Chapter 5 Logistics
For a moment, Caius doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just stares at me like he can't quite believe what I said.
Then he exhales, and his entire body seems to relax.
"You'll do it," he repeats. His voice is rougher than usual, like he's trying to keep his emotions in check.
"Yes." I force myself to hold his gaze even though every instinct is screaming at me to look away. "I'll marry you. I'll help you keep Leo."
"Thank you." He says it simply, but the words hold weight.
I nod.
He moves around his desk, and suddenly he's so close I can smell his cologne.
"Sit," he says, gesturing to the chair. "Please. We need to discuss logistics."
I sit because my knees are weak anyway.
Caius leans against his desk, arms crossed. "The social worker comes at 10 AM tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours.
"That's... soon," I mutter.
"I know." His jaw tightens. "Which is why we need to move quickly. You'll need to move into the penthouse tonight."
"Tonight?" My eyes widen. "I can't just... I have an apartment. I have things. I have a life—"
"Which will be waiting for you in six months." He holds up a hand before I can protest. "I understand this is sudden. But think about it from the social worker's perspective. She'll arrive tomorrow expecting to see a married couple living together. She'll look for signs of you in the home. Your clothes in the closet, your toiletries in the bathroom, your presence. If it looks staged, if it looks like you just moved in overnight..."
He doesn't finish, but he doesn't need to. I understand.
If we're not convincing, they take Leo away.
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay, I'll... I'll pack tonight."
"I'll send a car for you at seven. That gives you two hours." He pulls out his phone. "What's your address?"
I tell him, my voice sounding far away to my own ears.
This is really happening. This is actually happening.
"What about boundaries?" The question tumbles out before I can stop it. Heat floods my cheeks. "I mean... living and sleeping arrangements."
"Separate bedrooms," he says immediately. "You'll have your own space. Your own bathroom. Complete privacy. I won't cross any lines, Miss Sterling."
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly.
He continues. "You have my word. I may be asking you to pretend to be my wife, but I'm not asking for anything... inappropriate. This is a business arrangement. Nothing more."
"Nothing more," I repeat, trying to ignore the small, stupid part of me that feels disappointed by that.
"The marriage license," I say. "Don't we need to apply for that? Aren't there waiting periods?"
"Already handled." At my shocked expression, he adds, "I had my attorney prepare the paperwork this afternoon. We'll sign it tonight, file it first thing tomorrow morning. I've expedited the process."
"Is that everything?" I sigh.
"For now." He replies. "Are you sure about this, Lia? Once we sign those papers tomorrow, once the social worker sees us together, there's no going back. You'll be legally bound to this arrangement for six months."
Am I sure? No. I'm not sure about anything.
But I think about my mother in that hospital bed and my resolve hardens.
"I'm sure," I say.
He nods slowly. "Then I'll see you at seven."
I stand on shaking legs. "Seven. Right. I'll... I'll be ready."
I'm halfway to the door when his voice stops me.
"Lia."
I turn back.
"Thank you," he says again. "I know what you're giving up for this. What you're sacrificing. I won't forget it."
Our eyes meet across the office.
And for just a moment, I see him. Not Caius Michael, tyrannical CEO. Not my boss who makes people cry in bathroom stalls.
Just a man trying desperately to save a little boy he loves.
"I'll see you at seven," I whisper.
~~
I pack in a daze.
Two suitcases. One box. Everything I need for a week, Caius said, but how do you pack for fake marriage? What does one wear while pretending to be someone's wife?
I throw in my nicest clothes, my favorite books, my toiletries. My hands shake as I fold each item, my mind racing.
This is insane. This is completely insane.
I'm moving in with my boss tonight. I'm marrying him tomorrow. I'm going to spend the next six months pretending to be someone I'm not.
My phone buzzes with a text from Caius at 6:47 PM.
'Car is downstairs. Driver's name is Fred. He'll help with your bags.'
I take one last look around my apartment. At the life I'm leaving behind. At the person I was this morning, before everything changed.
Then I grab my bags and leave.
~~
The drive takes forty-five minutes.
I spend the entire time staring out the window, watching the city pass by.
When we finally pull up to his building, I have to crane my neck to see the top. It's stunning. The kind of building I've only ever seen in magazines or on TV.
And now I'm going to live here.
For six months.
The driver opens my door, and I step out onto the sidewalk. A doorman immediately appears to help with my bags, and another escorts me through the gleaming lobby to a private elevator.
When the doors open, I step directly into Caius's home.
Which is now, technically, my home too
.
The space is breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city. Everything is pristine and perfect.
Servants appear from somewhere to take my bags. I watch them carry my things down a hallway, presumably to the bedroom that will be mine.
Caius appears from around the corner. He looks slightly uncomfortable, which is unusual for him.
"Good evening," I greet.
"Lia," he responds, voice rushed. "There's something. Something came up"
My heart skips a beat.
"What?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "My mother. She's upstairs."
The blood drains from my face. "Upstairs as in...?"
"In her room. She arrived an hour ago."
No.
No, no, no.
A woman emerges from the hallway almost immediately. She's holding a wine glass, clearly comfortable in this space. But it's her eyes that stop my heart. The same ice-blue as Caius's, but colder.
She stops dead when she sees me.
"Caius?" Her voice is confused. "Who is this?"
Caius exhale slowly. When he speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. "Mo
ther. This is Lia. Lia Sterling."
Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "And Miss Sterling is...?"
"My wife."
The wine glass slips from her fingers.