Updated Mar 13, 2026 • ~8 min read
The restaurant is gorgeous.
Not just nice. Gorgeous. The kind of place with mood lighting and fresh flowers on every table and a wine list that’s actually a book. The kind of place you need a reservation weeks in advance.
The kind of place that makes me feel like I’m in a rom-com montage.
Holden is sitting across from me in a suit—no tie, top button undone—looking unfairly handsome in the candlelight.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say for the third time.
“I wanted to,” he says for the third time.
“But this place is—”
“Where I should have taken you on our first date. If we’d done this the normal way.”
My chest tightens. “The normal way?”
“Yeah. You know. Asking you out. Courting you properly. Not waking up married after a Vegas blackout.”
I laugh. “Courting? Did you just say courting?”
“I’m trying to be romantic here.”
“Mission accomplished.”
And it is. The restaurant, the candlelight, the way he’s looking at me—it’s all absurdly romantic.
Our waiter appears with wine. Some kind of red that probably costs more than my rent. Holden must have ordered it ahead of time.
“To us,” Holden says, raising his glass.
“To us,” I echo.
We drink. The wine is incredible. Smooth and rich and way above my usual boxed-wine budget.
“Okay,” I say, setting down my glass. “Question.”
“Shoot.”
“If we hadn’t gotten Vegas-married, and you’d asked me out the normal way, what would our first date have been?”
Holden considers this. “Probably dinner. Somewhere nice but not stuffy. Then maybe a walk. Or ice cream. Something where we could actually talk.”
“So basically this.”
“Yeah. But with more nervousness and less guaranteed kiss at the end.”
“Who says you’re getting a kiss at the end of this date?”
He grins. “Pretty sure my wife can’t turn me down.”
“Your wife could absolutely turn you down.”
“Will she though?”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”
His eyes darken. “I can wait.”
The way he says it makes heat pool in my stomach.
Our food arrives—some kind of fancy pasta for me, steak for Holden—and we eat while talking about everything and nothing. My upcoming society wedding. His new client roster. Stupid things Noah did in high school.
It feels easy. Natural.
Like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days.
“Can I ask you something?” Holden says as we’re finishing our meal.
“Sure.”
“What changed? For you, I mean. We spent eleven years barely tolerating each other. What made you decide to give this a chance?”
I think about it. Really think about it.
“The pasta,” I say finally.
He blinks. “The pasta?”
“That night. After we moved in together. You made dinner and it was good and we sat there talking about favorite colors and I realized—” I stop. Take a breath. “I realized I didn’t actually know you. The real you. I just knew the version I’d built up in my head. The annoying best friend’s little sister. The arrogant sports agent. But when you cooked me dinner and asked about my favorite color, I saw someone different.”
“Someone you could like?”
“Someone I was already liking. Even though I didn’t want to.”
Holden reaches across the table and takes my hand. “For what it’s worth? I’ve always known you. I’ve been watching you for eleven years, Tessa. Learning your tells. Noticing what makes you laugh. Watching you light up when you talk about weddings and event planning. I knew exactly who you were. I just couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Because of Noah.”
“Because of Noah,” he confirms. “But also because you hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you.”
“You literally told Wren you’d rather eat glass than kiss me.”
I wince. “You heard that?”
“I was standing right behind you.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s fine. It gave me a goal.”
“A goal?”
“To make you want to kiss me.”
“Mission accomplished,” I say quietly.
His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “So what now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re doing this. We’re together. For real. But we still have five and a half months of fake marriage before we can tell people the truth. What does that look like?”
I hadn’t thought about that. The logistics of being secretly married while also secretly dating while also pretending to be just roommates.
It’s complicated.
“I guess we keep doing what we’re doing,” I say. “We live together. We go on dates. We figure out how to be us while keeping up appearances.”
“And Noah?”
“We tell him. Soon. When we’re ready.”
“When will we be ready?”
Good question.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe when this feels less fragile. Like it’s something that can survive his reaction.”
“You think he’ll have a bad reaction.”
“I think he’ll lose his mind. But hopefully he’ll also be happy for us. Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Holden echoes.
The waiter brings dessert—some kind of chocolate situation that we share. By the time we’re done, I’m full and content and possibly a little wine-drunk.
“Thank you,” I say as Holden pays the bill. “This was perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We walk out of the restaurant hand-in-hand. The night is cool, the city lights reflecting off the buildings around us.
“Want to walk for a bit?” Holden asks.
“In these heels?”
“I’ll carry you if I have to.”
“You are not carrying me.”
“Watch me.”
He’s ridiculous. But I nod anyway.
We walk through the downtown streets, past shops and restaurants and other couples on dates. At some point, Holden’s arm slides around my shoulders. I lean into him.
It feels right.
This. Us.
“Hey Tessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you now?”
I look up at him. At his dark eyes and soft smile and the way he’s looking at me like I’m the most important thing in the world.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You can kiss me now.”
He does.
Right there on the sidewalk with people walking past and car horns blaring and the city buzzing around us.
And it’s perfect.
When we finally break apart, we’re both smiling.
“So,” Holden says. “Best first date ever?”
“Best first date ever.”
“Good. Because I plan to have a lot more of them.”
“Even though we’re already married?”
“Especially because we’re already married. I’ve got years of dating to catch up on.”
We walk back to his car—our car? I don’t know anymore—and drive home.
When we get to the apartment, I’m buzzing with wine and endorphins and feelings I’m not quite ready to name.
“I should go to bed,” I say, even though it’s only nine-thirty.
“Early morning?”
“No. I just—” I stop. “I need space. To process. This was a lot.”
Understanding crosses Holden’s face. “Okay. But Tessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For tonight. For giving this a chance.”
“Thank you for making it worth the chance.”
I kiss him one more time—soft and sweet and full of promise—and disappear into my room.
But as I get ready for bed, all I can think about is that this is only the beginning.
We’re married. We’re dating. We’re figuring out how to be together while keeping it secret.
It’s messy and complicated and probably a terrible idea.
But when I look at the ring on my finger and remember the way Holden looked at me over dinner, I think maybe—just maybe—it’s a terrible idea worth pursuing.
My phone buzzes as I’m climbing into bed.
Holden: “Goodnight, wife.”
I stare at the message. At that word. Wife.
Three weeks ago, it was a mistake. A Vegas disaster.
Now it’s starting to feel like the truth.
Me: “Goodnight, husband.”
I fall asleep smiling.
I wake up to pounding on my door.
“Tessa! TESSA!”
It’s Holden. And he sounds panicked.
I stumble out of bed and yank open the door. “What? What’s wrong?”
He’s standing there in just sweatpants, phone in hand, face pale.
“Noah’s on his way here.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“He just texted. Said he needs to talk to me about something urgent. He’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Oh my God.”
“Tessa, he can’t know you live here. He can’t know we’re—”
“I know! I know!” I look around frantically. My room is full of my stuff. Clothes. Makeup. My laptop on the desk.
Everything screams “a woman lives here.”
“Help me pack,” I say.
“What?”
“We have ten minutes to make this room look like a guest room. Move!”
We spring into action.
END OF CHAPTER 9
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