It started with her alarm going off 40 minutes late, then her transit card declining at the Boryong station because she’d forgotten to reload it, which meant she paid cash for a ride share and spent $7 she absolutely did not have. By the time Josie stumbled into the lobby, her Tuesday had already cemented itself as a disaster of epic proportions. She spotted Dean Hartley before he spotted her, which was the only small mercy the universe offered that day. He was standing near the concierge desk with a woman Josie could only describe as suspiciously photogenic, the kind of woman whose hair looked like it had been professionally arranged to appear effortlessly casual.
Josie turned sharply and walked the other direction. She made it approximately four steps before she heard her name. “Josie. ”
She turned.
The box was still open. The ring inside was enormous. Josie’s ex-boyfriend, the same man who had told her 8 months ago that he was not in a place to be serious about anything, had just gotten engaged to a woman he had presumably been very serious about for the entire duration of those 8 months. “So sweet that you’re still in the neighborhood,” she managed.
“Have you been waiting long? ” He asked it with that old, familiar ease, as if they’d run into each other at a coffee shop, not at the site of his fresh engagement. “Not at all,” Josie said. “I was just on my way to a meeting.
”
“Right,” Dean said, and his new fiancée smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Josie, this is Elena,” Dean said, as if introducing her to a stranger, as if 8 months of silence hadn’t happened between them. “Congratulations,” Josie said, and she meant it, which was somehow the worst part. She meant it, and she hated that she meant it.
The man standing beside her was tall, dark-haired, wearing a charcoal suit that had clearly been made for him specifically and not pulled off a rack. He was looking down at her with calm gray eyes and the faintest trace of something that could have been amusement if you were watching carefully enough. She had never seen him before in her life. “I’m Roman,” he said, and she shook his hand, still too stunned to ask who he was or why he was standing there.
“Josie,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I know,” he said, and then he turned to Dean. “Congratulations on your engagement. I hope you both find exactly what you deserve.
”
Dean’s face flickered with something that might have been confusion or might have been annoyance, but Roman was already guiding Josie toward the elevators, his hand light on her elbow. “Who are you? ” she asked. “The man who’s about to offer you a job,” he said.
It lasted about 3 seconds, long enough to be real, long enough for Josie to make a small startled sound, and for Roman to go very quiet. Then he led her into a conference room on the 18th floor, and the door clicked shut behind them. “I need someone to be my girlfriend,” he said. “Excuse me?
”
“Not a real girlfriend,” he clarified. “A pretend one. For a period of time. Paid.
Contractual. ”
Josie stared at him. “Is this a prank? ”
“No.
Most people would be upset. ”
“I’m not most people,” she heard herself say, and she was surprised by the words coming out of her mouth. “Good,” Roman said. “I need someone who can hold a conversation, doesn’t want anything from me, and won’t sell the story to a gossip outlet.
”
“How do you know I won’t sell the story? ”
“Because you just spent $7 you couldn’t afford on a ride share, and you haven’t asked about the salary yet,” he said. “You’re not the type. ”
She wasn’t sure why she agreed.
Perhaps because she was curious, or because her Tuesday had been so catastrophic that the only reasonable response was to lean into the chaos. But she looked at him, standing there in his perfectly tailored suit, with his calm gray eyes and his absurd proposition, and she said, “I’m going to need a lawyer. ”
“I already have one,” he said. “She’s very good.
”
“If anything feels wrong, I walk,” Josie said. “Agreed,” he said, and he extended his hand. She looked at it for a moment, then she shook it. The first event was a fundraising gala at the Distillery District.
The crowd inside was the kind she’d seen on the outside of magazine covers, but never from within. Roman’s hand was warm on her back, and he introduced her to people whose names she’d seen in headlines, and she smiled until her face ached, and she tried not to think about Dean and his enormous ring and his new fiancée. A woman named Diana appeared near the champagne table, tall, stunning, carrying herself with the particular confidence of someone who was accustomed to being the most relevant person in any room. She and Roman had clearly been together once.
Josie could tell by the way Roman’s posture went fractionally more controlled. “You went approximately 12% stiffer when she appeared,” Josie murmured. “It’s what I do,” he said. “Most things worth having aren’t,” he said, and she filed that away.
Diana approached, and Roman introduced Josie as his girlfriend. Diana smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and Josie watched Roman’s jaw tighten, and she found herself stepping slightly closer to him, just enough to make the gesture unmistakable. The text came later that night, from an unknown number. It was a screenshot of her and Roman at the gala, captioned with something about “Roman Castellan’s mystery woman.
” Then another screenshot, more emphatic. Then a calm, brief message from Roman: “I should have warned you this was likely. ”
Roman handled all of it with the same measured composure. “It’s what she does,” he said, entirely without irony.
“She? ” Josie asked. “Diana,” he said. “She doesn’t like being replaced.
”
The weekend trip to the cottage in Muskoka came faster than Josie expected. It was an old stone farmhouse with gardens that still smelled of late summer lavender, which Irene, Roman’s mother, had been trying to book for something or other for years. Albert, Roman’s father, gave a toast that was precise and brief and contained exactly one joke, which landed. Josie laughed, and she saw Roman’s eyes flick to her with something that looked almost like surprise.
“She’s charming,” Irene said, studying Josie with the same still quality as Roman, but without whatever had softened it in the sun. “Thank you,” Josie said, and she meant it. “Roman never brings anyone home,” Albert said, directing this at Josie rather than Roman. “I’m choosing to believe it was both,” Josie said, and she saw the faintest trace of amusement cross Roman’s face.
On the drive back, Roman was quiet for a long stretch of the 401. “Your father still isn’t convinced,” Josie said. “He’s not the one I’m trying to convince,” Roman said, and then he fell silent again. It wasn’t a thing, Josie told herself.
It was a contract. It had a term sheet and a lawyer and a confidentiality agreement. The hand on her back at events was a prop. The way he always made sure she had a drink in her hand or a clear path to the exit was just good hosting.
But she noticed things. The way he’d notice when she was cold before she noticed it herself, and hand her a scarf without comment. The way he’d look at her phone over her shoulder and say, “Your mother is calling,” before her screen even lit up. The way he’d laugh at her jokes, not politely, but like he was genuinely caught off guard by them.
Albert called two days after they got back. “Josie,” he said, “I’m not trying to pry, but I need to ask you something. ”
“Yes? ”
“Are you in love with my son?
”
Josie nearly dropped the phone. “I’m sorry? ”
“It’s a simple question,” Albert said, and Josie could hear that he genuinely wanted the answer. “We’re…
we’re not… ” she started, but she couldn’t finish the sentence. “That’s what I thought,” Albert said, and he hung up. Josie stood there with the phone in her hand, and she knew, with a clarity that made her stomach drop, that Albert had seen right through her.
She was in love with Roman Castellan. She was in love with her fabricated boyfriend, the man who’d hired her to pretend. She didn’t know how to tell him. More importantly, she didn’t know if she wanted to tell him, because what if he didn’t feel the same way?
What if she was just a convenient actress, a pretty face who had signed a contract and would be out of his life as soon as the term was up? She spent the next few days avoiding him. She answered his texts with one-word replies and made excuses for why she couldn’t meet. She told herself it was self-protection, but what she really was doing was trying to find the nerve to face him.
It happened on a Thursday night, at his place. He’d asked her to come over for a drink, and she’d gone because she couldn’t think of a good excuse fast enough. They were sitting on his couch, a glass of wine between them, and she was staring at the way the light caught his hands, and she knew she was going to say something she couldn’t take back. “Roman,” she said.
“Yes? ”
“If I told you something, and it wasn’t part of the contract, would you hear me out? ”
He set his glass down and turned to face her fully. “That depends on what it is.
”
“I spent the last week trying not to think about you,” she said, “and it didn’t work. ”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “What are you saying? ”
“I’m saying I don’t want this to be fake anymore,” she said, and the words came out stronger than she’d expected.
“I’m saying I think I’ve been falling for you since the moment you offered me that ridiculous job. ”
He stood up then, and she thought she’d misjudged everything, that she’d ruined the contract and his trust and everything they’d built. But he walked to the window and looked out at the city for a long time, and then he turned back to her. “Josie,” he said, “if I asked you to stay, not for the contract, not for appearances, would you?
”
“Yes,” she said without hesitating. He crossed the room and sat down beside her, closer than he’d ever sat before. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for weeks,” he said. “I didn’t want to risk it.
”
“Risk what? ”
“Risk losing you,” he said, and then he kissed her. It was slow and careful, like he was memorizing the feel of her lips. When they pulled apart, Josie laughed, a little breathlessly.
“I’m still not going to organize your clothes by category,” she said. “I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. Life would never be the same. A few weeks later, Josie opened the door to her apartment in Little Portugal to find Roman waiting for her outside, holding a single red rose and wearing his usual half-smile.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said. “You live 20 minutes away,” she said. “It’s a long neighborhood,” he said, and she laughed. She set the rose in a glass on the counter and turned to face him.
“I have a question,” she said. “Is it about my intentions? ”
“It’s about the woman I saw you with today,” she said. “The one with the red hair, at the cafe on Queen Street.
”
Roman’s face went carefully blank. “That was a client,” he said. “A client who kissed your cheek,” Josie said. “She’s an old friend,” he said.
“It’s how she greets everyone. ”
“You went stiff,” Josie said. “Like you do around Diana. ”
Roman set his jaw.
“I went stiff because I knew you’d react exactly like this, and I didn’t want to spoil the news I have. ”
“What news? ”
“I’ve been offered a position overseas,” he said. “A senior role, my dream job.
But it means leaving Toronto. ”
Josie’s whole body went cold. “When? ”
“In two weeks,” he said.
“And you’re telling me now? ” she said, and she could hear the edge in her own voice. “I wasn’t going to tell you until I’d decided,” he said. “Let me guess,” she said.
“You decided to take it. ”
“I decided to ask if you’d come with me,” he said. Josie stared at him. “Come with you?
To another country? ”
“Yes,” he said. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But I don’t want to do it without you.
”
She was quiet for a long moment, and then she said, “What about my life here? My job, my friends? ”
“You can find work anywhere,” he said, and she saw, for the first time, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I need time,” she said.
“Take all the time you need,” he said, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. A week later, Josie stood in her apartment in Little Portugal, exactly as she’d left it. Everything was the same. The same chipped coffee mug, the same stack of freelance papers, the same view of the city she’d called home.
Everything except her. She thought about the night he’d handed her a scarf at a rooftop event because he’d noticed she was cold before she’d noticed it herself. The way he’d laughed at her jokes, not politely, but like he was caught off guard. The way he’d said, “I don’t want to do it without you,” and meant it.
If I asked you to stay, not for the contract, not for appearances, would you? Yes. She took out her phone and texted him: “I’ll come with you. ”
The response came in under 2 minutes: “You don’t know how happy I am right now.
”
“I have a condition,” she typed. “Name it. ”
“We start fresh. No contract.
No pretending. Just us. ”
“That was always the plan,” he sent back, and Josie smiled at her phone. On the day she was supposed to leave, she packed her grandmother’s ring into her carry-on, telling herself it was for luck.
She took the subway to the airport, her heart pounding the whole way. Roman was waiting at the gate, and when she saw him, all her doubts fell away. “Ready? ” he asked.
“Ready,” she said, and she took his hand. The plane took off, and Josie watched Toronto shrink away beneath them. She didn’t know where life would take them, but for the first time, she wasn’t afraid of the unknown. Two months into their new life, Josie found a letter in Roman’s jacket pocket.
It wasn’t addressed to her. It was from Diana. “Dear Roman,” it read, “I know you think you’re happy, but you’re not. You’re just hiding from what we had.
Josie is a distraction, a pretty face to fill the void. When you realize that, come back. I’ll be waiting. ”
Josie read it three times before she put it back where she found it.
She told herself it was an old letter, a bitter ex trying to stir up trouble. But the date on the envelope was last week. She didn’t confront Roman. She didn’t say a word.
She just started paying attention. Then she noticed it, the subtle things. The way he’d pull back just slightly when she reached for him, as if he was measuring the distance. The way he’d mention Diana casually, so casually it felt rehearsed.
The way his phone would light up with a call, and he’d step into another room. It was a Thursday night when she confronted him. He was making dinner at their new kitchen counter, the one they’d picked out together, and she was standing in the doorway watching him slice vegetables with a calm precision that used to be comforting and now just made her feel like she was watching a stranger. “Roman,” she said.
“Mm? ”
“Who is Diana? ”
He paused, his hand hovering over the cutting board. “I told you.
She’s an ex. ”
“And you told me you were done with all that,” Josie said. “But then I found this in your jacket. ”
She held up the letter, and he went very still.
“It’s nothing,” he said, setting down the knife. “She’s just… she doesn’t accept that we’re over. ”
“Over?
” Josie repeated. “Or not over? ”
“You’re reading too much into it,” he said, but his voice was too careful. “I found it in your jacket, Roman,” she said.
“It’s dated last week. And last night, you got a call at 11:47, and you went into the bathroom, and you stayed there for 15 minutes. ”
“It was my mother,” he said. “Your mother doesn’t call you at midnight,” Josie said, and she heard her own voice crack.
“What are you saying? ” he said, and he took a step toward her. “I’m saying I need to know if you still want this,” she said. “Not because of the contract.
Not because we’re already here. Because you want me, not just the idea of me. ”
“Of course I want you,” he said, but the silence stretched too long before he said it. Later that night, after he’d gone to bed, Josie found a second letter.
This one was tucked inside his passport. It wasn’t from Diana. It was from a different woman, and it was dated even more recently. Josie stood in the bathroom with the letter in her hand, staring at her reflection in the mirror, and she felt the floor give way beneath her.
He’d played her all along. She didn’t sleep that night. She lay awake in the bed she had bought with him, in the city she had moved to for him, in the life she had chosen for him. She watched him sleep, his face peaceful in a way she had never seen it, and she realized she didn’t know him at all.
The next morning, while he was in the shower, she packed her grandmother’s ring into the bottom of her bag and left. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t leave a forwarding address. She just walked out the door, into a city that was still new to her, with no plan and no money and no idea where she was going.
But she was free. And that was enough.
