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“Actually…yes.” She crosses her legs, resting her elbow on the armrest. She taps her chin with a finger, her gaze focused somewhere beyond my shoulder—her classic thinking pose. Her eyes narrow. Must be doing a ton of calculations, running through every scenario—hopefully more good than bad.

Come on.

Suddenly, she straightens and looks straight at me. “Okay, fine. But only for a year.”

“Why a year?”

She blinks. “Is that too long? Maybe six months?”

“What I mean is, why a time limit?”

“Because I want to have a long-term, meaningful relationship. I want to live a life that includes marrying someone who actually loves me, and a home with a white picket fence, full of warmth and laughter. Children who enjoy love and support from not just us but an extended family with lots of people to cherish them.”

I gaze at her—and imagine the future she’s painting with bitter desolation. She wants more than just “not-so-embarrassing parents.” A soul mate and a white picket fence sound alien and theoretical. Still, I don’t want to give up without a fight. I open my mouth, but her next words are like a punch in the solar plexus.

“I owe it to my mom.” Max’s eyes turn soft and wistful. A shadow of old grief and determination crosses her face. “Seeing me happy and fulfilled was the top item on my mother’s bucket list. She didn’t get to see it before passing away, so I want her to see it from heaven.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Max

For once, Rhys doesn’t argue. He grows quiet, then agrees to a year.

I’m not sure why I proposed that time frame—it’s in my best interest to find a potential partner as soon as possible. But even if Rhys hadn’t wanted to fake-date, I know it won’t last. He isn’t the type to commit, and I need something long term—likelifelong term.

But maybe I just want to stay long enough to prove to Jeffrey that I’m not some shameful secret. Or maybe I want to show Trevor I’m with someone who’s nothing like him—but a thousand times better—the next time he harasses me. Nothing would upset them like seeing me do well.

And a year isn’t that bad. I’m plenty young enough to find another man when our relationship’s over. Mom surely wouldn’t mind me taking a little detour.

“All right, Freckles,” Rhys says, rising from his seat. “Let’s go.”

I should’ve said something when he said he’d call me Freckles in boyfriend mode, but for some reason the protest got stuck in my throat. Probably because there was warm affection in his eyes. Something I’ve never cared for all my life doesn’t seem like such a horrible flaw when he says it.

“Where to?” I ask, mentally flipping through his agenda for the rest of the day. He doesn’t have anything, as far as I know.

“Home. I wasn’t kidding about free housing, utilities and food. You’re moving in today.”

His speed leaves me slightly dazed. “Um… Shouldn’t we come up with a plausible story first, to explain how we slowly discovered our feelings before moving in together?”

“We only have a year, not much time for feeling development. Besides, your place burned down. Where would you stay while these feelings develop?”

Touché.

“Anyway, our attraction started over three years ago, but didn’t fully bloom until today—so romantically that we had to move in together.” He smiles with satisfaction. “If I ever get tired of finance, I should write romance novels.”

I have to laugh. He’s obviously never read a romance novel in his life, but he’s so cocky and adorable. “Or Hallmark cards. You’d be amazing.”

“I am a veritable fount of cheery goodwill. And it’s always smart to have a backup plan. Let’s take my car.”

“What about mine?”

“If we’re commuting together, you won’t need it. But I’ll have Angelo bring it over for you.” Rhys reaches for my hand.

His fingers thread through mine, linking our hands together. Although we’ve done things far more intense, it seems both shockingly intimate and innocently pure. My belly flutters, like I’m a young girl with a crush.

“What are we doing?” I murmur.

“Holding hands. That’s what a couple does.”