4

Jamie Carter Wedding preparations moved at a terrifying speed. Because the merger deadline was less than three weeks away, Alexander’s public relations team moved into his penthouse like an invading army. "The media is watching your every move," Sarah, the head of PR, announced as she paced in front of us. She was holding an iPad and looking at us like we were two unruly children. "The board of directors is skeptical. If this looks like a rushed shotgun wedding for corporate reasons, they will challenge the voting rights. You two need to look madly in love." I leaned back on the sofa, nursing a mug of coffee, completely amused by the entire circus. Alexander, on the other hand, sat beside me looking as stiff as a wooden board in his three-piece suit. "I enjoy making him uncomfortable," I whispered loudly to Sarah, tossing a wink at Alexander. Alexander shot me a glare, though his lips twitched with a suppressed smile. "I am not uncomfortable, Jamie. I am simply wondering why we need three hours of media training to tell people we like each other." "Because you look like you're about to negotiate a peace treaty instead of marrying the love of your life," Sarah snapped. She tapped her screen. "Alright, let's practice basic relationship trivia. When did you realize you were in love?" I chuckled. "Easy. It was junior year. Alex brought me chicken soup when I had the flu, but he managed to burn the broth because he didn't know how a stove worked." Alexander coughed, his cheeks turning a subtle shade of red. "That was a faulty burner. And my answer would be the night Jamie spent forty hours straight painting a mural for his finals and fell asleep with a paintbrush still stuck in his hair." Sarah paused, looking back and forth between us. Her strict expression softened into a frown. "Wait. Are those real memories?" "Of course they are," I said, leaning my head back against the cushions. "We've been inseparable for ten years, Sarah." "That's the problem," Sarah muttered, making a note on her tablet. "Your real dynamic is so ridiculously detailed that your fake love story sounds horrifyingly genuine. Just... keep doing that." After two hours of rapid-fire questions, we were led into the spacious living room, which had been turned into a temporary photo studio. Studio lights were set up, and a high-profile celebrity photographer named Marcus was pacing around, adjusting his lens. "Alright, boys!" Marcus called out, gesturing to the backdrop facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I need intimacy. I need romance. Give me the cover of Vogue!" We stepped onto the seamless backdrop. I was wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater, while Alexander was in his black suit jacket without a tie. "Alexander, step up behind him," Marcus directed, framing the shot with his hands. "Put your arm around his waist. Pull him tight against your chest." Alexander stepped behind me. He wrapped his right arm around my stomach, but his grip was rigid and hesitant. He held me like I was a fragile piece of fine china that might break if he applied too much pressure. I tilted my head back and looked up at him with a mischievous grin. "You okay back there, Mr. Wolfe? You're acting like I'm covered in spikes. Relax a little." Alexander let out a slow breath. "I am perfectly relaxed," he muttered near my ear. To prove his point, he tightened his grip. His palm pressed firmly against my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. The playfulness drained out of me instantly. I felt the solid, warm wall of his chest pressed against my back. I could feel the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart through his suit jacket. His breath brushed warm against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a sharp spark down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, praying he couldn't feel how fast my own heart had started to race. "Beautiful!" Marcus shouted, the camera shutter clicking rapidly. "Now turn to face each other. Alexander, hands on his neck. Jamie, rest your hands on his shoulders." We turned around. Alexander’s tall frame towered over me. His large, warm hands slid up to frame my face, his thumbs gently resting against my cheekbones. His dark eyes were fixed on mine, searching my face with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade into background noise. "Now," Marcus called out casually from behind the lens, "give me a soft kiss. Just a gentle touch of the lips." My body froze. This wasn't part of the plan. We hadn't talked about physical affection beyond hand-holding and side-hugs for the cameras. I fully expected Alexander to pull away, make an excuse about keeping things professional, or flatly refuse. I looked up at him, opening my mouth to give him an easy exit line. "Alex, we don't have to—" Before I could finish the sentence, Alexander leaned down. He didn't hesitate. His hands shifted to the back of my neck, tilting my head slightly, and his lips met mine. I expected a quick, dry brush of the lips—a cold, practiced gesture for the camera. But it wasn't. His mouth was warm, soft, and unbelievably tender. He pressed into the kiss with a gentle, deliberate pressure that made my breath hitch in my throat. The world seemed to stop moving. For three endless seconds, the fake marriage, the press, the corporate merger, and ten years of buried secret feelings collapsed into a single, breathtaking reality. When he finally pulled away, it wasn't a smooth, confident step back. Alexander snapped his head back like he had just been hit by a bolt of electricity. His hands dropped from my face as if my skin had suddenly burned him. He blinked rapidly, his jaw dropped slightly open, staring at me with wide, completely shaken eyes. Chest heaving slightly, he took two quick steps backward, almost stumbling over a light cord behind him. "That's... that's enough for today," Alexander rasped out, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher than usual. He didn't look at Marcus, and he didn't look at Sarah. He kept his eyes locked on mine for one terrifying, charged moment. Without another word, Alexander turned on his heel and walked briskly down the hallway, slamming his private office door shut behind him. The studio went quiet. Marcus looked confused, while Sarah simply nodded in approval at the photos on her monitor. I stood alone on the backdrop, my lips still tingling from the warmth of his mouth. I reached up, touching my bottom lip with the tip of my fingers. Alexander was terrified. Not because the kiss was bad, but because he had enjoyed it far more than he was ever supposed to. I kept my mouth shut and said nothing to the team, but as I looked down the dark hallway toward his office, a quiet, dangerous spark of hope began to burn in my chest.