RAYNE
The first thing I notice when I wake is warmth—the solid heat of Ronan’s chest against my back, his arm draped possessively across my waist. For a moment, I lie perfectly still, savoring the feeling. His breath stirs my hair, slow and steady. He’s still asleep.
I carefully turn to face him, studying the planes of his face softened by sleep. Without his usual intensity, he looks younger. Vulnerable, even. My heart squeezes painfully.
Tomorrow morning, this ends.
Tomorrow, I walk away with enough money to cover Mom’s treatments. I’ll go back to my apartment, my job search, my normal life. And Ronan will … what? Find someone else? The thought makes me feel physically ill.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, and pad to the bathroom. In the mirror, my reflection tells the story of last night—hair tousled, lips slightly swollen, a small mark blooming at the junction of my neck and shoulder where Ronan’s mouth had been particularly insistent.
“Running away?” His voice, rough with sleep, startles me.
I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, wearing only low-hanging pajama bottoms. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his bare chest.
“Just … freshening up.”
He crosses to me, trapping me against the counter, his hands settling on my hips. “We have plans today.”
“Plans?”
“There’s a Christmas gala tonight. I want you there.”
I blink at him. “A gala? Like, formal dress, champagne, fancy people?”
“Exactly like that.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “I want to show you off.”
Something flutters in my chest. “You don’t strike me as the type who enjoys galas.”
“I’m not.” His eyes darken. “But I enjoy the idea of you in a dress that makes other men envious of what’s mine.”
The possessive claim sends heat spiraling through me. I should protest—I’m not his, not really. This is temporary. But the words stick in my throat.
“I don’t have anything to wear to something like that.”
He smiles the smile that makes my breath hitch. “That’s part of today’s plan. We’re going shopping.”
“Shopping? For a gala dress?” This feels surreal. “Ronan, I can’t—”
“You can and you will.” He kisses me, soft but firm. “My treat.”
“But—”
“Ryan’s coming too.” At the mention of his son, Ronan’s expression softens.
I melt a little. That sweet boy. “Okay, we’ll go.”
“Good.” Ronan steps back. “Shower. Then breakfast. Then we shop.”
His tone brooks no argument, and honestly, I don’t want to argue. One more day of this fantasy before reality crashes back. I’ll take it.
Two hours later, we’re walking through a high-end shopping district I’ve only seen in magazines. Christmas decorations transform the storefronts into winter wonderlands—garlands swag between lampposts wrapped in twinkling lights, giant ornaments hang from tree branches, and holiday music filters out from every shop.
Ryan bounces between us, one hand in mine, one in his father’s, occasionally lifting his feet to swing. His excitement is contagious.
“Daddy, look!” He points to an animatronic Santa in a window display. “Can we go see?”
Ronan looks down at his son with such tenderness it makes my chest ache. “After we help Rayne find a dress, buddy.”
Ryan sighs dramatically. “But dresses are boring. Why don’t you just wear a Godzilla costume?”
I laugh, squeezing his little hand. “You know what? You’re right. But maybe you could help me choose? I bet you have great taste.”
His eyes light up. “I do! I know all the colors. Even periwinkle!”
“Periwinkle?” I lift a brow at Ronan.
“His preschool teacher is very thorough with color wheels,” Ronan explains, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.
We enter a boutique so exclusive there’s no price tag in sight—never a good sign for someone with my budget. Oh, wait. I don’t have a budget.
Ronan strides in confidently, Ryan trotting beside him. A saleswoman materializes instantly, her smile brightening when she recognizes Ronan.
“Mr. Ward! What a pleasure.”
“Evelyn.” He nods. “We need a gala dress.”
Her eyes sweep over me assessingly. I resist the urge to fidget. God, I hate being the center of attention.
“For the Bergman Christmas Gala tonight, I presume? I have several options that would be stunning.” She turns to Ryan with a genuine smile. “And who’s this handsome young man?”
Ryan instantly hides behind me, and I tell Evelyn, “His name is Ryan, and he’s my fashion advisor today.”
“Well, we’re lucky to have such an expert.” She winks at him before turning back to me. “Let’s find you something magnificent.”
What follows is like a scene from a movie I never thought I’d star in. Evelyn leads me to a private dressing room larger than my entire bathroom at home. Ronan and Ryan settle into plush chairs outside while assistants bring dress after dress for me to try.
I emerge in the first one—a slinky black number with a slit up to mid-thigh—feeling self-conscious.
Ryan scrunches his nose. “Too boring. It’s Christmas! Where are the sparkles?”
Ronan’s eyes, however, burn as they travel slowly up my body. “I like the slit.”
I blush, scurrying back to try the next one. God, only he can turn me on with just a look and four words.
The second dress is emerald green with an open back. Ryan gives it a thoughtful look before declaring, “Better! But you look like a Christmas tree.”
“A very beautiful Christmas tree,” Ronan adds, his voice low.
The third dress is deep red with gold accents. Ryan sits up straighter.
“Ooooh! You look like a princess!”
I twirl for him, the skirt flaring out. “You think?”
“Daddy, doesn’t she look pretty?”
Ronan’s eyes never leave mine. “Beautiful.”
We go through five more dresses, each earning commentary from Ryan ranging from “too puffy” to “too shiny” to “that’s periwinkle”, and “that color looks like Godzilla’s scales.” Finally, I slip into a midnight blue dress with tiny crystals that catch the light like stars. The bodice hugs my curves before flowing out into a skirt that moves like water when I walk.
When I step out, Ryan gasps.
“Daddy, she looks like the night sky! With all the stars!”
Ronan stands slowly, his expression making my heart stutter. “That’s the one.”
“Are you sure? It’s probably—”
“Perfect,” he finishes, coming closer. His fingers brush my bare shoulder. “We’ll take it.”
While Evelyn arranges for alterations—miraculously to be done in hours—I excuse myself. “I need to make a quick call.”
Ronan nods, distracted by Ryan who’s now asking about visiting Santa. I slip outside, the cold December air bracing after the warmth of the boutique.
My mom answers on the second ring. “Rayne? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom.” I turn away from the window so Ronan can’t see my face. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better than yesterday.” Her voice is stronger than it’s been in weeks. “The new medication helps with the pain.”
Relief washes through me. “Good. That’s good.”
“What about you? How’s your … weekend job?”
I hear the concern, the subtle disapproval she can’t quite hide. She doesn’t know the details, just that I’m “accompanying” a wealthy man for the weekend. It sounds sordid, even though it’s been anything but.
“It’s almost over. Just one more day.” I swallow past the hard lump in my throat. “Hang tight, Mom. I’ll have money for your treatments tomorrow. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. But please be careful. Men like that—”
“He’s not what you think,” I say softly. “He’s … different.”
There’s a pause. “You sound like you’re getting attached.”
Am I that transparent? Maybe because I’ve always been a bad liar. “This is about your health, not my love life.”
“Rayne—”
“I have to go. I’ll come visit as soon as I can.” I end the call before she can hear the emotion in my voice.
When I return inside, Ryan runs to me, taking my hand. “Rayne! Daddy says we can see Santa after lunch!”
I paste on a smile, pushing my worry aside. “That sounds perfect.”
By early evening, the sky has darkened to indigo, and we drive through neighborhoods glittering with Christmas lights. Ryan presses his face to the window, gasping at each new display.
“Look! That house has a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat!”
“Clearly the height of Christmas sophistication and creativity,” Ronan says dryly, but his eyes crinkle with affection in the rearview mirror.
“What’s so … soff … that word?” Ryan asks.
“Sophisticated,” I say. “It means fancy.”
“Like Daddy’s work parties?”
“Exactly like that,” I say, turning to smile at him. “Are you excited to see your grandma tonight?”
He lifts his small shoulders. “I guess. But I wanted to stay with you and Daddy.”
My heart cracks a little. “Your grandma and grandpa miss you. And we’ll see you again soon.” It’s a lie, but I can’t bear to tell him the truth—that after tonight, I’ll probably never see him again.
We pull up to a modern townhouse in an upscale neighborhood. Maggie opens the door before we even reach it.
“There’s my boy!” She kneels, arms open.
Ryan runs to her, his earlier reluctance forgotten. “Nana! We saw Santa and I got candy canes and Rayne tried on dresses and she looked like the night sky!”
She laughs, hugging him tight before standing to face us. Maggie gives me a quick hug and smiles. “Have fun at the gala. I know he’s had dinner, but there’s a cookie in his future if he’s good.”
Ryan pumps his fist.
“Say goodbye, buddy,” Ronan says.
Ryan throws his arms around my waist. “Bye, Rayne! I hope you have fun at the boring grown-up party.”
I hug him back, throat tight. “Thank you for being my fashion expert today.”
As we drive away, I stare out the window, blinking back tears.
Ronan’s hand finds mine. “He really adores you.”
“I adore him back.” My voice wobbles. “He’s an amazing kid. You raised him well.”
“He is.” Ronan’s thumb strokes my knuckles. “You’re good with him. Thank you.”
The simple praise warms me. “It’s not like it’s hard. He’s so open and warm.”
“Unlike his father?” Ronan’s tone is light, but his eyes are serious when I turn to him.
“You have your moments of openness.”
His lips quirk. “Only with you.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with implications I’m afraid to examine too closely.
The Bergman Christmas Gala transforms a historic hotel ballroom into a winter palace. Crystal chandeliers drip with silver icicles, massive Christmas trees dripping with ornaments flank the entrance, and strings of white lights create a canopy overhead. A string quartet plays carols in the corner while waiters circulate with champagne.
I grip Ronan’s arm tighter as we enter, suddenly conscious of every eye turning our way.
“Breathe,” he says close to my ear. “You’re throwing everyone else to the shade.”
In my borrowed finery—the midnight blue dress, diamonds at my ears and throat that Ronan insisted were “just on loan,” and heels that add inches to my height—I should feel confident. But these people belong in this world. I’m just playing dress-up.
“Everyone’s staring,” I whisper.
“Because I never bring anyone to these things.” His hand settles possessively at the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric. “And because you’re stunning.”
Before I can respond, we’re approached by an older couple, the woman dripping in jewels, the man’s handshake firm as Ronan introduces us.
“Thomas Bergman, his wife Eleanor. The hosts.”
“Ronan! We were beginning to think you’d skip this year too.” Eleanor’s eyes sweep over me with interest. “And who is this lovely creature?”
“Rayne Silva,” I offer my hand, praying it isn’t sweating.
“Charmed,” she says, though her expression suggests she’s reserving judgment. “How did you two meet?”
Ronan smoothly intercepts. “At a charity function. Rayne works with children.”
It’s not entirely a lie—I did work at a daycare before being laid off—but the ease with which he invents our story unsettles me.
“How wonderful,” Eleanor says without enthusiasm. “You must meet our daughter, Elise. She’s just returned from Europe.”
The evening progresses in a blur of introductions. Ronan keeps me close, his hand rarely leaving my waist. I sip champagne, careful not to drink too much, and try to memorize names and faces. Most people are polite if distant, clearly curious about the woman who broke Ronan’s pattern of attending events alone or not attending at all.
“I need to speak with Bernard about a contract,” Ronan says after nearly an hour. “Will you be all right for a few minutes?”
“Of course.” I smile, though anxiety flutters in my stomach. “I’ll just admire the decorations.”
He kisses my temple, a casual claiming that makes my pulse jump, before striding toward a group of men in the corner.
I drift toward one of the massive Christmas trees, admiring the artful arrangement of ornaments, when a male voice breaks into my thoughts.
“You must be something special to have caught Ronan Ward’s attention.”
I turn to find a man, probably slightly older than me, blond hair swept back, holding two champagne flutes. He offers one to me.
“I’m perfectly happy with mine, thank you,” I tell him.
“Smart.” He smiles. “I’m Kirk Harrington. And you are?”
“Rayne Silva.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” His eyes roam appreciatively down my body. “How long have you known our resident billionaire recluse?”
“Long enough.” I shift, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. Actually, scratch that. His very presence makes me uncomfortable. “Are you a friend of Ronan’s?”
He laughs. “More like a friendly competitor. We’ve crossed paths in business. Though I’d be happy to cross paths with you in a more … personal capacity.”
Ew, disgusting. His implication is clear, and I take a step back. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Why not? Everyone knows Ronan doesn’t do relationships. Whatever arrangement you have—”
“Is none of your business.” Ronan’s voice cuts like ice as he materializes beside me, his arm sliding around my waist. The tension radiating from him is palpable.
James raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation, Ward.”
Ronan’s grip tightens possessively. “Find someone else to converse with.”
When James walks away, I exhale slowly. “That was … a little intense. You didn’t have to come off so strongly.”
Ronan’s jaw works. “He was out of line.”
“He was just flirting.”
“With what’s mine.” The words slip out before his expression shutters. “Dance with me.”
He leads me to the dance floor where couples sway to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” His hand splays across my back, drawing me close, our bodies moving in perfect sync.
“I don’t like sharing,” he says quietly.
“I noticed.” I can’t help but smile. “Is that why you never bring dates to these things? Too much sharing required?”
Something flickers in his eyes. “I never bring dates because no one has been worth bringing.”
The simple statement steals my breath. “Until now?”
His only answer is to pull me closer, his cheek resting against my hair. We dance in silence, and I let myself pretend this is real—that I’m really his, that tomorrow won’t come, that this feeling of belonging can last.
The illusion shatters when we step off the dance floor, and I overhear a conversation not meant for my ears.
“—clearly a gold-digger. Did you see that dress? As if she could afford it. Ronan bought it, for sure.”
“I give it a month before he gets bored. Remember that redhead from his office last year?”
“This one’s different, though. He’s actually showing her off. Must be spectacular in bed.”
I freeze, heat flooding my face. Ronan, still holding my hand, turns to me with a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, but my eyes betray me, flicking toward the trio of elegantly dressed women nearby.
His expression hardens as he follows my gaze. “Ignore them.”
“Hard to ignore the truth,” I say, trying for lightness but failing. “I don’t belong here.”
“You belong where I say you belong, and right now, that’s at my side.”
He leads me toward the bar, but we’re intercepted by the same women whose whispers cut so deep. The tallest—a willowy blonde with arctic blue eyes—steps directly into our path.
“Ronan! I thought that was you. It’s been ages.”
“Vivian.” His acknowledgment is curt.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your … friend?” Her gaze slides dismissively over me.
Ronan pulls me closer to his side and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Rayne, this is Vivian Anderson. An acquaintance.”
The deliberate downgrade from whatever relationship they previously had makes Vivian’s smile tighten. “Such modesty. We’re old friends.” She turns to me. “And how did you two meet? I don’t believe I’ve seen you at these events before.”
Her tone suggests I couldn’t possibly have been invited to such gatherings, and something in me snaps.
“That’s because I usually avoid places where the champagne is more genuine than the people.” I sidle closer to Ronan and give her the fakest smile I can muster. “But Ronan insisted, and I do enjoy Christmas decorations.”
One of Vivian’s friends gasps. The other smothers a laugh.
Vivian’s eyes narrow. “How … refreshing to hear such candor. Though perhaps some environments require more … refinement than others.”
“Agree,” I say. “But I’ve found kindness works in any environment, and there really are some things money can’t buy.”
Ronan’s hand slides up my back in silent approval, and I melt into his touch. God, I’ve never been clingy, but why does this feel so good? Knowing he’s here and he won’t let anything happen to me?
Vivian opens her mouth for another salvo, but Ronan cuts her off. “If you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.”
We make it halfway across the room before Vivian’s voice carries to us again, deliberately loud. “I wonder how much he’s paying her? That dress alone must have cost—”
Ronan whirls, his expression thunderous, but I catch his arm. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”
“No one speaks about you that way.”
“People will always talk.”
“Not if they value their social standing.” He steps away from me, striding back to where Vivian holds court with her friends.
I follow, heart in my throat, as conversations hush around us. Oh God, oh God, oh God. The last thing I want is a scene.
“Vivian.” Ronan’s voice carries in the sudden silence. “You seem confused about something, so let me clarify. You insult my woman, and, you insult me. You really don’t want to insult me, do you?”
The room goes still. Vivian pales.
“I-I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” His smile is all teeth. “But you won’t again. Not if you want your family’s foundation to continue receiving funding from Ward Enterprises.”
She blanches. “Ronan, really, it was just girl talk—”
“It was petty and beneath you.” His gaze sweeps the gathered onlookers. “Anyone else have comments about my date? If you can’t say it to my face, then don’t say it at all.”
The silence is deafening, and I try not to show how good it feels to have someone stand up for me. Yes, I don’t belong in this world. That doesn’t mean they get to insult me. They just don’t have the right. After all, they’re not feeding me or paying for Mom’s treatments.
Ronan returns to me, taking my hand. “Let’s get some air.’
He leads me to a balcony overlooking the city. Christmas lights twinkle below us, and my breath forms clouds in the cold night air. Ronan drapes his jacket over my shoulders.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly.
“Yes, I did. No one disrespects what matters to me.”
My heart stutters. “And I … matter?”
Instead of answering, he cups my face and kisses me deeply, possessively, his body pressing mine against the stone balustrade. Everything melts into the background, and nothing matters anymore. Nothing but his mouth on mine, his tongue sliding in and out of my mouth, eliciting sounds I’m pretty sure everyone can hear.
God, I get lost in a kiss so easily with him.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, pulses pounding and I have to hold onto his biceps for support.
“Does that answer your question?” he asks roughly, his face darkening.
It does and it doesn’t. It tells me he wants me, maybe even cares for me. But tomorrow still looms like a shadow over this perfect night.
Tomorrow, our deal ends. Tomorrow, I take the money and walk away. For tonight, though, I let myself have this—his warmth, his protection, his desire.
I lean into him as we watch the city lights, his arm secure around my waist, and try not to think about how empty I’ll feel when it’s gone.
