Chapter 27 The ghost of his kiss
At 5:47 a.m., Ariella went back to her room.
Not because she wanted to, but because staying felt too dangerous. Too honest. Too much like admitting that this fake relationship had stopped being fake somewhere between his nightmares and her staying, between swimming lessons and late-night confessions, between contract and choice.
She lay in her own bed and touched her lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss, and tried to convince herself that this was fine. That they could kiss and go back to being partners. That feelings didn’t have to complicate things.
She failed.
At seven, there was a soft knock on her connecting door.
“Come in,” she called.
Aiden appeared, looking as wrecked as she felt. “We need to talk.”
“I know.”
“But not now. After the announcement. After we get through today.” He paused in the doorway. “Can we just…can we table this until we’re not about to face the entire Portland media?”
“Yeah. We can table it.”
“Okay.” He didn’t leave. Just stood there, looking at her like he was memorizing her face. “For what it’s worth, I’m not sorry. About kissing you. Even if I should be.”
“I’m not sorry either.”
“This is a disaster.”
“Catastrophically.”
“But we’re still doing the announcement.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“We always have a choice. We’re just both too responsible to make the right one.”
“Which is?”
“Running away together. Fake our deaths. Start over in a small town where no one knows who we are.”
Ariella smiled. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I think about it every day.” He said it like a confession. “But then I remember Lily needs me. And your mom needs you. And ten thousand people need this company to not collapse. So we stay. And we perform. And we pretend last night didn’t change everything.”
“Except it did.”
“Yeah.” His voice broke slightly. “It really did.”
The press conference was held at the Frost Industries headquarters downtown.
Ariella spent two hours getting ready. Jennifer had brought in a team: hair, makeup, wardrobe consultation. They transformed her from the bakery girl who still had flour under her fingernails into someone glossy and polished and unrecognizable.
The dress was beautiful! soft blue, modest but elegant, expensive in a way that didn’t scream but whispered wealth. Her hair was down in loose waves. The makeup was natural but perfect.
She looked like a Frost.
“You look beautiful,” Jennifer said, genuine warmth in her voice. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m about to throw up.”
“That’s normal. Here.” Jennifer handed her mints. “For the nausea. And remember to smile, stay close to Aiden, let him do most of the talking. You just need to look happy and in love.”
“Right. Easy.”
“You’ll be great. And if it gets too much, there’s a signal. Touch your necklace. Aiden will know to step in.”
Ariella touched the delicate silver chain they’d given her. A simple pendant, expensive but understated. Part of the costume.
Everything was costume now.
The car ride downtown was silent. Aiden sat beside her in a perfectly tailored suit, looking every inch the billionaire heir he was supposed to be. But his hands were shaking. She could see them trembling on his knees.
Without thinking, she reached over and took one of his hands.
He looked at her, surprised.
“Partners,” she said quietly.
“Partners,” he agreed, squeezing her hand.
They held hands the whole way there.
The press room was packed.
At least fifty journalists, plus camera crews from every major news outlet in Portland. Lights. Microphones. The suffocating weight of attention.
Patricia met them backstage. “Okay, here’s how this works. Richard will introduce you both. He’ll make a brief statement about family and love and legacy. Then you two take the podium together. Aiden, you’ll read the prepared statement. Ariella, you smile and look at him adoringly. Then we take three questions max and we’re done.”
“Three questions,” Ariella repeated. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. We control the narrative. In and out, fifteen minutes max.”
But Ariella could see the reporters through the gap in the curtain. Could see them sharpening their metaphorical knives, ready to cut them both open and see what bled out.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can.” Aiden turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders. “Look at me. Just me. Not them. When we’re out there, pretend it’s just us. Like we’re in my studio or by the pool or…”
“Or in your room at three a.m.?”
“Yeah. Like that.” His voice softened. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time. If you need to leave, we leave. Fuck the press conference. Fuck all of it. You’re more important than…”
They didn’t have time to finish the conversation.
Richard was already walking onto the stage, looking frailer than usual but painting on that charismatic smile he’d perfected over decades. The crowd quieted.
“Thank you all for coming,” Richard began, voice carrying easily through the room. “I’ve asked you here today to share some wonderful news. My son, Aiden, has asked me to announce his engagement to a remarkable young woman named Ariella Hayes.”
The room erupted in camera clicks and murmurs.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking. Aiden is only eighteen, Ariella is seventeen. They’re young. But when I met Aiden’s mother, I was barely twenty-one. I knew within a month that I wanted to marry her. Sometimes, when you find the right person, age doesn’t matter. Love doesn’t wait for you to be ready.”
Ariella felt sick. The way Richard spun this, the same man who’d orchestrated their contract marriage into some romantic fairy tale was nauseating.
But the press ate it up.
“I won’t be here forever,” Richard continued, and his voice cracked authentically. “My time is limited. But knowing that Aiden has found someone to walk through life with brings me more peace than I can express. So please, join me in welcoming my future daughter-in-law.”
That was their cue.
Aiden squeezed her hand hard enough to anchor her and then they walked onto the stage together.