The week that followed was a study in indecision.
Mara scrubbed, wiped, and mopped. She poured coffee with automatic precision. She walked Hallie to preschool and back, her daughter chattering about caterpillars and the unfairness of nap time.
And in every spare second, her mind spun.
She made lists.
On the back of receipts. In the margins of Hallie’s coloring books. On a napkin that ended up disintegrating in the wash.
Pros:
- Stability for Hallie - Health insurance without juggling two jobs - Safer neighborhood - College fund - Someone to share…something with - Mrs. Hart as a possible ally
Cons:
- Losing control of her life - Being tied to a man she barely knew - Secrets. So many secrets. - His world. His board. His sharks. - The risk of Hallie being hurt if it fell apart - Her heart
She crossed out “her heart” three times.
It kept writing itself back in.
At Hart Global, she saw Liam only in passing.
Once, stepping out of a conference room, tie loosened, eyes shadowed. He nodded at her—just a small acknowledgment, barely there—but it felt like an anchor thrown across a churning sea.
Another time, from a distance, in the lobby as he spoke to a group of visitors. His public face was on then: cool, engaged, a hint of charm.
He didn’t look at her.
She was grateful and irrationally disappointed.
On Thursday night, her phone buzzed as she wiped down the thirty-first floor kitchen.
> L: How’s the pros/cons list?
She stared at the message, heart thudding.
Her fingers flew before she could overthink it.
> M: Unruly.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
> L: Mine too.
She blinked.
> M: You have one?
> L: Of course. I’m not completely reckless.
> M: And?
> L: And my mother keeps bribing the “pro” column with baked goods.
She huffed, a short laugh escaping. Alone in the kitchen, it felt obscene, like a burst of color in a black-and-white picture.
> M: That sounds like her.
> L: She likes you.
Heat crept up her neck.
> M: She barely knows me.
> L: She knows enough. She trusts you. That’s rare.
That last bit sat heavy.
She wiped the counter harder than necessary.
> M: It’s a big decision.
> L: I know.
A pause.
> L: Are you leaning one way?
She swallowed.
She could lie. Say no. Say she was still perfectly balanced on the fence.
But he deserved something true.
> M: I’m terrified.
> L: That’s not a direction.
> M: It’s a state.
> L: Fair.
Another pause.
> L: If it helps, so am I.
That made something in her chest stutter.
Her thumbs hovered.
> M: You don’t seem like the type to be scared of anything.
> L: That’s because you’ve only seen me scowl at spreadsheets.
> L: There’s a lot I’m scared of.
She hesitated.
> M: Like?
There was a longer delay this time.
> L: Failing. Becoming my father. Hurting people who don’t deserve it.
She sat down heavily on the break room chair, mop forgotten.
> M: You haven’t hurt me.
> L: I could.
The blunt admission jolted her.
> M: I could hurt you too.
> L: I know.
Three dots flashed.
> L: That’s weirdly…reassuring.
She smiled, surprised.
> M: We’re both dangerous, then.
> L: Exactly.
> L: Equals.
The word tugged at something deep.
She typed and erased four different responses.
Finally:
> M: I’ll tell you by Sunday.
> L: Sunday dinner at my mother’s?
> M: No. In case my answer ruins her appetite.
> L: She insists.
She winced.
> M: That’s manipulative.
> L: She’s very good at it.
> M: So are you.
She imagined his faint smile.
> L: Come to dinner. No matter what you decide. Consider it…intel gathering. You should see the enemy campground before you agree to defect.
> M: Is this a war metaphor?
> L: Everything is a war metaphor.
She sighed.
Sunday dinner at Elena’s.
In the Hart house.
Her fingers trembled as she replied.
> M: Fine.
She could almost feel his exhale through the phone.
> L: I’ll text you the address. 6 pm. Bring Hallie.
Her heart lurched.
> M: Are you sure?
> L: Yes.
> L: She’s part of this. She should see where you might be living.
Her stomach flipped. The idea of her daughter’s curls bouncing through some echoing mansion made her both giddy and nauseous.
> M: Okay.
> L: One last thing.
She braced herself.
> M: What?
> L: Wear something you like.
She stared.
> M: That’s…vague.
> L: Exactly. I’m trying not to think like PR.
Warmth prickled low in her belly.
She typed the only safe thing she could.
> M: Goodnight, Liam.
The reply came fast.
> L: Goodnight, Mara.
She slid the phone back into her pocket, leaned her head against the cool refrigerator, and closed her eyes.
Sunday would decide everything.
***
Sunday afternoons at Elena Hart’s house had once been a glittering affair.
Politicians. CEOs. Socialites. All swirling around in a haze of good wine and better gossip.
In the months since Conrad’s death, Elena had scaled back.
Now, it was just her. Occasionally Sam. And, when she could wrestle him away from his never-ending meetings, her son.
She’d prepared for this Sunday with unusual care.
The house itself, tucked behind an ivy-covered wall in a quieter part of the city, had been Liam’s childhood home. Not as ostentatious as some in his circle, but still…impressive. High ceilings. Sunlight catching on framed art that was worth more than most cars. The scent of lemon and rosemary roasted chicken drifted from the kitchen.
“Everything looks perfect,” Tessa said, setting down a bouquet of flowers she’d brought, more out of habit than necessity. She did everything out of habit. Which was why Elena had asked her to come early, helping set up. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and…facilitate?”
“No,” Elena said. “If you stay, Liam will think this is an intervention. Or a coup.”
“It’s not?” Tessa asked.
“Not yet,” Elena said with a wicked smile.
Tessa shook her head, amused. “You terrify me.”
“Good,” Elena said. “Someone needs to. Lord knows Conrad never did.”
She adjusted a vase, then paused, frowning. “Is this too much?” she asked suddenly. “The flowers. The…everything.”
“It looks like you,” Tessa said. “Which is what you want her to see. Right?”
Elena exhaled. “Right.”
She wanted Mara to see warmth. History. Not just wealth.
“She’s…different,” Elena said softly, half to herself.
Tessa watched her. “You like her,” she said.
“I like her a lot,” Elena admitted. “Which is why I’m praying I’m not about to ruin her life.”
Tessa’s brows rose.
“You’re really serious about this,” she said.
“Deadly,” Elena said. She glanced at the clock. “They’ll be here soon. Go, before Liam sees you and starts asking questions.”
Tessa grabbed her bag. “Text me everything,” she said. “And…be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” Elena protested.
Tessa snorted and left.
Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Elena wiped her hands on a dish towel and hurried to answer.
On her stoop stood Mara, wearing a soft blue dress that hit just below her knees, hair pulled back in a loose twist. Beside her, half-hiding behind her leg, was a small girl with a riot of dark curls and big brown eyes.
Hallie.
Elena’s heart did something peculiar.
“Hello,” she said, smiling. “You must be Hallie.”
The little girl eyed her warily. “Are you the lemon queen?” she asked.
Mara groaned softly. “Oh my God.”
Elena’s smile widened. “I suppose I am,” she said gravely. “I brought tarts, at least. Does that count?”
Hallie considered. “Maybe.”
“I’m Elena,” she said, crouching a little to not tower over her. “You can call me that. Or lemon queen, if you prefer.”
“Lemon queen,” Hallie decided. “But only if you’re nice to my mom.”
“Deal,” Elena said, warmth spreading through her. She straightened, meeting Mara’s embarrassed gaze. “Come in, both of you. Shoes by the door, please, or my housekeeper will have a fit.”
They stepped into the foyer.
Hallie’s eyes went wide, taking in the high ceilings, the sweeping staircase, the framed photos lining the walls.
“Whoa,” she breathed. “You have so many floors.”
“It’s still only one house,” Elena said. “Just…stretched.”
Mara’s fingers curled around her bag strap.
“Thank you for inviting us,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you for coming,” Elena said. “Liam’s in the kitchen pretending he knows how to chop herbs. Come say hi.”
Hallie’s hand tightened around Mara’s.
“Is he scary?” she whispered.
“Sometimes,” Elena said truthfully. “But not to people who bring laughter.”
Hallie puffed up a little at that. “I’m good at that,” she said.
“I bet you are,” Elena said.
They walked down the hallway toward the back of the house.
Liam stood at the island, sleeves rolled up, knife in hand. A cutting board of parsley lay in front of him. He looked…weirdly at home like that. Less CEO, more…man.
He glanced up at the sound of voices.
For a second, the world stilled.
Mara. Hallie.
He’d seen pictures.
Not of Hallie; there were none. But he’d imagined.
Now, reality hit him like a punch.
The child was…small. Maybe up to his waist. Dark curls. Big eyes that were unmistakably Mara’s.
And a mouth.
Full. Soft.
His.
He didn’t know that. Couldn’t know that.
But Elena, watching from the doorway, felt something sharp twist inside her.
The resemblance was there, if you knew where to look. In the slope of Hallie’s chin. In the way her brows arched, a tiny echo of Liam’s when he was puzzled.
“Hi,” Mara said, breaking the moment. “Something smells amazing.”
He blinked, pulling himself together.
“Mom’s doing all the work,” he said, setting the knife down. “I’m just pretending to help.”
“You’re doing great,” Elena said. “Very convincing parsley murder.”
Hallie giggled.
Liam’s gaze snapped to her, softening.
“And you must be Hallie,” he said.
She straightened, clearly torn between shyness and curiosity. “Are you the man?” she asked.
“The man?” he echoed, bemused.
“The one who makes Mom’s thinking face go like this.” She scrunched her features into an intense frown, lower lip pushed out, brows drawn together.
Mara groaned again. “I’m so sorry.”
Liam laughed, surprised. “I didn’t know I had a face,” he said. “That’s…good to know.”
Hallie considered him. “You’re tall,” she pronounced.
“So I’ve been told,” he said solemnly.
“Can you reach the top shelf without a chair?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
She nudged Mara. “We should keep him,” she whispered, not quietly enough.
Elena clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh. Liam went very still.
Mara closed her eyes briefly. “We’re…still deciding,” she said, flushing.
Hallie nodded gravely. “Okay. But he’s good for snacks.”
Liam’s lips twitched. “Noted.”
They ate in the sunlit dining room, the table smaller than the one Elena used for large gatherings. Tonight, it felt almost…intimate. Four plates. Two candles. A bowl of roasted vegetables. The chicken, golden and crisp.
Hallie perched on two stacked cushions, swinging her legs.
“This is the best chicken,” she declared around a mouthful. “It’s better than Mrs. Novak’s. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“My lips are sealed,” Elena said.
“Why?” Hallie asked. “Are they broken?”
“It’s an expression,” Mara sighed.
Hallie stabbed a carrot. “Grown-ups have too many expressions,” she muttered. “They should just say the thing.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Elena murmured to Liam.
He shot her a look. “Don’t start.”
Conversation flowed more easily than Mara had expected.
Elena asked about Hallie’s school—Hallie launched into a detailed explanation of the class hamster’s social life. Liam, surprisingly, listened like it was a briefing. He asked questions, nodded seriously when Hallie complained about the unjust distribution of stickers.
“You’ll be a good union rep someday,” he said. “You’re very aware of worker rights.”
“What’s a union rep?” she asked.
“Someone who speaks up when things aren’t fair,” he said.
“I already do that,” she said.
“I can tell,” he said, smiling.
Mara watched him with her daughter, heart a twisted, aching knot.
He’s good with her, she thought numbly. Of course he is. He didn’t ask for this, for her, but he could have been this way from the start.
If he’d known.
If she’d told him.
Guilt pricked like a hundred tiny needles.
Elena caught her eye once, expression unreadable.
After dinner, while Liam and Hallie debated the merits of different ice cream flavors—“Chocolate is the only one that counts,” Hallie insisted—Elena drew Mara aside to the kitchen.
“Well?” she asked quietly, loading dishes into the sink.
“Well what?” Mara parried, though she knew exactly.
“What does your gut say?” Elena pressed. “Not your fear. Your gut.”
Mara leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“My gut says this is…dangerous,” she said. “But it also says…for the first time in years, I can see a different kind of future for Hallie. One where I’m not constantly on the edge of breaking.”
Elena nodded slowly. “And you?”
Mara stared at her hands.
“I don’t know if I can live in his world,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I can sleep in his house and go to his events and not…and not fall for him.”
The last words came out in a rush, like they’d been waiting.
Elena’s eyes softened. “Ah,” she said quietly. “There it is.”
“I don’t…know him,” Mara babbled. “Not really. But I like the version of him I’ve seen. And I’m—” She swallowed. “I’m afraid that if I say yes and then I…fall, and he doesn’t, I’ll be stuck in a gilded cage with my heart in pieces.”
Elena put down the dish towel and reached for her hands.
“Can I give you the worst piece of advice in the world?” she asked gently.
“Sure,” Mara said, laughing a little hysterically.
“Love is always a risk,” Elena said. “Whether you marry a janitor or a CEO or the guy who fixes your sink. There’s no version where you get guarantees. The only choice you have is who you’re willing to risk yourself for.”
“And you think he’s worth it,” Mara said.
“I think he *could* be,” Elena said. “If he lets himself. And I think you’re the first person in a long time who might make him want to.”
Tears pricked Mara’s eyes.
“You’re very invested in this,” she whispered.
“I love my son,” Elena said simply. “And I…like you. A lot. I want good things for both of you. If that’s together, wonderful. If not, I’ll get over my disappointment and find you a nice plumber instead.”
Mara laughed, a wet sound. “Plumbers are useful.”
“Exactly,” Elena said.
Hallie barreled into the kitchen then, Liam behind her with an open tub of ice cream.
“Can we have dessert now?” she demanded. “He says I have to ask the boss.”
“Who’s the boss?” Elena asked.
“Mom,” Hallie said, without hesitation.
Warmth flooded Mara’s chest.
“Yes,” she said, voice steadying. “We can have dessert.”
After ice cream, after Hallie’s sticky hands had been wiped and her eyelids had begun to droop, they sat on the couch in the family room. The TV played some nature documentary with the sound low. Hallie curled against Mara’s side, thumb in her mouth, still stubbornly awake.
“This is nice,” she mumbled. “You should marry him.”
Mara stiffened.
Liam, sitting in an armchair across from them, went very still.
“Hallie,” Mara said, heart pounding, “we’ve talked about not—”
“Don’t you love him?” Hallie asked drowsily, words slurring.
Mara’s breath caught.
“I don’t know him,” she said honestly.
Hallie considered that. “You like him,” she insisted.
“I…” Mara faltered.
Elena, perched on the other end of the couch, watched with wide eyes.
“Do you?” Liam asked quietly.
Mara looked at him.
At the man in his own house, looking suddenly, terrifyingly vulnerable.
“Yes,” she said, the word feeling like stepping off a cliff. “I…like you.”
Relief and something hotter flickered across his face.
“I like you too,” he said. “Very much.”
Silence hummed.
“Then marry,” Hallie decreed, half-asleep. “Then we can have chicken every day.”
Elena put a hand over her mouth.
Liam’s gaze held Mara’s.
She exhaled.
“I’ll do it,” she heard herself say.
The room seemed to exhale with her.
“You’re sure?” Liam asked, voice rough.
“No,” she said, honest to a fault. “But I’m…willing.”
He nodded once, slowly. “Then we’ll make it work,” he said. “I promise.”
You promised before, she thought. To keep me safe.
But this time, she wasn’t alone in the promise.
“Ground rules,” she said, needing something solid. “I want everything in writing. I want a lawyer who isn’t yours. I want…time. To adjust. We don’t…rush anything physical.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
“Agreed,” he said. “All of it.”
“And you tell me the truth,” she added quietly. “Soon. No more half-lies.”
He met her gaze.
“I will,” he said.
Elena sniffled suddenly. “Well,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her scarf. “That’s that.”
Hallie snored softly.
Mara stroked her curls, heart a riot of fear and hope.
Somewhere in the city, in a different kind of house, a woman with ash-blonde hair scrolled through social media and paused on a photo.
It was a candid, taken by some board member’s bored wife earlier that afternoon.
Liam Hart, on his front stoop, holding the door for a dark-haired woman and a little girl.
The caption: *Looks like bachelor Hart’s Sundays just got more interesting.*
Dahlia zoomed in on the photo.
Her lips curved.
“Well, well,” she murmured. “Look who finally found someone to spread her legs for.”
She tapped the share icon, fingers flying.
If Mara thought she could just…disappear into some rich man’s life without consequences, she had another thing coming.
Dahlia had been bored lately.
Ruining her stepsister’s fairy tale might be just the entertainment she needed.
***