Chapter 6 - The Truth on the DocksI didn't answer immediately. I walked over to the stone edge of the fountain, resting my hands on the cool surface, staring down into the dark water.
“You wanted to know what I actually do,” I said quietly, without turning around. “Those men run contraband through the southern ports. Six months ago, they tried to bypass my security grid in Savannah. I shut down their entire operation in forty-eight hours, seized their cargo, and ran them out of the state.”
Nora walked slowly toward me, her footsteps light against the brick pavers. She stopped right beside me, looking up into my profile.
“So the business page profile...”
“Is real. I own hotels, real estate, and freight companies,” I turned my head to meet her gaze. “It’s just that my freight companies double as the primary security grid for the entire southeastern seaboard. Half the politicians in Charleston drink my bourbon and ask me for favors when the police blotter gets too crowded.”
She didn't run away. She didn't scream or demand I take her back inside.
Instead, a slow, disbelieving smile spread across her face.
“My fake boyfriend is a literal mob boss,” she whispered, shaking her head.
“Not a mob boss,” I corrected her, a corner of my mouth lifting. “A benevolent syndicate. There’s a distinct legal difference.”
“Right. Of course.” She let out a soft, breathy laugh, leaning against the fountain beside me. “And here I was, worried that my mother would intimidate you with her passive-aggressive dinner party remarks.”
“Your mother is a breeze compared to federal customs investigators, Nora.”
She looked down at the ground for a moment, her expression softening into something tender and hesitant. The playful armor was entirely gone now.
“So,” she murmured, looking back up at me. “Was any of it real today? Or was I just another assignment for the great Evan Cole?”
I pushed off the fountain, closing the distance between us until there was barely an inch of space left. I reached out, my fingers gently lifting her chin so she had no choice but to look directly into my eyes.
“Every single second of it was real, Nora,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through the quiet night air. “I didn't plan on walking into that café this morning. I didn't plan on handing over ten grand for a fake relationship. But the moment you looked at me with those eyes and asked me to play your boyfriend... I knew I wasn't going anywhere.”
Nora’s breath hitched. Her lips parted slightly, and she reached up, her hand resting softly against the lapel of my jacket.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because my fake boyfriend owes me a real date. Without my mother. Without senators. And definitely without armed men crashing the courtyard.”
“Consider it done,” I murmured.
And then, as the distant strains of piano music drifted out from the ballroom behind us, I leaned down and kissed her.
It wasn't fake. It wasn't acting for Diane’s benefit on the balcony. It was slow, deliberate, and entirely consuming—a collision of two very different worlds that somehow, impossibly, fit together perfectly.
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When we finally broke apart, Nora’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and shining in the moonlight.
“Come on,” I smiled, taking her hand once more, our fingers interlaced for good. “Let’s go tell your grandmother she has a new granddaughter-in-law to terrorize.”
