Updated Oct 23, 2025 • ~9 min read
LINA’S POV
Seb’s apartment was ridiculous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Hardwood floors that probably cost more than my entire college education. A kitchen with marble countertops and appliances I didn’t know the names for. It looked like something out of a magazine spread titled “How The Other Half Lives.”
“This is the guest room,” Seb said, pushing open a door to reveal a space twice the size of my old bedroom. “I already cleared out the closet for you.”
I set down the box I was carrying—my third trip up from the moving truck. Stella had helped me pack, asking approximately seven hundred questions I’d deflected with increasingly creative lies. Yes, we were in love. No, it wasn’t too fast. Yes, I was sure. No, she couldn’t meet him yet because he was “shy about new people.”
Stella had given me a look that said she wasn’t buying it, but she’d helped me pack anyway. That’s what best friends did.
“It’s perfect,” I said, looking around the guest room. Neutral walls, a queen bed with a white duvet, a desk by the window. Impersonal. Safe. “Thank you.”
“The bathroom’s through there. Towels are in the cabinet.” Seb stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable in his own home. “I’m usually up by six for work, but I’m quiet. You probably won’t even notice.”
“I’m not a morning person anyway.”
“Good to know.” He glanced at his watch. “I have some calls to make for work. Will you be okay getting settled?”
“I’m a big girl, Seb. I think I can unpack without supervision.”
His mouth quirked. “Right. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
He left, and I was alone in my new room in my new life with my new husband who I barely knew.
I unpacked methodically. Clothes in the closet. Laptop on the desk. Photos on the nightstand—Mom, Stella, my college roommates. Proof that I had a life before this. That I was a real person, not just someone playing dress-up in someone else’s expensive apartment.
My phone buzzed. A text from my mother:
Mija, you haven’t called in two weeks. Everything okay?
Guilt twisted in my stomach. I couldn’t tell her I’d gotten married. Not yet. She’d want to meet Seb, ask questions, maybe even fly out here. And I was a terrible liar, especially with her.
All good, Mama. Just busy with work. I’ll call this weekend. Love you.
Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Love you too, baby. Don’t work too hard.
I set my phone down before I could feel worse about lying to her.
The first week was strange.
Seb and I moved around each other like dancers who’d never practiced together. He left for work before I woke up. I worked from the living room, designing logos and brand packages for clients who paid just enough to keep me afloat. He came home late, ate dinner in his office, emerged only to refill his coffee.
We were roommates. Polite strangers. Two people sharing space but not lives.
“This is working,” I told Stella over video chat on Thursday night. “It’s totally fine.”
“You’ve been married a week and you’ve had two conversations,” Stella said flatly. She was in her pajamas, her blonde hair piled on top of her head. “That’s not fine. That’s weird.”
“It’s not weird. We’re both busy.”
“Lina.” She leaned closer to the camera. “I’ve known you since freshman year. I know when you’re lying. What’s really going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. Seb and I are just… figuring things out.”
“You married someone you barely know.”
“People do it all the time. Ever heard of Vegas?”
“This isn’t Vegas. This is your life.” Her voice softened. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’m happy.”
Another lie to add to the pile.
SEB’S POV
I was avoiding my wife.
Not intentionally. Or maybe entirely intentionally. I couldn’t tell anymore.
The problem was that having Lina in my space was more distracting than I’d anticipated. I’d hear her laugh at something on her laptop. Smell the coffee she made every morning—hazelnut, too sweet for my taste but the scent had started to feel like home. See her curled up on my couch in oversized sweaters, looking soft and comfortable and completely off-limits.
This was supposed to be simple. She needed money. I needed papers. Transaction complete.
But every time I saw her wedding ring catching the light, I remembered the way she’d tasted when I kissed her at the courthouse. The champagne on her lips. The little gasp she’d made when I’d pulled her closer.
For show, I reminded myself. It was all for show.
“You’re distracted,” Declan said during our video call Friday morning. My younger brother was in Milan, probably calling from some cafe where everyone was more attractive than should be legally allowed.
“I’m not distracted.”
“You’ve checked your phone six times in the last ten minutes.”
I set my phone face-down. “What were you saying about the Milan office?”
“I was saying you’re an idiot.” Declan grinned. “But sure, we can talk about Milan. Everything’s on track for the expansion. How’s the green card situation?”
My jaw tightened. “Handled.”
“Handled how?”
“I hired a lawyer. She’s very competent.”
“She?” His eyebrows rose. “Seb, did you actually hire a lawyer or did you do something stupid?”
“I always hire lawyers. I’m very responsible.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Through my office door, I could hear Lina singing in the kitchen. She had a terrible voice and seemed completely unconcerned about it. Yesterday it had been pop songs. Today sounded like show tunes.
“Is that… singing?” Declan asked.
“The neighbor. Thin walls.”
“Right. The neighbor.” He didn’t believe me. “When are you coming clean about whatever you’re hiding?”
“There’s nothing to hide. Focus on Milan. I’ll handle things here.”
I ended the call before he could ask more questions.
LINA’S POV
Two weeks in, I found Seb’s list.
It was an accident. I’d been looking for printer paper in his office—my laptop was dying and I needed to print contracts for a client—when I saw it on his desk. A yellow legal pad covered in his precise handwriting.
Things to Remember:
- Lina likes hazelnut coffee
- Not a morning person
- Hates small talk
- Graphic designer—mostly corporate work but wants to do more creative
- Close with her mother (hasn’t told her about marriage yet—why?)
- Best friend: Stella
- Allergic to shellfish
I stared at the list. He’d been taking notes. On me.
“Find the paper?”
I jumped, spinning around. Seb stood in the doorway, tie loosened, looking tired. It was barely seven PM. Early for him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop—”
“You weren’t snooping. It’s fine.” He walked in, noticed the legal pad, and something crossed his face. Embarrassment, maybe. “I have a good memory, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t forget anything. For the immigration interview.”
“Right. The interview.”
We stood there in awkward silence. This happened a lot. Moments where we both seemed to realize we were strangers playing house.
“I ordered Thai food,” he said finally. “Enough for two. If you haven’t eaten.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good. It’ll be here in twenty minutes.” He started to leave, then paused. “No shellfish, obviously.”
Obviously.
We ate on opposite ends of his massive couch, the TV playing something neither of us was really watching. Seb had changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and it was strange seeing him casual. More human. Less like the perfectly polished man who’d proposed a business transaction in a coffee shop.
“This is good,” I said, gesturing with my chopsticks at the Pad Thai.
“There’s a place two blocks over. I order from them a lot.”
“You don’t cook?”
“I can cook. I just don’t.” He ate in that efficient way of his, like even dinner was a task to complete. “You?”
“I make a mean grilled cheese. Everything else is questionable.”
“Noted.” He almost smiled. “We’ll starve together.”
“Very romantic.”
The word hung there. Romantic. Like we were a real couple instead of two people counting down six months.
“Lina,” Seb said quietly. “I know this isn’t ideal. The living situation. But I want you to feel comfortable here. This is your home too. For now.”
For now. Always a deadline with us.
“I do feel comfortable,” I lied. “It’s a beautiful apartment.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I set down my food. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why me? Stella said you asked about me specifically. But you could have found anyone who needed money. Why go through her to get to me?”
Seb was quiet for a long moment. On TV, some sitcom laugh track filled the silence.
“She showed me your design portfolio,” he said finally. “Your work. And I could tell you were good at what you did. Talented. That you took pride in it, even when it was boring corporate logos.” He looked at me then, really looked at me. “I didn’t want someone desperate. I wanted someone who had something to lose. Someone who’d take this seriously.”
“That’s very practical of you.”
“I’m a practical person.”
“I’m starting to notice.”
He smiled—a real one this time. “You’re not what I expected either.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone quieter. More…” He searched for the word. “Compliant.”
I laughed. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“You didn’t. Disappoint, I mean.” His voice dropped. “You’re actually much better than I—”
His phone rang. The moment shattered.
Seb glanced at the screen and his expression shifted. Became guarded. “I need to take this. Work.”
He disappeared into his office, door clicking shut.
I sat alone with our half-eaten Thai food, wondering what he’d been about to say. Wondering why it mattered.
This was temporary. A business arrangement. In six months, we’d sign papers and go back to being strangers.
I just needed to remember that.
Even if Seb was starting to feel less like a stranger every day.
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