The Marriage Clause
Piper Montgomery's grandmother had always said that the best ideas came either at 3 AM or after three martinis. Currently sprawled across a vintage velvet couch in her bookstore's romance section, surrounded by empty wine bottles and her equally inebriated best friends, Piper was testing that theory.
"I need to hire a husband," she announced to the ceiling, her words slightly slurred but her tone dead serious.
"You need to hire a therapist," shot back her best friend Maya, currently attempting to build a tower out of romance novels with questionable covers. "Or maybe I need one, because I could have sworn you just said—"
"No, no, hear me out." Piper sat up too quickly, her mass of auburn curls bouncing wildly as she steadied herself. "Grandma Eleanor's will says I need to be married to inherit the house, right? But it doesn't specify for how long. So I just need to be married long enough to get the house transferred to my name, and then—" she made a slicing motion across her throat that nearly threw her off balance.
"Divorce!" she finished triumphantly. "Clean, simple, legal."
"There is literally nothing clean or simple about what you just said," Maya muttered, as her book tower collapsed.
"Actually," piped up Sophie from her nest of throw pillows on the floor, her phone's blue light illuminating her face, "there might be a solution. Remember that client I had last month? The socialite who hired arm candy for her ex's wedding?" Sophie, their resident PR maven, started scrolling frantically. "He was from this super high-end male escort agency. Totally legitimate, very discreet, and—"
"Sophie Martinez, are you suggesting I hire a male prostitute to be my husband?" Piper gasped in mock scandal, pressing a hand to her chest.
"They're companions, not prostitutes," Sophie corrected primly. "Very different. Very expensive. Very... oh my god." She turned her phone around, and Piper's wine-addled brain took a moment to process the image on the screen.
The man staring back at her looked like he'd been created in a lab where they specialized in manufacturing human perfection. Blond hair artfully tousled, jaw that could cut glass, and eyes so blue they looked Photoshopped. But it was his smile that caught her attention – just enough of a smirk to suggest he was in on some cosmic joke the rest of the world had missed.
"That," Sophie announced with the gravity of someone delivering state secrets, "is Ash Valentine. He's their top guy. Harvard educated, speaks multiple languages, can charm the pants off anyone's grandmother—figuratively speaking—and his review ratings are through the roof."
"He has review ratings?" Piper snorted, but she couldn't take her eyes off the photo. "What is he, an Amazon product?"
"More like a Bentley," Sophie replied. "But hey, you wanted a solution..."
Three days, five panic attacks, and one maxed-out credit card later, Piper found herself pacing the lobby of Seattle's most exclusive hotel, wondering if it was too late to fake her own death instead. Her vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, usually her armor of choice, felt more like a straitjacket.
"Piper Montgomery?"
The voice was like warm honey over gravel. She turned, and there he was – Ash Valentine in the flesh, somehow managing to look even more ridiculous attractive than his photos. He wore a charcoal gray suit like it had been painted on him, and that infamous smirk was firmly in place.
"I have to say," he continued, stepping closer and offering his hand, "when I got the brief 'desperate bookstore owner needs emergency husband,' I was intrigued. But you're not quite what I expected."
Piper took his hand, ignoring the odd little spark that shot up her arm. "Let me guess – you were expecting someone a little more 'Desperate Housewives' and a little less 'disaster in vintage couture'?"
His smirk broadened into something that might have been a genuine smile. "I was expecting someone who wouldn't quote Joan Didion under her business proposal."
Piper blinked. She had indeed slipped a Didion quote into her desperate midnight email – something about life being the messy bits between plans. "You recognized that?"
"I did. Just like I recognize that your dress is from DVF's 1974 collection, and that the rather impressive run in your stockings suggests you've been stress-pacing for at least twenty minutes." His eyes, somehow both warm and calculating, swept over her. "You're also wearing two different earrings, your lipstick is on your teeth, and you've got what looks like a pencil holding up your hair. In short, Ms. Montgomery, you're a beautiful mess, and I think this might be the most interesting contract I've ever considered taking."
"Contract?" Piper latched onto the familiar word, trying to ground herself. "So you'll do it? You'll really marry me?"
Ash's expression shifted into something more serious. "That depends. Are you going to tell me the real reason a woman who quotes feminist literature and deliberately mismatches her earrings needs to get married so badly she's willing to hire a professional?"
Piper took a deep breath. "How much do you know about inheritance law and manipulative grandmothers?"
"Less than I know about psychology and family dynamics," he replied cryptically. "But I'm willing to learn. Shall we discuss terms over dinner? I know a place that makes a martini that would impress even Eleanor Montgomery."
Piper's jaw dropped. "How did you—"
"Please," he cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Your grandmother was a legend in Boston social circles. The woman who turned her husband's inheritance into a real estate empire and spent her winters racing sailboats well into her eighties? The one who supposedly told the entire board of First Boston Bank to, and I quote, 'kiss her progressive ass' in 1982? That kind of reputation gets around."
For the first time since reading her grandmother's will, Piper felt herself really smile. "You know what, Mr. Valentine? I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful fake marriage."
"Oh, Red," he said, offering his arm with a flourish that somehow managed to be both ridiculous and elegant, "I think this is going to be so much more than that."
Terms and Conditions
"I can't believe your fancy restaurant didn't have a table," Piper said, spreading out her vintage Hermès scarf (thrifted for ten dollars, thank you very much) on the grass of Boston Public Garden. "Don't you have some sort of special escort priority booking system?"
Ash, who had somehow managed to procure an entire gourmet picnic basket from seemingly nowhere, raised an eyebrow at her. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually have the city of Boston in my back pocket." He paused, pulling out a bottle of wine. "Just most of it."
The late afternoon sun caught his hair, turning it from golden to almost white, and Piper had to remind herself that this was a business meeting, not a date. Even if he had somehow known to pack her favorite wine. And chocolate-covered strawberries. And—
"Is that brie?" She reached for the cheese, but he playfully swatted her hand away.
"Business first, Montgomery. Let's talk terms."
Piper groaned, flopping back onto the grass. "Fine. But I'm eating while we negotiate. I stress-eat, and this whole situation is basically one giant anxiety sandwich with a side of panic fries."
"Noted." He pulled out a leather-bound notebook because of course he did. "First condition: we need a timeline. How long do you need this marriage to last?"
"The will says the house has to stay in my name for at least six months after the marriage before I can do anything with it." She sat up, accepting the glass of wine he offered. "So... seven months? Just to be safe?"
"Eight," he countered, jotting something down. "We'll need time for a believable separation and divorce. Can't have people questioning the legitimacy of the marriage."
"Eight months?" Piper choked on her wine. "That's... that's two-thirds of a year!"
"Would you prefer to lose the house?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Has anyone ever told you you're infuriating?"
"Frequently. Usually right before they extend my contract." His smirk should have been illegal. "Second condition: we need a convincing backstory. How did we meet?"
"Oh! I've actually thought about this." Piper brightened, reaching for a strawberry. "You came into my bookstore looking for a rare first edition of—"
"Too cliché," he cut her off. "We met at your grandmother's funeral."
"Excuse me?"
"Think about it. I was there paying respects to a business associate. You were emotional, vulnerable. I offered comfort, you offered coffee. It's believable, explains the whirlwind romance, and most importantly, no one can verify it because everyone at the funeral was too focused on their own grief to notice us."
Piper stared at him. "That's... actually brilliant. And slightly disturbing. Has anyone ever told you you'd make a great con artist?"
"I prefer 'strategic relationship consultant.'" He reached over and wiped a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. The casual intimacy of the gesture made her breath catch. "Which brings us to condition three: PDA."
"Oh god." Piper took a large gulp of wine.
"We need to look convincing," he continued, seemingly oblivious to her crisis. "That means casual touches, terms of endearment, inside jokes. Are you comfortable with kissing?"
"Are you comfortable with being elbowed in the ribs if your hands wander?"
His laugh was unexpectedly genuine. "I'm a professional, Red. My hands stay where they're contractually obligated to stay."
"Stop calling me Red."
"Make me."
"You're twelve years old, I swear." But she was fighting a smile. "Fine. Basic PDA is acceptable. But nothing that would make my young readers' parents complain if they saw us in the bookstore."
"Noted. Though I have to say, your blush suggests you've thought about this more than you're admitting."
"My blush suggests I'm on my second glass of wine, Valentine." She grabbed the notebook from him. "My turn for conditions. First: you have to help out at the bookstore sometimes. It'll look weird if my husband's never around during the day."
"Done. I can shelve books and look pretty with the best of them."
"Second: we need to make this look good for my parents. They're lawyers, they'll smell a scam from a mile away."
"Ah yes, the illustrious Montgomery legal dynasty." Ash stretched out on the grass, looking infuriatingly comfortable. "Don't worry about your parents. I have plenty of experience handling suspicious in-laws. Though I should warn you, it usually involves me charming the pants off them."
"Please never use the phrase 'charming the pants off' in relation to my parents again."
"Third condition?" he prompted, ignoring her horror.
Piper hesitated, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. "You have to promise not to fall in love with me."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to sink ships. Then Ash sat up, and for the first time, his expression was completely serious.
"That won't be a problem," he said quietly. "I don't do love. It's bad for business."
"Good." Piper ignored the weird little twist in her chest. "Because I don't do love either. Not anymore. Not after—" She cut herself off, reaching for the wine bottle.
"After what?" His voice was gentle, but she could hear the professional interest beneath it. Right. PhD in Psychology. Of course he'd pick up on that.
"After nothing. It's not important." She forced a bright smile. "So, do we have a deal?"
Ash studied her for a long moment, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing straight through her carefully constructed walls. Finally, he held out his hand.
"Deal. But I have one final condition."
"What's that?"
"You have to let me take you shopping for a wedding dress. Because if that invitation I saw sticking out of your bag is for your cousin Rachel's wedding next weekend, and you're planning to announce our engagement there, you're going to need something spectacular."
Piper's jaw dropped. "How did you—"
"The invitation's resting against a notebook where you've scribbled 'Rachel's Wedding - Perfect Opportunity???' about twelve times. Really, Montgomery, for someone planning an elaborate deception, you're remarkably unsubtle."
"Has anyone ever told you you're a know-it-all?"
"Frequently." He grinned, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Usually right before they marry me."
Despite herself, Piper laughed. "God, what am I getting myself into?"
"A mutually beneficial business arrangement," he replied smoothly. "With excellent benefits and a satisfaction guarantee."
"Does that guarantee include not making suggestive comments at my cousin's wedding?"
"Absolutely not. In fact, I should warn you – I give excellent wedding toast. Especially after champagne."
"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
His smile turned softer, almost genuine. "Only if we do it right."
And as the sun set over the garden, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, Piper couldn't shake the feeling that she was about to either make the best decision of her life, or the absolute worst. Possibly both.
At least the cheese was good.
Practice Makes Perfect
"Tell me again why we couldn't just use Amazon?" Piper grumbled, staring up at the intimidatingly elegant facade of Madame Beaumont's Bridal Boutique. Even the window displays looked like they were judging her choice of comfortable (if slightly worn) ballet flats.
"Because," Ash replied, holding the door open with an exaggerated flourish, "if we're going to pull off this whirlwind romance, you need to look like someone who's marrying into the Valentine family fortune."
"You mean I need to look like someone who's marrying a high-end escort?"
"Professional companion," he corrected automatically, then caught her grin. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"Not a chance, Magic Mike."
Inside, the boutique was all crystal chandeliers and champagne-colored silk. A tall woman with steel-gray hair swept into a severe chignon descended upon them like a very expensive hawk.
"Mr. Valentine!" she exclaimed, air-kissing both his cheeks. "When you called, I could hardly believe it. Finally settling down?"
"What can I say, Madame Beaumont?" Ash pulled Piper close, his arm settling around her waist with practiced ease. "When you know, you know."
Piper managed not to snort, but it was a close thing. Instead, she channeled every rom-com heroine she'd ever shelved and gazed adoringly up at him. "Honey, you're embarrassing me."
"Never, sweetheart." He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she had to admit – the man knew his craft. If she didn't know better, she'd believe they were madly in love herself.
Three hours and countless dresses later, Piper was ready to fake her own death again. "I look like a meringue," she moaned, staring at her reflection. The dress, while objectively gorgeous, had enough tulle to supply a small ballet company.
"You look like a dream," Madame Beaumont insisted.
"A dairy-based dream," Piper muttered.
Ash, who had been suspiciously quiet, suddenly stood from his plush velvet chair. "Actually," he said, disappearing behind a rack of dresses, "I think... yes. This one."
The dress he emerged with was vintage-inspired silk, with delicate cap sleeves and a neckline that dipped just low enough to be interesting without scandalizing any potential grandmother-in-laws. It was exactly the kind of dress Piper would have picked for herself – if she was actually getting married and not orchestrating an elaborate inheritance scheme.
"How did you..." she trailed off, taking the dress reverently.
He shrugged, but his eyes were dancing. "I pay attention."
Twenty minutes later, Piper stood in front of the mirror again, this time fighting back genuine tears. The dress fit like it had been made for her, skimming her curves before falling in a gentle A-line that made her feel like a 1940s movie star.
"Well?" she asked, turning to face Ash.
For a moment, something flickered across his face – something that looked almost like regret. But then his usual smirk was back. "I'd marry you."
"You are marrying me, genius."
"Details, details."
They left the boutique with the dress (which cost more than Piper's monthly rent), a matching veil (which she didn't even want to think about the price of), and strict instructions to return for alterations in three days.
"I still can't believe you dropped that much money on a fake wedding dress," Piper said as they stepped onto the sidewalk. "I know the contract included expenses, but—"
SPLASH.
A passing car hit a puddle at exactly the wrong moment, sending a wave of dirty street water directly at Piper's feet. Her beloved ballet flats, already on their last legs, surrendered immediately to the assault.
"Oh, for fu—" she started to say, then squeaked as she suddenly found herself airborne.
"Can't have my future wife getting trench foot," Ash declared, adjusting her position on his back. "Bad for business."
"Put me down, you ridiculous man!" But she was laughing too hard to make it sound convincing.
"Not a chance, Red. Consider this practice for carrying you over the threshold."
"If you carry me over any thresholds, I will bite you."
"Kinky."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." He started walking, apparently unbothered by her weight or the strange looks they were getting from passersby. "You know what this means, though?"
"That I need new shoes?"
"That too. But it means we need to go shopping for shoes now."
Piper groaned, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. "More shopping? You're worse than Maya."
"Can't have you walking down the aisle in wet ballet flats." He adjusted his grip on her legs. "Besides, think of it as method acting. The more time we spend together, the more convincing we'll be."
"Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Valentine?"
"Actually," he said, his tone suddenly serious, "it is. The best lies have elements of truth in them. If we're going to convince people we fell in love, we need to at least be friends."
"Friends," Piper repeated, something warm and dangerous unfurling in her chest. "I can do friends."
"Good." He hitched her higher on his back. "Because friends let friends buy them ridiculously expensive shoes."
"Friends also don't drop friends on concrete."
"I would never." He gasped in mock offense. "Drop you, that is. The concrete, however, has been making eyes at me."
Piper laughed despite herself, tightening her arms around his neck. "You're absolutely ridiculous, you know that?"
"Part of my charm."
And the thing was, he wasn't wrong. Somewhere between the bridal shop and the impromptu piggyback ride, Piper had started to genuinely like Ash Valentine. Not in a romantic way, of course – that would be professional suicide for him and emotional suicide for her. But as a friend? Yeah, she could do friends.
Even if friends didn't usually notice how good each other's cologne smelled. Or how warm their skin was. Or how their muscles shifted under their perfectly tailored shirts.
Definitely just friends.
"You're thinking too loud," Ash said, turning down Newbury Street.
"Just wondering how many people have photographed Boston's most eligible escort giving a piggyback ride to a woman in a very wet vintage dress."
"Professional companion," he corrected again, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "And don't worry – this will only help our cover story. Nothing says true love like public displays of ridiculousness."
"Is that in the contract?"
"Subsection 3, paragraph 2: 'The parties agree to engage in occasional acts of mutual idiocy to maintain believability.'"
"You're making that up."
"Maybe." He stopped in front of a shoe store that Piper normally wouldn't even dare to window shop at. "But you have to admit, it's working. No one who saw us today would doubt we're a couple."
And as he finally set her down, steadying her with hands that lingered perhaps a moment too long, Piper had to admit he was right. They were getting good at this – maybe too good.
But that was a problem for future Piper. Present Piper had designer shoes to try on and a fake fiancé to tease.
Friends. She could definitely do friends.
Friends & Other Complications
The thing about owning a bookstore that also serves coffee was that you could never quite escape the smell of old books and fresh espresso. Not that Piper wanted to – it was her favorite combination of scents in the world, right up there with rain on concrete and her grandmother's perfume.
Today, however, the familiar comfort of Happily Ever After Books was being severely tested by the chaos unfolding in her small café corner.
"I'm just saying," Maya declared, waving her biscotti like a weapon, "as the best friend who's known her since college, I have automatic dibs on Maid of Honor."
"Excuse me?" Sophie looked up from her laptop where she'd been aggressively creating what she called a "wedding emergency timeline" and what Piper called "evidence of control issues." "I'm the one who literally found her husband."
"You found her an escort—"
"Professional companion," Piper and Ash corrected in unison, causing them both to break into grins.
"See?" Sophie gestured at them triumphantly. "They're even finishing each other's sentences now. I'm basically Cupid. That trumps college friendship."
Ash, who had been pretending to reorganize the romance section while actually just eavesdropping, caught Piper's eye and mouthed "help?" She shook her head slightly. Better to let them fight it out.
"Ladies," Ash said, sliding into the seat next to Piper with the kind of grace that made it look choreographed, "while I appreciate the enthusiasm, shouldn't the bride get to choose?"
Three pairs of eyes turned to Piper, who immediately became very interested in her coffee.
"Actually," she started, then yelped as Ash casually draped his arm around her shoulders. Right. Keeping up appearances. She leaned into him, ignoring how natural it felt. "Actually, I was thinking of asking Rachel to be my Maid of Honor."
"WHAT?" Maya and Sophie exploded simultaneously.
"Your cousin Rachel?" Maya looked personally offended. "The same Rachel whose wedding we're going to this weekend? The one who once tried to convince you that reading was, and I quote, 'like watching TV but more boring'?"
"Strategic," Ash murmured approvingly in her ear. "Family politics?"
"Grandmother's will stipulates family approval," Piper whispered back. "Rachel's my best shot at convincing the Montgomery clan this isn't a scam."
"You two are doing it again," Sophie announced.
"Doing what?" they asked together, then shared another grin.
"That!" Sophie pointed accusingly. "The whispered conversations, the inside jokes, the constant touching – are you sure this is just a business arrangement?"
Piper felt Ash tense slightly beside her, but his smile never wavered. "What can I say?" he drawled. "When you find someone who can quote both Jane Austen and 'The Princess Bride' in the same sentence, you don't let them go."
"That was one time," Piper protested, but she was fighting a smile. "And you started it with the 'as you wish' comments while shelving."
"Inconceivable!"
"Okay, gross," Maya interrupted their banter. "I take it back. I don't want to be Maid of Honor if I have to watch this level of flirting up close."
"We're not flirting," Piper said quickly. "We're... practicing."
"Maintaining cover," Ash added.
"Building a convincing narrative."
"Professional friendship."
Sophie looked between them, her PR instincts clearly tingling. "Right. And this 'professional friendship' just happens to involve you wearing his sweater?"
Piper looked down at herself in horror. She was, indeed, wearing Ash's navy cashmere sweater – he'd draped it over her shoulders earlier when she'd complained about the store's temperamental heating system, and she'd absent-mindedly slipped it on.
"I get cold," she said defensively.
"She gets cold," Ash echoed, then caught himself. "Stop doing that."
"You stop doing that."
"Oh my god," Maya groaned. "I can't tell if this is the best or worst idea we've ever had."
"Definitely the worst," Sophie said cheerfully. "Pass the scone?"
Ash chose that moment to actually do his job, standing up with exaggerated dignity. "Well, ladies, as fascinating as this debate is, these romance novels won't alphabetize themselves. Unless..." he turned to Piper with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, "you've got some kind of enchanted bookshop situation going on here?"
"Yes, actually. At midnight, all the books rearrange themselves into increasingly specific sub-genres. You should see the 'second-chance romance featuring at least one dog' section."
He laughed – a real laugh, not his practiced chuckle – and dropped a kiss on the top of her head before heading back to the shelves. It was such a casual gesture, so perfectly boyfriendly, that Piper almost forgot it was for show.
Almost.
"Girl," Maya said the moment Ash was out of earshot, "you are in so much trouble."
"What? No, I'm not. This is purely business."
"Honey." Sophie reached across the table to pat her hand. "I've arranged a lot of business deals. None of them involved looking at each other like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're both trying very hard not to notice how much you like noticing each other."
"That doesn't even make sense," Piper protested, but she could feel her cheeks heating up.
"You're wearing his sweater," Maya pointed out.
"It's cold!"
"You're finishing each other's sentences."
"We're practicing!"
"He knows your coffee order."
"He's observant!"
"He reorganized your entire classics section yesterday just because you mentioned you prefer chronological to alphabetical ordering for the Austen novels."
"That's just... being thorough?"
From the romance section came the sound of Ash humming what suspiciously sounded like "Tale As Old As Time," and Piper had to bite back a smile. He'd been doing that all morning, mixing Disney love songs with what he claimed were "sophisticated jazz standards" but were actually just more Disney songs in different keys.
"See?" Sophie gestured triumphantly at Piper's face. "That look right there. That's not a 'business arrangement' look. That's a 'I can't believe I find him this adorable' look."
"I do not find him adorable," Piper lied. "I find him... professionally competent."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
"I hate you both."
"No, you don't." Maya grinned. "You love us. Almost as much as you love your fake fiancé."
"I will fire you as bridesmaids."
"No, you won't," Sophie sang. "You need us. Who else is going to help you pick out lingerie for the honeymoon?"
Piper choked on her coffee. "There is no honeymoon! This isn't a real marriage!"
"Keep telling yourself that, honey." Maya stood up, gathering her things. "But maybe remember to give him his sweater back before you leave. You know, like a professional would."
Piper looked down at the sweater again, breathing in the faint scent of expensive cologne and old books. From the romance section, Ash had moved on to "Can You Feel The Love Tonight."
She was so screwed.
"I can hear you thinking from here, Red," Ash called out. "Come help me with these Brontës. I can't tell if 'Wuthering Heights' counts as romance or horror."
"Both," she called back automatically. "It's a toxic romance that doubles as a ghost story with strong gothic elements and occasional attempts at humor."
"See?" she heard him say to a customer. "This is why I'm marrying her. She's like a sexy library catalog."
And despite herself, despite her friends' knowing looks, despite the whole ridiculousness of the situation, Piper smiled.
Professional friendship. She could do that.
Probably.
Family History
The Montgomery family home in Beacon Hill was exactly what Ash had expected: all red brick, gleaming windows, and the kind of manicured shrubbery that screamed "old money" in pruned morse code. What he hadn't expected was Piper's transformation the moment they crossed the threshold.
Gone was his chaos-wrapped-in-vintage partner-in-crime. In her place was a woman who actually sat up straight, spoke in complete sentences, and hadn't made a single sarcastic comment in fifteen minutes. It was like watching a butterfly transform back into a caterpillar, and Ash hated it.
"And this is Piper at her first ballet recital," Margaret Montgomery said, flipping through what had to be the world's most comprehensive family photo album. "She was supposed to be a snowflake, but she insisted on being a thunderstorm instead."
"Mom," Piper protested weakly, but Ash could see the ghost of his Piper in the photograph – a tiny redhead with missing front teeth, throwing handfuls of glitter while the other little girls performed perfect arabesques.
"I see some things never change," he said softly, and was rewarded with a flash of her real smile before the proper facade slipped back into place.
"Alexandra next door still talks about that recital," Thomas Montgomery added from his leather armchair throne. "Though I suspect that has more to do with Piper convincing the entire corps de ballet to stage a revolution during the Nutcracker finale."
"Les Misérables had just come out," Piper explained primly. "It seemed thematically appropriate."
Ash bit back a laugh. There she was.
"Oh! Here's her high school graduation," Margaret continued, and Ash leaned forward despite himself. Teenage Piper grinned back at him from the photograph, her hair a riot of curls barely contained by her cap, her graduation robe covered in what appeared to be hand-painted quotes from banned books.
"The principal almost didn't let her walk," Thomas said, but Ash caught the hint of pride in his voice. "She said the dress code violation set a bad example."
"The dress code was a tool of systematic oppression," Piper quoted herself, then blushed. "I was going through a phase."
"You're still going through that phase, Red." The endearment slipped out before Ash could stop it, too natural now to catch. But instead of their usual banter, Piper just ducked her head, cheeks pink.
Right. Proper young lady mode.
"Here's the summer she decided to become a marine biologist," Margaret said, and Ash found himself looking at a slightly older Piper in scuba gear, beaming next to a tank of jellyfish. "That lasted about three months, until she discovered Jack Kerouac and decided she needed to go on a cross-country road trip instead."
"Which you forbade," Piper reminded her mother.
"Which we forbade," Margaret agreed cheerfully, "so she spent the summer reading travel books in Eleanor's attic and plotting escape routes on her bedroom walls."
Each photograph was a piece of a puzzle Ash hadn't known he was trying to solve. Piper at various ages, always with a book, always with that spark of defiance in her eyes. Piper covered in paint after redecorating her room without permission. Piper asleep in Eleanor's library, surrounded by first editions. Piper...
Piper in a hospital bed, looking impossibly small, her normally vibrant hair lank against the white pillows. She couldn't have been more than twenty.
Margaret quickly turned the page, but not before Ash saw Piper flinch.
"And here's her college graduation," Margaret said brightly, too brightly. "When she finally decided on English Literature, though I still say she would have made an excellent lawyer."
"Mom," Piper said quietly, "I'm sure Ash doesn't want to see every photo you've ever taken of me."
But he did. God help him, he did. He wanted to know every version of her, wanted to understand what made her smile like that in some photos and hide behind her hair in others. Wanted to know what put that shadow in her eyes when her mother mentioned law school, wanted to know why they skipped so quickly past that hospital photo.
Wanted to know why she was working so hard to be someone else in this house full of memories.
"Actually," he heard himself say, "I'd love to see more. Especially if you have any from her rebellious phase. For blackmail purposes, of course."
"Professional blackmail?" she asked, and there was his Piper again, peeking through the proper veneer.
"Purely amateur. Though I might be persuaded to keep certain ballet revolution photos to myself in exchange for coffee-making privileges at the store."
"You already have coffee-making privileges."
"Yes, but now they'll be blackmail-based privileges. Much more prestigious."
She laughed – a real laugh, not the polite chuckle she'd been using all afternoon – and something in his chest tightened.
"Oh, you two," Margaret sighed happily. "Thomas, don't they remind you of us at that age? Young and in love and completely unable to take anything seriously?"
Ash felt Piper tense beside him and did what came naturally – he pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "To be fair," he said, "it's hard to take anything seriously when your fiancée once led a children's ballet uprising."
"It was a very serious uprising," Piper protested, relaxing into his side. "We had demands and everything. Better candy in the vending machines. Later bedtimes. The right to wear tutus of any color."
"A regular Emma Goldman."
"Did you just make an anarchist feminist reference?"
"I contain multitudes."
"Dear god," Thomas muttered, "there are two of them."
But Ash barely heard him, because Piper was looking up at him with that spark back in her eyes, and there were freckles scattered across her nose that he'd never noticed before, and she was finally, finally being herself again, and all he wanted to do was...
No.
Professional friendship. They'd agreed. This was business.
Except business didn't usually involve noticing how someone's hair caught the afternoon light, or how they bit their lip when they were trying not to smile, or how they had a tiny scar above their eyebrow that you suddenly wanted to know the story behind.
"Ash?" Piper's voice brought him back to reality. "You okay? You went somewhere else for a minute."
Professional. Right.
"Just thinking about what an adorable kid you were," he covered smoothly. "And wondering if you still have that thunderstorm costume. Could come in handy for the wedding."
"Don't even think about it."
"Too late. I'm thinking about it."
"I will end you."
"Children," Margaret interrupted, but she was beaming. "Perhaps we should move on to wedding plans? I assume you'll want to have it here, of course. The garden is lovely in spring..."
As Margaret launched into a detailed analysis of potential wedding venues, Ash tried to focus on anything except how perfectly Piper fit against his side, or how her fingers had somehow become entwined with his, or how this whole afternoon felt dangerously close to real.
Professional friendship was getting less professional by the minute.
And then Piper squeezed his hand – just once, just lightly – and he knew he was in trouble. Because that wasn't for show. Her parents weren't even looking at them. That was just... her. Being her. With him.
Oh, he was in so much trouble.
"Ash?" Piper whispered, while her mother extolled the virtues of various local florists. "Thank you. For... you know. Making this easier."
He looked down at her – at her real smile, at those damn freckles, at the woman who'd somehow snuck past all his careful professional boundaries – and managed a smile of his own.
"Anything for you, Red."
And the worst part was, he meant it.
Double Date Disaster
The restaurant was exactly the kind of place that served foam as a legitimate part of the meal and called it "molecular gastronomy." Piper had spent the first ten minutes trying to figure out if her appetizer was food or modern art.
"So," Rachel said, stirring her water with the kind of intensity usually reserved for defusing bombs, "how long have you two been together?"
"Three months," Ash answered smoothly, at the exact same moment Piper said, "Four months."
Bradley – Rachel's fiancé and quite possibly the most aggressively boring man Piper had ever met – looked up from his deconstructed caesar salad. "Which is it?"
"Three months of dating, four months since we met," Ash covered without missing a beat, his hand finding Piper's under the table. "But it feels like we've known each other forever, doesn't it, sweetheart?"
Piper squeezed his hand in silent thanks. "Time flies when you're falling in love."
Rachel made a sound that might have been "aww" or might have been morning sickness. Given what Piper had noticed about her cousin's careful avoidance of wine and sudden fascination with loose-fitting dresses, either was possible.
"And you're already getting married?" Bradley asked, his realtor's smile not quite reaching his eyes. "That seems... fast."
"When you know, you know," Ash said, and Piper had to admire how he managed to make the cliché sound genuine. "Besides, Piper here has ruined me for other women. Who else would understand my obscure literary references and terrible puns?"
"He's not joking," Piper added, falling into their practiced rhythm. "Yesterday he organized an entire shelf of romance novels by pun quality."
"The 'Duke of Earl Grey' deserved top billing and you know it."
"It was a tea-rrible decision."
"See?" Ash turned to Rachel and Bradley with a helpless gesture. "How could I not marry her?"
Rachel narrowed her eyes, glancing between them with the same expression she'd used when they were kids and she suspected Piper of stealing her favorite Barbie. "Are you sure that's the only reason?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well..." Rachel glanced meaningfully at Piper's stomach, then her untouched wine glass.
Oh no.
"Oh my god, Rachel, I'm not pregnant!" Piper blurted, perhaps a bit too loudly given the looks from nearby tables.
"It's okay if you are," Rachel said quickly. "I mean, these things happen. Bradley and I—" She cut herself off, blushing furiously.
Ash, who had been taking a sip of water, choked slightly. Piper patted his back automatically, trying not to laugh at the situation. Here they were, pretending to be in love while her actually-in-love cousin was pretending not to be pregnant.
"I promise I'm not pregnant," Piper said firmly. "I just don't feel like drinking tonight."
"And I promise I'm marrying her because I love her," Ash added, his voice still rough from choking. "Though I have to admit, the puns are a significant factor."
"They're a real ele-pun-t in the room," Piper couldn't help adding.
"That was weak and you know it."
"You still laughed."
"I'm contractually obligated to laugh at your jokes."
"No, you're contractually obligated to love me. The laughing is just a bonus."
As soon as the words left her mouth, Piper realized what she'd said. Next to her, Ash went very still.
"I mean—" she started to backtrack, but Rachel cut her off with a squeal.
"Oh my god, you guys are adorable! Bradley, aren't they adorable? Remember when we were like that?"
Bradley, who looked about as adorable as a tax form, smiled tightly. "We were never like that, dear. We had a very sensible courtship."
"Right," Rachel's face fell slightly. "Sensible."
Piper felt Ash's thumb start tracing circles on her palm under the table – a gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring but was actually just making it hard to concentrate on anything except the feel of his skin against hers.
"Sensible is overrated," Ash said suddenly, and something in his voice made Piper look up at him. He was staring at her with an intensity that didn't feel practiced at all. "Sometimes the best things in life are completely insane. Like falling in love with a woman who quotes Jane Austen when she's angry and organizes her bookstore by how likely the books are to make you cry."
"That's a perfectly valid organizational system," Piper protested weakly, but her heart was doing something complicated in her chest.
"Of course it is, Red." His smile was soft, private. "Just like your collection of first editions that you keep in the wrong order just to annoy your more pedantic customers."
"You noticed that?"
"I notice everything about you."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with something that felt dangerously close to truth. Piper became acutely aware that they were still holding hands under the table, that she could smell his cologne, that if she leaned forward just slightly...
"Your foam is melting," Bradley announced, effectively shattering the moment.
Right. Dinner. Cousins. Fake relationship.
"So, Bradley," Ash said smoothly, though his hand tightened slightly around Piper's, "Rachel tells me you're in real estate?"
The conversation turned to safer topics – property values, market trends, Bradley's very strong opinions about crown molding. But Piper couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between her and Ash, like a book being reshelved in a slightly different spot.
"You're quiet," Ash murmured during dessert, while Rachel was interrogating the waiter about non-alcoholic beverages.
"Just thinking."
"Dangerous hobby."
"Says the man with a PhD in overthinking."
He laughed softly. "Fair point. Want to share with the class?"
Piper looked at him – really looked at him. At the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, at the barely-visible freckle behind his left ear, at all the little details she definitely shouldn't have noticed about her fake fiancé.
"Just wondering," she said carefully, "if we're getting too good at this."
His expression flickered, just for a moment. "At what?"
"At..." she gestured vaguely between them. "This. The whole... thing."
"Ah." He was quiet for a moment, then: "Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't know."
"Well," he said finally, "at least we're confusing ourselves as much as we're confusing them. Makes it more authentic, right?"
"Right," Piper agreed, ignoring the way her heart sank. "Authentic."
Rachel chose that moment to return from her bathroom break (her third of the evening), practically glowing with barely-contained secrets. "So, have you two thought about kids?"
This time, they both choked on their water.
Professional friendship, Piper reminded herself firmly as Ash launched into a carefully rehearsed speech about taking things one step at a time. This was just business. Just two friends helping each other out.
But if that was true, why did her hand feel so cold when he finally let it go?
Reunion
"You don't have to do this," Ash said for the third time, watching Piper apply her lipstick in his car's visor mirror. "The contract doesn't cover high school reunions."
"The contract doesn't cover a lot of things," she replied, carefully blotting with a tissue. "Like you reorganizing my entire mystery section by 'most likely to actually solve the crime before the detective.'"
"That was a public service."
"You put 'The Da Vinci Code' in the 'reader is smarter than the protagonist' section."
"And I stand by that decision." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous tell she'd never seen from him before. "Seriously, though. This isn't your battle."
Piper turned to look at him properly. In his tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt, he looked every inch the successful, confident man she knew him to be. But there was something in his eyes – a shadow of the boy he must have been, walking these same halls fifteen years ago.
"Hey," she said softly, reaching over to straighten his already-perfect tie. "You showed up at my cousin's wedding. You charmed my parents. You've spent weeks pretending to be madly in love with me. The least I can do is help you show your high school nemesis that you turned out just fine."
"I never said anything about a nemesis."
"You didn't have to. No one gets this nervous about a reunion unless there's a nemesis involved."
His lips twitched. "Her name was Chelsea Matthews. She told the whole school I cheated on my SATs because there was 'no way the scholarship kid actually scored higher than her.'"
"Ah." Piper nodded sagely. "And now she's...?"
"Junior partner at her daddy's law firm, according to Facebook. Married to the former quarterback. Two perfect children and a house in the Hamptons."
"Boring," Piper declared. "We're way more interesting."
"Are we?"
"Obviously. I mean, look at us – the escort and the bookstore owner, finding love in the middle of a inheritance scheme? It's practically a romance novel."
"Professional companion," he corrected automatically, but he was finally smiling. "And I suppose we do make a good story."
"The best story." She reached over and took his hand, ignoring how natural it felt. "Now come on, Valentine. Let's go show Chelsea Matthews what happily ever after really looks like."
The reunion was being held in the school gymnasium, because apparently some clichés were universal. But the decorating committee had gone all out – fairy lights everywhere, a actual disco ball, and enough nostalgic touches to fill a John Hughes movie marathon.
"Nice," Piper commented as they walked in. "Very 'Pretty in Pink' meets 'Instagram influencer's wedding.'"
"God, I love your brain," Ash said, then quickly added, "Professionally speaking, of course."
"Of course."
They'd barely made it to the punch bowl (spiked, because some traditions never die) when a voice that could cut glass rang out across the room.
"Ash Valentine, is that you?"
Chelsea Matthews hadn't changed much in fifteen years, except that now her perfectly highlighted hair probably cost more than Piper's monthly rent. She descended upon them in a cloud of designer perfume and barely concealed judgment.
"Chelsea," Ash said smoothly, his arm sliding around Piper's waist. "You look well."
"And you look... successful." Chelsea's eyes flicked to Piper, taking in her vintage Valentino dress (thrifted) and deliberately messy updo. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"Of course. Chelsea Matthews, this is my fiancée, Piper Montgomery."
"Montgomery?" Chelsea's perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. "Of the Boston Montgomerys?"
"The very same," Piper said cheerfully. "Though I'm afraid I'm the family disappointment. I chose books over law school."
"How... quirky." Chelsea's smile didn't reach her eyes. "And how did you two meet?"
"At a funeral," they said in unison, then grinned at each other.
"It's actually quite romantic," Ash continued, his thumb tracing circles on Piper's hip in a way that was very distracting. "She quoted Joan Didion, I quoted Dorothy Parker, and the rest is history."
"Plus," Piper added, unable to help herself, "he scored really well on all my tests."
Ash choked on his punch. Chelsea looked confused.
"Tests?"
"Oh, you know," Piper waved vaguely. "SATs, IQ, emotional intelligence... I find standardized testing very sexy."
Chelsea's face went through several interesting expressions before settling on a tight smile. "Well, isn't that... special. If you'll excuse me, I think I see Todd by the DJ booth."
The moment she was gone, Ash buried his face in Piper's hair, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"You," he managed finally, "are absolutely terrible."
"I prefer 'strategically chaotic.'"
"You practically gave her an aneurysm with that testing comment."
"That was the goal." She turned in his arms, straightening his tie again even though it didn't need it. "No one makes my fake fiancé feel insecure about his SAT scores except me."
Something flickered in his eyes – something warm and dangerous and not at all professional. "Dance with me."
"What?"
"Dance with me," he repeated, already pulling her toward the dance floor. "They're playing our song."
"We don't have a song."
"Sure we do. Listen."
The opening notes of "Time After Time" filled the gym, and Piper couldn't help laughing as Ash spun her under the disco ball.
"A Cyndi Lauper slow dance? Really?"
"Hey, if we're doing the whole high school reunion thing, we might as well commit."
And then his arms were around her waist, and her hands were on his shoulders, and they were swaying in the semi-darkness like they'd done this a thousand times before.
"Thank you," he said softly, after a moment. "For coming tonight. For... being you."
"Anytime." She meant it to sound light, teasing, but it came out far too sincere. "That's what friends are for, right?"
"Right." His hands tightened slightly on her waist. "Friends."
The disco ball sent patterns of light dancing across his face, catching in his eyes, and Piper suddenly couldn't remember why this was supposed to be pretend. Why they had all these rules and boundaries and careful professional distances.
"Ash?"
"Hmm?"
"I think..." she started, then stopped as the song changed to something faster, breaking the spell.
He pulled back slightly, though his hands stayed on her waist. "You think what?"
"I think Chelsea Matthews is watching us," she said instead of what she'd been about to say. "Want to really give her something to talk about?"
His smile turned wicked. "What did you have in mind?"
So she kissed him.
It was supposed to be for show – quick, cute, the kind of kiss you'd expect from an engaged couple at a reunion. But then his hand came up to cup her face, and she made a small sound in the back of her throat, and suddenly it wasn't for show at all.
When they finally broke apart, the disco ball was still turning, Chelsea Matthews was definitely staring, and nothing felt professional anymore.
"That was..." Ash started.
"For authenticity," Piper finished quickly. "You know, maintaining our cover."
"Right." He touched his lips briefly. "Cover."
But later, when they were slow dancing again to some '80s power ballad, Piper could have sworn she felt him press a kiss to her hair – soft, quick, definitely not for show.
Professional friendship was starting to feel like the biggest lie of all.