Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Claire POV

Ethan's words hang in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. "Will you marry me? Just for show." My heart slams against my ribs, and I'm caught between wanting to laugh at the absurdity and wanting to cry because it's him. The man I've loved for years is asking me to be his wife, but it's a lie, a bandage for his wounded pride.

"Ethan, this is insane," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands tremble, and I clutch my clipboard tighter, like it can anchor me.

"I know," he says, his gray eyes intense, unyielding. "But I can't walk out there humiliated. Not today. You're the only one who can pull this off, Claire. Name your price, anything."

Anything. The word echoes, tempting and cruel. I want to scream that I don't want his money, that I want him, but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I see Sophia's note in my mind, "I can't do this. I'm sorry.", and a reckless part of me surges forward. This is my chance, my one shot to be close to him, even if it's a sham.

"Okay," I say, the word slipping out before I can stop it. "I'll do it."

His shoulders relax, just a fraction, and he nods. "Thank you, Claire. You don't know what this means."

I swallow hard, my stomach churning. "We need to move fast. The guests are restless."

He straightens, the CEO mask sliding back into place. "Tell Father Michael we're proceeding. I'll handle the rest."

I nod, already turning, my mind racing. As I hurry back into the church, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, focusing on the task. Father Michael's near the altar, speaking softly to a few lingering guests. I wave him over, keeping my voice low.

"Father, the wedding's back on," I say. "Slight change of bride. It's me."

His eyes widen, but he recovers quickly. "Are you sure, Ms. Lawson?"

"Positive," I say, forcing a smile. "Can you adjust the vows? Keep it simple?"

"Of course," he says, his tone gentle. "I'll make it work."

I head to the lounge where the bridesmaids are waiting, their faces a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Ladies, we're moving forward," I say, my voice sharper than I mean it. "Get to your places. No questions."

They exchange glances but obey, filing out. I grab Sophia's second gown from the rack, my fingers brushing the ivory lace. It's still warm from her fitting yesterday, and a pang of guilt hits me. I'm stepping into her life, her dress, her moment. But she left. She chose to run.

I slip into a side room, locking the door. The gown is a size too big, but I manage, zipping it up with shaking hands. My reflection in the mirror is a stranger, chestnut hair pinned hastily, hazel eyes wide with panic. I look like a bride, but I feel like a fraud. My phone buzzes again, insistent, but I shove it into my bag. No time.

A knock at the door. "Claire?" It's Daniel, his voice muffled. "You ready?"

I open the door, and his smirk falters, replaced by something softer. "Damn, Claire. You clean up nice."

"Save it," I say, brushing past him. "Is Ethan at the altar?"

"Yeah, looking like he's about to face a firing squad," he says, falling into step beside me. "You sure about this?"

I don't answer, my heels clicking on the marble floor. The church hums with tension as I reach the vestibule. The organist starts the wedding march, and the guests turn, their whispers sharp and judgmental. I catch snippets, "Who is she?" "His assistant?" "Poor Ethan." My cheeks burn, but I lift my chin, gripping the bouquet I grabbed from a bridesmaid.

Ethan's waiting at the altar, his face pale but composed. His eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see gratitude, maybe even relief. I focus on that, not the stares boring into my back. Father Michael begins, his voice steady, and I barely hear the vows, my pulse roaring in my ears. Ethan's hand is warm when he takes mine, slipping a ring, Sophia's ring, onto my finger. It's too loose, but I curl my hand to keep it in place.

"I do," he says, his voice low, firm.

"I do," I echo, my throat tight.

Father Michael pronounces us husband and wife, and Ethan leans in, his lips brushing mine in a brief, perfunctory kiss. The guests applaud, some hesitantly, others with relief that the show's over. I force a smile, my heart a tangled mess of elation and dread.

We turn to face the crowd, hand in hand, and I spot Daniel in the front row, his smirk back in full force. He winks, and I want to strangle him. Matthew Carter's there too, his expression unreadable, but he claps, so the others follow. The organ swells, and we start down the aisle, Ethan's grip on my hand tight, like he's afraid I'll bolt.

Outside, the photographers are waiting, their flashes blinding. Ethan pulls me close, his arm around my waist, and I play along, smiling for the cameras. "Thank you," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "Anything you want, Claire. It's yours."

I nod, unable to speak. The Rolls-Royce is idling at the curb, and we slide inside, the door shutting out the chaos. The car smells of leather and champagne, and for a moment, it's just us. Ethan leans back, closing his eyes, and I see the cracks in his armor, lines around his mouth, shadows under his eyes.

"You okay?" I ask, my voice soft.

He laughs, a hollow sound. "Not even close. But you… you saved me today."

I want to believe him, to think this means something, but the ring on my finger feels like a prop. "We'll figure out the next steps," I say, slipping back into assistant mode. "I'll draft a press release, spin it as a love story, "

"Claire," he interrupts, his eyes opening. "Just… be my wife for now. We'll deal with the rest later."

My heart lurches, but before I can respond, my phone buzzes again, louder in the quiet car. I pull it out, and Emily's name flashes on the screen. My stomach drops. I hesitate, then answer, bracing myself.

"Claire, what the hell is going on?" Emily's voice is a furious hiss. "I just saw the news. You married him? Ethan Carter?"

"Emily, it's not, " I start, but she cuts me off.

"Don't you dare lie to me," she snaps. "You think I don't know you've been in love with him forever? This is a mistake, Claire. He's using you, and you're going to get your heart broken."

I glance at Ethan, who's staring out the window, oblivious. "It's complicated," I whisper, turning away. "I'll explain later."

"There's nothing to explain," she says, her voice rising. "You're not his rebound, Claire. You're better than this. Get out now before it's too late."

Tears prick my eyes, and I hang up, my hand shaking. Emily's words are a cold splash of reality, stripping away the fragile hope I've been clinging to. I'm not Ethan's wife, not really. I'm a stand-in, a shield for his reputation. And yet, as I look at him, his profile sharp against the city skyline, I can't help but want this, even if it's a lie.