Why her and Not me

Why her and Not me
The car waited at the curb, long and dark, engine humming low, the driver already at the door as if he’d been standing there long before we arrived

Madam Zhao’s hand slipped into Nathan’s arm as they descended the steps, measured, unhurried
I trailed after them, half a step behind, drifting to the side when we reached the car, hands folding neatly, a small smile settling where it was expected

The driver pulled the door open

Madam Zhao didn’t move

Something held her there

She turned past Nathan, past the open door until her gaze landed on me, steady, quiet, counting again like she hadn’t quite finished the calculation the first time

"The Chinese ceremony," she said, "will be at the Kang estate." She said it the way people stated things that had already been decided. "The Korean one, spring. The venue needs four months notice minimum so we begin that discussion next week."

I blinked. "I—"

"Your family." She tilted her head. "Whatever traditions they observe, whatever they would want included–have Nathan pass the details to my secretary."

"My family is—"

"Nathan will handle it." She patted my hand once. "Goodnight, Lilly."

She got in.

The door closed.

The car pulled away.

I stood on the pavement and watched the tail lights disappear around the corner and did not move for a full five seconds.

Wedding.

Ceremonies. Plural.

My family.

"Little Miss Liar."

I turned.

Nathan was standing beside me, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. The streetlight caught the edge of his jaw. He looked entirely too unbothered for a man whose grandmother had just planned a multi-ceremony wedding over sea bass.

"Little Miss Latecomer." He looked at me. "Any other names to add to the resume while we're here?"

I stared at him.

"She just planned our wedding," I said.

"Mm."

"Ceremonies. Multiple."

"I heard."

"Nathan." I turned to face him fully. "She asked about my family."

"I know."

"I don't have a cover story for my family."

"I know that too."

"Then why—" I stopped. Pressed my lips together. "Why are you so calm right now?"

He looked at me for a moment. Then he looked back at the empty road where his grandmother's car had been.

"Because," he said quietly, "she liked you."

I frowned. "Isn't that supposed to be a bad thing that she likes me? Or you forgetting that this is a fake relationship?"

"No one said anything about fake. Its just…contracted."

"Nathan." I looked at him. "I am living under a fake name. A fake identity. A fake relationship." I gestured between us. "This is a very fake situation and your grandmother just planned a very real wedding."

"Two weddings," he corrected.

"That is not helpful."

"She won't push you," he said. "That's not how she operates. She plants the idea and steps back." He slid his hands into his pockets. "Consider tonight a success."

"A success." I repeated it. "She asked about my family."

"And you handled it."

"I deflected it."

"Same thing."

"It is not the same–" I stopped. Exhaled. "Nathan. We cannot get married. That is not what the contract says. The contract says–"

"Everything will go according to the contract," he said simply. The way he said things when the discussion was over whether you agreed or not. "Nothing changes without your consent. You have my word."

I looked at him for a moment.

Then I looked away.

His word.

From a man I know nothing about. A mystery that made my delicate heart skip a beat.

His word.

And yet annoyingly, inexplicably I believed him.

"You were late," he said.

"We were just having a moment—"

"An hour late."

"Nathan—"

"My driver was outside your building at seven forty-five." He tilted his head. "Where were you?"

"I had something to deal with."

"Something?"

"Yes."

"Something that made you smell like—" he leaned in slightly, just slightly, and I felt it before I understood what he was doing — "cooking oil."

I laughed. Nervously. "Maybe it's a new perfume."

"Mm." His eyes moved to mine. Stayed there for a second. Then dropped — slowly, unbothered — to my neck. Back up.

I became very aware of my own breathing.

His hand came up.

One finger. One strand of hair at my temple, tucked back behind my ear with the kind of carefulness that had absolutely no business existing between two people in a fake contract.

He stepped back.

Smirked.

"As punishment," he said, "little miss latecomer — I think I've earned the right to ask you to dinner."

I stared at him. "We just had dinner."

"That was my grandmother's dinner." His eyes were still on mine, easy, completely insufferable. "I meant mine."

"Why."

"I want to get to know you better."

"You know me fine."

"I know your name is possibly fake, you show up late, you smell like a kitchen, and you convinced my grandmother to change her order in under four minutes." He looked at me. "I'd like to know the rest."

"The contract doesn't include—"

"Not everything has to be in the contract, Lilly."

The way he said my name.

My fake name.

In that voice, at that volume, on that quiet street.

Stop it, I told my heart.

My heart was not listening.

"Fine," I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"One dinner," I said. "And you're paying."

"I always pay."

"And I pick the place."

Something moved in his eyes. Amusement. Curiosity. Something else underneath both that I didn't look at long enough to name.

"Deal," he said.

He was such an annoying bastard.

I turned and started walking before my face could do anything embarrassing.

"You're walking the wrong way."

I stopped.

"My car," he said, "is this direction."

I turned around.

He was standing exactly where I'd left him, hands back in his pockets, that insufferable almost-smile doing what it always did to his face.

I walked back past him without a word.

He fell into step beside me.

And said nothing else.

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Jessica's bare feet repeatedly slapped against the wooden floorboard.

Back and forth. Back and forth. The apartment was dark except for the kitchen light she hadn't bothered to turn off. Her blazer was on the floor somewhere. Her heels were by the door where she'd kicked them off hard enough to leave a mark.

She stopped at the window.

Nathan's building was visible from here if you stood at exactly the right angle. She had never told anyone that. She had never told anyone a lot of things.

Why her.

The question had been sitting in her chest since the moment Lilly Quinn walked into Nathan's penthouse with a mop and a face that had no business looking like that. Since the moment Nathan had called to complain and Jessica had heard something underneath the complaint that wasn't complaint at all.

Why her and not me.