.
“I declined,” he said gravely. “Told her I had the best teacher already.”
Heat climbed her neck.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
He stepped a tiny bit closer.
“Don’t…what?” he asked, voice low.
“Flirt,” she said. “Before caffeine.”
He smiled fully then, a rare, unguarded thing.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Coffee first. Then flirting.”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “Fine.”
***
Brunch at Elena’s turned into a strategy session disguised as a dress fitting.
The Hart house’s sitting room had been temporarily taken over by a seamstress—small, sharp-eyed, pins bristling from a cushion on her wrist—and a rolling rack of white and ivory fabric.
“This is unnecessary,” Mara said for the fifth time, standing on the low platform in the center of the room in a simple slip.
“Necessary,” Elena countered, flipping through hangers. “You’re getting married in front of people I loathe. You need armor. Pretty armor.”
Hallie sat cross-legged on the carpet with a sketchbook, designing her own “flower girl battle outfit,” complete with heart-shaped shield.
Liam was banished to the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, trying very hard not to look like he was staring.
He was failing.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Elena scolded him lightly. “Bad luck.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” he said. “Good or bad.”
“Of course you don’t,” she muttered. “You believe in quarterly reports.”
He caught Mara’s eye, one brow lifting as if to say, *I believe in some other things now, too*.
Her stomach flipped.
The seamstress—Irina, according to the introduction—held up a gown.
“No,” Mara said instantly.
“You didn’t even look,” Elena protested.
“It has…beads,” Mara said. “And sparkles. I’ll look like a disco ball.”
“Disco balls are festive,” Elena said. “Try it.”
“I want sparkles,” Hallie piped up. “And a cape.”
“Noted,” Irina said. “For you, we can do both. For your mother, perhaps…something simpler.”
She pulled out another dress.
This one…Mara hesitated.
It was ivory. Clean lines. A V-neck that was flattering without being obscene. A skirt that skimmed her hips and fell in a soft A-line.
No beads. No lace. Just…fabric. Elegant. Quiet.
“Try,” Irina said.
Mara stepped into it, letting them zip her up.
When she turned to the mirror, the breath left her lungs.
She looked…like herself.
Not a princess. Not a charity case.
Just Mara.
In a dress.
About to make a decision that would change everything.
Behind her, in the reflection, she saw Liam straighten.
His expression flickered.
For a second, all the CEO composure dropped away.
He looked…stunned.
“Wow,” he said softly.
Her pulse hammered.
“Well?” Elena demanded. “She’s perfect, yes?”
“Yes,” Liam said, eyes not leaving Mara’s. “She is.”
Mara’s cheeks burned.
“We can…tweak,” Irina said quickly, sensing the moment. “Hem. Strap. But the bones are good.”
“I defer to you,” Elena said. “I’m just here to cry and pay.”
Mara swallowed around a lump.
“It’s…beautiful,” she said, fingers brushing the smooth fabric at her hip. “Thank you.”
“You deserve it,” Elena said warmly. “Every stitch.”
Liam stepped into the room then, ignoring Elena’s swat, and came to stand a respectful distance behind Mara.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she said. “Yes. I don’t know.”
He smiled faintly. “Join the club.”
He lifted his hand, hesitated, then let it hover near her waist without actually touching.
“You look…” He trailed off, searching for a word that wasn’t cliché.
“Like someone who’s about to do something insane?” she offered.
“Like someone who’s about to do something brave,” he said.
Heat bloomed under her skin.
In the corner, Hallie’s pencil scratched furiously across the paper.
“I’m drawing this,” she said. “So I remember.”
“Remember what?” Mara asked.
“When you looked like a queen,” Hallie said matter-of-factly.
Mara’s eyes stung.
Irina clucked approvingly. “We pin,” she said, breaking the spell. “Then we feed. Brides must eat. Superstition.”
“Finally, a superstition I can get behind,” Elena said. “To the kitchen!”
***
They were halfway through Elena’s frittata when Tessa texted.
Liam’s phone buzzed on the table.
He glanced at it, frowned, and went still.
“What?” Mara asked, instinct prickling.
He flipped the phone around, screen facing her.
An email.
From: Anika Shah. Subject: DRAFT – *Herald* Complaint and Settlement Offer.
Her eyes skated over the preview.
*They want to settle. Retraction of the most egregious statements, apology for the implication of prostitution, but they are refusing to retract the pregnancy image. They argue it is “journalistically relevant.” They’re offering a sum…*
Her stomach turned.
“You can say no,” she blurted. “We can drag them through court. Make them bleed.”
Liam’s mouth pressed into a line.
“Dragging them through court means discovery,” he said. “Depositions. You, on a stand, being asked invasive questions about that night. About Hallie. About your past.”
“I’ll answer,” she said. “I have nothing to hide.”
“They won’t care about the truth,” he said quietly. “Only about the spectacle.”
Elena put her fork down.
“We can do both,” she said. “Insist on a full correction, a bigger apology, *and* press the lawsuit.”
“Not exactly how leverage works,” Liam said. “They’re counting on us wanting this to go away. For Mara’s sake. For Hallie’s.”
Mara’s hands curled around her glass.
“What does your lawyer think?” she asked.
“She thinks we can get a better deal,” he said. “More money—”
“I don’t care about money,” Mara snapped. “I care about them leaving my daughter out of their mouth.”
“She’s not named,” he said gently.
“She doesn’t have to be,” she said. “Anyone with eyes can count. Five years. My age. It doesn’t take a detective.”
Hallie, blissfully oblivious, licked egg off her fork, humming.
Elena sighed. “Can we decide tomorrow?” she asked. “Today is for dresses. Not…garbage.”
“Mara?” Liam asked.
She swallowed.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “I need…one day where I’m not fighting.”
He nodded.
“Tomorrow,” he agreed.
But neither of them knew that by tomorrow, the *Herald* would no longer be the biggest problem.
Kane didn’t like to wait.
And Dahlia didn’t like to be ignored.
***
That night, after Hallie had fallen asleep on the couch at Elena’s mid-cartoon and been carried to bed, after Irina had packed up her pins and promises, after Elena had insisted they stay for one more slice of tart “for courage,” Liam drove Mara and Hallie back to the apartment.
Hallie mumbled sleepily in the back seat, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Mara watched the city blur past in streaks of light.
“I keep waiting to wake up,” she said quietly.
“This is a pretty detailed dream,” Liam said. “Legal documents, angry ex-stepmothers, British villains.”
She smiled faintly.
“I thought my life would be…smaller,” she admitted. “Safer. Maybe a little boring.”
“Still want that?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she said. “When I’m standing in front of a camera. Or reading comments.”
He shot her a quick look. “You read the comments?”
“A few,” she said, making a face. “Never again.”
“Good,” he said. “They’re poison.”
She traced a line on the fogging window with her fingertip.
“But then,” she said slowly, “there are moments. Hallie at the open house. You at the sand table helping her color. Your mother…grabbing my hand like she’s known me forever. Those feel…worth it.”
His grip tightened on the wheel.
“Worth what?” he asked.
“The fear,” she said.
Silence settled, deep and humming.
“I never thought I’d have this,” he said after a moment. “A…family. Not like this. Not with…choice.”
“You grew up with a family,” she said softly.
“I grew up with parents,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
She looked at him, understanding flickering.
“I’m not saying my childhood was…bad,” he went on. “I had food. Safety. Education. But I also had…expectations. Rules. Very little room for…mess.”
“Mess?” she asked, amused.
“Feeling,” he clarified. “Spontaneity. Saying ‘no’ to my father was…not an option.”
“And saying yes?” she asked.
“Was compulsory,” he said.
He pulled into the underground garage, the quiet swallowing the city noise.
“I don’t want that for Hallie,” he said as they stepped out. “Or any future kid.”
Future kid.
The phrase skittered across her skin like something alive.
“Let’s survive one child together before we start talking about more,” she said, half-laughing, half-panicked.
“Agreed,” he said quickly. “Way ahead of myself.”
They rode the elevator up in silence, Hallie’s soft snore the only sound.
In the apartment, he carried Hallie to her room, laid her gently down, and smoothed her curls back.
Mara watched from the doorway.
“I’ll…be in the kitchen,” she murmured. “I need water.”
He nodded, eyes still on Hallie.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter, palms flat.
Her heart was doing that thing again—fluttering between terror and…something else.
She filled a glass at the sink, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly loud.
When she turned, he was there.
Closer than she’d realized.
They almost collided.
“Sorry,” she said, sloshing water on her hand.
He took the glass, set it on the counter, and very gently wiped the droplet from her wrist with his thumb.
“Liam,” she began.
He kissed her.
This time, there was no pretense of practice.
No excuse of “for the cameras.”
It was hungry.
He crowded her back against the counter, one hand braced beside her hip, the other sliding up to cup the back of her neck.
His mouth claimed hers, heat flaring between them.
She gasped against him; he swallowed the sound.
Her hands went to his shoulders, gripping hard.
The world narrowed to the slide of his lips, the taste of him, the way his body molded to hers.
He angled his head, deepening the kiss, and any coherent thought she’d had melted.
A low sound rumbled in his chest when she pressed closer, chest to chest, hip to hip.
His fingers tightened in her hair, tilting her head.
She parted her lips for him, and the kiss went from hot to scorching.
Her knees threatened to give.
He must have felt it, because his hand dropped to her waist, anchoring her.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her mouth. “If you need me to.”
She didn’t.
She kissed him back, pouring every pent-up longing, every sleepless night, every whispered *what if* into the press of her lips.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t neat.
It was real.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“Okay,” he said, voice rough. “We need…rules. Or I’m going to forget we made any.”
She clung to his shirt, chest heaving.
“Rules,” she echoed, not trusting herself to say anything else.
“No sex before the wedding,” he said, surprising himself as much as her. “We agreed to…take this slow. For you. For Hallie.”
Her body screamed at her to argue.
Her brain, mercifully, still functioned.
“That’s…three weeks,” she said. “You think you can wait?”
He laughed, breathless. “I’ll survive,” he said. “If you kiss me like that occasionally. For…maintenance.”
She laughed too, a shaky sound.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“I’m serious,” he said, pulling back enough to look at her. “We’re already in…deep. Physically rushing would just make the fallout worse if this goes sideways.”
She sobered.
“You think it will?” she asked softly.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that I’m more invested than I planned on being. And that terrifies me. But I’m still willing to do it.”
Her eyes stung.
“I am too,” she admitted.
He smiled, small and sincere.
“Then we go slow,” he said. “Together.”
She nodded.
“Together,” she echoed.
Neither of them saw the tiny light blinking on the smoke detector above the doorway.
A hidden camera.
Planted that afternoon by a man in a maintenance uniform who’d had just enough of a resemblance to a Hart Global facilities contractor to avoid suspicion.
No one noticed the lens, tucked into the white plastic.
No one heard the faint click as it recorded.
But Dahlia did.
Hours later, in her slick condo, she watched the footage, rewinding the kiss three times.
“Well,” she said, amused. “That’s…juicy.”
Her lips curled.
She sent a clipped, anonymous message.
> Got something for you. Hart in a compromising situation. Interested?
She attached a still frame.
Liam and Mara.
Pressed together.
Hungry.
Kane’s reply was instant.
> Very.
> Let’s talk.