PART ONE: The Proposal

It was late afternoon, the kind of gray winter day where the light in the office seemed to come more from the computer screens than from the sky. I was halfway through sorting a stubborn stack of invoices, my eyes gritty from the numbers, when the knock came.

Not a polite tap.
A sharp, deliberate rap against the glass door that separated my little desk from the rest of the office.

I looked up.

Dominic Reyes stood there, framed in the frosted glass, in a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable.

“Marisol, may I see you in my office?” he asked, his voice carrying that clipped precision that made everyone in the building sit up straighter.

His Office

I nodded, saved my spreadsheet, and followed him down the hallway. He closed the door slowly behind me, the click of the latch sounding like it locked out the rest of the world.

The blinds were already drawn. The air in here always smelled faintly of cologne and fresh paper, like success sealed in a box. Dominic didn’t sit. He stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other lightly tracing the edge of the sill as if arranging his thoughts.

When he finally spoke, it was with the same tone he used when announcing quarterly targets.
“I have a business proposition for you.”

The Ask

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He turned to face me fully. “I’ve been in business long enough to know appearances matter. To investors. To competitors. To the board. They want to see stability — a family, a home — the image of a man who has it all together.”

I didn’t move.

“I want you to be my wife,” he said plainly.

The words dropped between us, heavy and absurd.

Clarification

“You’re what?” I asked, not sure I’d heard right.

“On paper,” he clarified, as if that made it ordinary. “For two years. We’d sign a legal agreement. Only my attorney and I would know. You, me, and your son, Matteo. You’d play the role of my family. Attend events. Smile for pictures. Appear to be a happy unit. In return, I will compensate you generously — enough to take care of you and your son for the foreseeable future.”

I stared at him. “This is absurd.”

He nodded once, as if expecting that reaction. “I understand it’s not a typical offer. But it’s mutually beneficial. You’re a beautiful young woman, intelligent, hardworking. People will believe it.”

Why Me?

“Why me?” I asked.

His mouth curved — not into a smile, but into something knowing.
“Because you don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

My legs felt suddenly unsteady. I couldn’t tell if I was insulted or scared. Maybe both.

Dominic walked to the door, opened it, and held it for me. “I’ll need your answer by tomorrow.”

I stepped out in a daze. The door clicked shut behind me, and I could feel my co-workers’ eyes darting up, then quickly away.

Back at my desk, the invoices blurred on the screen. My hands hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to do with themselves.

That Night

At home, I tucked Matteo into bed, watching him clutch his worn-out stuffed giraffe. The quiet question gnawed at me: What would it take for a woman to sell her last name to a man she barely knew?

And could I become her?

Memory of Dylan

Lying in bed, I remembered another man. A different kind of promise.

Dylan Brooks. The first man I ever loved. The only one, really. Sun-bleached hair, lazy grin, the kind of boy who could make you feel like the center of the universe just by looking your way.

I was nineteen, still half a girl. He was twenty-four and reckless.

When I told him I was pregnant, his smile vanished.

His first words weren’t Are you sure? or We’ll figure it out.
They were, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

The Fallout

I told him no — that we’d just been careless once. Just once. I’d missed a pill after being sick. But Dylan didn’t hear that. He only heard the end of his freedom.

He pulled out his wallet, tossed two hundred-dollar bills on the counter, and said, “Take care of it.”

I couldn’t breathe. “You’re not serious,” I whispered.

He shrugged. “It’s your body. Your problem. Don’t drag me into this.”

I begged him — God, I was stupid enough to beg. I said we could make it work. I said, “We could be a family.”

He laughed in my face. “We’re barely making rent, Marisol. You think we can raise a kid?”

And then he was gone.

Family Reaction

I hid the pregnancy for almost three months. Baggy clothes, vague excuses. But morning sickness doesn’t last forever.

One afternoon, my dad came home from his second shift and started frying fish. The smell hit me like a punch. I bolted to the bathroom and threw up everything I hadn’t eaten.

When I came out, my father was waiting in the doorway, eyes worried. “Are you sick?” he asked.

I broke. Collapsed into his arms, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. “I’m so sorry, Papa,” I cried. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what to do.”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t scold. He just held me while I shook, his rough hand stroking my back. “Don’t say sorry, mija,” he whispered. “You’re not alone. We’ll figure it out.”

Losing Papa

My father was the first person to make me believe I could survive it. The next day, we told Mama. That was harder.

Rosa wasn’t the type to accept surprises, especially not the kind that ruin reputations. She called me reckless, foolish, said no man would want me after this. But she didn’t throw me out. She made sure I ate. She rubbed my back when I couldn’t sleep. That was her version of love — quiet, sharp at the edges.

Matteo was born on a Wednesday afternoon in late October. My dad missed his shift to be in the delivery room with me. When the nurse placed Matteo in my arms, tiny and warm and loud, I saw my father cry for the first time.

Three months later, he was gone. A heart attack at work. No warning — just a call from the ER and a silence I’d never known before.

Back to Now

Everything after that felt like walking through fog. Bills piled up. Mama sold her jewelry. I went back to work too soon. Every diaper and bottle felt heavier without Papa’s hands helping hold the world together.

And now here was Dominic Reyes, offering me money to pretend I had a husband.

I looked over at Matteo’s crib. He was dreaming, one hand curled into a fist. I used to dream like that too.

PART TWO: The Agreement

The night after Dominic’s proposal, I barely slept.

I lay awake in the half-dark, the baby monitor’s faint hum filling the silence. Matteo’s soft, steady breathing was a comfort, but it didn’t quiet my thoughts. I kept seeing Dominic’s face, hearing those words in his measured voice:

I want you to be my wife.

Not for love.
Not for dreams.
For image.

And yet, I wasn’t angry. I was… tired. Tired of fighting the math every month. Tired of seeing Mama’s eyes tighten when she opened another utility bill. Tired of wondering if the jar of coins in the pantry could stretch to cover formula.

The Ledger on the Table

By the next afternoon, Matteo was napping and Mama was stirring a pot of caldo on the stove. I sat at the kitchen table with my checkbook and the bills spread out like a jury about to deliver a verdict.

The numbers didn’t lie.
We couldn’t keep going like this.

It wasn’t pride that kept me from asking Mama for more help — it was knowing she had nothing left to give. She’d already pawned her wedding earrings to cover Matteo’s hospital bills last winter.

The Decision

The next morning, I walked into Dominic’s office.

He didn’t look surprised to see me. He gestured for me to sit, then shut the door behind me just like before.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

He studied me for a long moment, as if measuring the conviction in my voice. Then he nodded. “Good. There are conditions.”

“Of course. I have conditions too.” My voice didn’t shake this time. “No physical relationship. No expectations outside of appearances. Matteo stays with me at all times. And no one else knows about this — not even my mother.”

“Agreed,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll have my attorney draw up the documents.”

The Ceremony

It was surreal.
Like I was signing away not just two years of my life, but the last pieces of whatever story I’d once imagined for myself.

The civil ceremony happened the following Friday. No dress. No flowers. No guests. Just signatures and silence in a municipal office that smelled faintly of floor cleaner.

Afterward, Dominic handed me a check — more money than I had ever seen in my life — and said, “You’ll move in by Monday. A driver will pick you up.”

Packing for a New Life

That weekend, I packed Matteo’s clothes with trembling hands. Mama helped, folding tiny shirts and onesies, but I could feel her eyes on me. She didn’t ask where we were going, and I didn’t volunteer the truth. I told myself it was to protect her, but deep down I knew I was also protecting myself from her judgment.

On Monday morning, the car pulled up to the curb — black, sleek, and too shiny for our dusty street.

Mama hugged Matteo so tightly I thought she might not let go. She kissed his curls and whispered something in Spanish I couldn’t quite hear.

When I stepped into the car holding my son, I didn’t feel like a bride or a wife. I felt like someone crossing a line she couldn’t uncross.

The Reyes Estate

The Reyes estate wasn’t a house. It was a statement. Set behind wrought iron gates, surrounded by manicured hedges, it stood tall and pristine, like it had never known a day of mess or noise.

I clutched Matteo tighter as we stepped through the double doors. Dominic wasn’t home. A housekeeper named Elena greeted me with a polite smile and showed us to “our quarters.”

An entire wing, she called it — three rooms, a private bath, a sitting area, even a nursery already set up with new furniture and a mobile hanging from the ceiling. Everything smelled faintly of fresh paint.

I should have felt lucky. Instead, I felt displaced — like a guest in someone else’s perfectly staged life.

The Rules in Practice

That first week set the rhythm. I still worked part-time at the company but reported to a different manager. Dominic and I rarely saw each other during the day, but twice a week, we ate dinner together in full view of the staff.

At the table, we played our roles:
He’d ask about my work.
I’d smile and tell him Matteo was teething.
We’d clink glasses as though we were celebrating something real.

It was like rehearsing a play neither of us particularly wanted to perform.

Cracks in the Script

And yet, small moments caught me off guard.

One evening, I mentioned in passing that Matteo had been waking more often and I wished we had a rocking chair. Two days later, there was one in the nursery. No note. No comment. Just there.

Another time, I caught Dominic in the hallway, quietly watching through the cracked nursery door as I sang Matteo to sleep. When I turned, startled, he stepped back and disappeared without a word.

He never corrected me in front of the staff. Never asked intrusive questions about my past. Never pushed.

The Dangerous Kindness

Kindness is dangerous when you’re lonely. And I was lonelier than I wanted to admit.

When Mama came to visit, she brought tamales wrapped in foil and asked me three times if I was okay. I told her yes. She didn’t believe me, but she kissed Matteo goodnight and pressed her lips to my temple before she left.

That night, I stood on the balcony outside my room, the city lights stretching out in the distance. And I realized something that scared me more than Dominic’s initial proposal had.

This didn’t feel like pretending anymore.
It felt like waiting.

PART THREE: The Gallery Night

The invitation to the gallery event arrived in an embossed envelope with our names printed in gold script.
Dominic had sent a dress to my room earlier that day — folded neatly in a box lined with crisp tissue paper. Midnight blue satin, modest neckline, soft pleats. On top, a note in his precise handwriting:

You’ll look stunning in this. — D.

I almost didn’t wear it.
The part of me that still wanted to keep him at a distance told me to choose something of my own. But curiosity — or something dangerously close to hope — made me slip it on.

The Stairs

When I came down the sweeping staircase, Dominic was waiting by the front door, adjusting his cufflinks. He looked up, and for the first time since we’d met, he didn’t speak. He just stared for a beat too long.

“Too much?” I asked, smoothing the fabric self-consciously.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “No,” he said, voice lower than usual. “You look exactly right.”

The Event

The gallery was on the Riverwalk — all exposed brick and industrial steel softened by glowing lights and the shimmer of expensive art. From the moment we stepped out of the car, the air seemed to thrum with attention. Cameras flashed. Investors and artists and strangers with champagne flutes turned to look.

Dominic slipped his hand to the small of my back.
Not too firmly, but enough to anchor me.

We moved through the room together, shaking hands, smiling for photos. He was practiced, polished. I matched him beat for beat — the perfect, attentive wife — even as my heart tapped a restless rhythm against my ribs.

Off Script

Halfway through the evening, Dominic leaned down and murmured, “Tired?”

“A little,” I admitted. “But I’m fine.”

He steered us toward the back patio, where soft jazz spilled from hidden speakers and the air was cooler. Beyond the glass railing, the city sparkled.

“I thought you hated events like these,” I said.

“I do,” he replied. “But they help me stay in business.”

“And I help you stay believable,” I teased, a little sharper than intended.

Dominic turned toward me, his expression unreadable. “You do more than that, Marisol. You make me seem… human.”

A Crack in the Armor

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t. We stood there a while longer, letting the silence stretch without breaking.

On the way home, the car was quiet, but not in the uncomfortable way it used to be. It was the kind of quiet that feels charged — like something’s about to change.

When he pulled into the driveway, neither of us moved to get out right away. He rested his hand on the steering wheel, eyes forward.

“I wasn’t always this way,” he said finally. “Cold. Calculated. There was a time when I believed in things like love… family loyalty. But life has a way of breaking those beliefs.”

My Turn

I swallowed. “I thought Dylan loved me,” I said, surprising myself by letting the name out. “He promised we’d build something together. But the second life got messy, he disappeared.”

Dominic’s gaze flicked to me. “That man’s a fool.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I was the fool for believing him.”

“I don’t think you’re foolish,” Dominic said. “I think you’re stronger than you realize.”

The car was still idling when he leaned forward, just slightly, just enough for me to feel his breath. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, like both of us were testing the edge of something fragile.

After

When we pulled back, neither of us spoke.
I didn’t know what this was becoming — but for the first time since I’d agreed to this arrangement, I wasn’t sure where the lines were anymore.

That night, I slept without the usual restless turning. Without dreams of loss. Without feeling like I had to brace myself for the morning.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

PART FOUR: The Gala Shock

The invitation was impossible to refuse — a birthday gala for one of Dominic’s oldest business partners, the kind of event where absence was noticed and questions were asked.
Lavish. Formal. Very public.

I didn’t want to go. I told myself it was because Matteo had a mild fever, or because Mama was tired, or because the emerald silk gown Dominic had sent over was a little too extravagant for someone who still did her own laundry.

But the truth was, I didn’t want to break the quiet peace we’d been building.
Still, I went.

Walking In

The ballroom was a portrait of opulence. Crystal chandeliers glittered above velvet curtains. Waiters in white gloves circulated with champagne flutes. The air itself smelled expensive.

Dominic was in his element. I kept my hand looped through his arm, playing the part, smiling when people commented on how “lovely” we looked together. I’d gotten better at the performance — too good, maybe.

We were lingering near the bar when I felt it.
That old sinking feeling in my gut.
The one I used to get when I’d check my phone and see no reply.
The one that whispered: Something’s about to hurt.

The Face in the Crowd

And then I saw him.

Dylan.

Sleek suit. Shorter hair. Still carrying that smirk — the kind that always made it seem like he knew something you didn’t. He was laughing at something a blonde woman said, his hand resting casually on the small of her back.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My legs went cold. Without thinking, I gripped Dominic’s arm too tightly.

He looked down at me. “What’s wrong?”

“We have to go,” I whispered. “Please, Dominic. I can’t stay here.”

No Questions

He didn’t ask why. Didn’t press me in front of anyone. Just nodded, placed his hand over mine, and said smoothly, “Excuse us.”

We were halfway to the exit when I heard it:
“Marisol.”

That voice froze me in place.

The Confrontation

I turned slowly, my heart pounding. Dylan stood there with a drink in hand, smiling like we were old friends running into each other at the grocery store.

“Wow,” he said. “I wasn’t sure it was really you. You look… incredible.”

I didn’t answer. Dominic stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Is there a problem?”

Dylan extended a hand. “Dylan Brooks. An old friend.”

“Dominic Reyes,” my husband said evenly. “Her husband.”

Dylan’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, smug. “Husband, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “We were just leaving.”

The Jab

Dylan leaned closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear.
“You never told me. Is the kid mine?”

I felt my stomach twist, but before I could react, Dominic’s voice cut in.
“That’s enough.”

Dylan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just asking. I mean, it would explain why you looked so panicked when you saw me.”

I grabbed Dominic’s hand and pulled him toward the exit.

The Ride Home

We left without another word. In the car, I stared out the window, my hands trembling.

Dominic didn’t speak until we were halfway home. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

He nodded once. “Whenever you’re ready.”

When we got home, Matteo was asleep. I stood by his crib longer than usual, watching his chest rise and fall. My heart felt raw — not because Dylan had reappeared, but because I realized how far I’d come.

I wasn’t that girl anymore.
And if Dylan thought he could walk back into my life and shake the ground under me, he was about to learn how wrong he was.

PART FIVE: The Coffee Shop Answer

Dylan waited two days before reaching out.
A text, short and smug:

We should talk. I have a right to know.

I stared at the screen for a long moment.
The old me would have panicked. The old me would have avoided, denied, maybe even hoped he’d disappear again.

But I wasn’t her anymore.

I didn’t tell Dominic I was going. Not yet. This was mine to finish.

Neutral Ground

I picked a coffee shop near downtown — neutral, public, loud enough that I wouldn’t feel cornered. Dylan was already seated when I arrived, sunglasses indoors, sipping something expensive.

When he saw me, he stood, arms open like we were long-lost friends. I didn’t hug him.

“Marisol,” he said, drawing out my name like it belonged to him. “Damn, you really went all in, huh? Fancy house, powerful husband. You look… comfortable.”

“I’m not here to entertain whatever story you’ve made up in your head,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite him. “Say what you came to say.”

The Question

He leaned back. “I want to know if he’s mine. Matteo.”

“No,” I said flatly. “I’m sure.”

He laughed once, bitter. “You always were a good liar when you needed to be.”

My hands stayed folded on the table. “You left. Not just me, but him. Before he even existed. You made your choice the day you threw cash on the counter and told me not to drag you into my problems.”

The Excuse

“I was scared. Young. We both were,” Dylan said, leaning forward like the words might soften with proximity.

“I was nineteen,” I said, my voice steady, “and I stayed. I raised our son alone. No help. No calls. Not even a damn apology.”

He looked away, jaw flexing. “I’m trying now.”

“It’s too late,” I said quietly. “Matteo has a father — one who sings him to sleep, holds his hand when he’s sick, and shows up every single day. You don’t get to walk in and claim him now because you’re curious or bored or jealous.”

The Closure

For a moment, something in his face cracked. I thought maybe — maybe — he finally understood what he’d lost.

“I’d like to meet him,” he said, softer.

“No,” I replied. Then, after a pause, “But I’ll let you see him once, from a distance. For closure. For both of us.”

His shoulders dropped in something like relief. He nodded. “Okay.”

I stood before he could say anything else. The air outside felt lighter, not because I forgave him, but because I didn’t need to carry him anymore.

Homecoming

When I got home, Dominic was on the porch with Matteo in his lap, reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar for what was probably the fifth time.

Matteo spotted me, grinned, and wriggled down to run into my arms.

Dominic stood, watching me carefully. “Everything okay?”

“Better than okay,” I said, blinking back unexpected tears.

The Truth

“Did you tell him?” Dominic asked.

“I told him the truth,” I said. “And then I let him go.”

Dominic reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You didn’t need me to protect you, Marisol. You never have.”

“I know,” I said, smiling through the ache. “But it’s nice to know you would have tried.”

That night, as Matteo slept between us, his head on Dominic’s chest, their breathing in sync, I realized something simple and undeniable:

I had chosen this life.
Not out of fear.
Out of love.

And for the first time, it felt like it had chosen me back.

PART SIX: The Vineyard Promise

The next Sunday, Dominic asked if we’d like to take a drive out of the city.
He didn’t tell me where we were going, and I didn’t press.

The car wound along a stretch of highway that eventually gave way to open land — golden fields, low hills, the sky stretched wide. Matteo was in the back seat with a juice box, humming to himself, Mama beside him giving occasional warnings about spilling.

When we turned onto a gravel road lined with sycamores, I finally asked, “Where are we?”

The Reyes Vineyard

“It was my grandfather’s,” Dominic said. “I don’t use it for much now — mostly corporate retreats and charity dinners. But today, it’s just for us.”

The vineyard rolled out on both sides, rows of vines catching the late afternoon sun. At the end of the road was a small clearing with a table set under the shade of the trees. There were Mateo’s favorite snacks already laid out, a picnic blanket for him to sprawl on later.

Mama eyed it all suspiciously at first, but when she saw how carefully Dominic handed Matteo his crackers and how easily Matteo accepted them, she relaxed — just a little.

Lunch Under the Trees

Lunch was simple but good. Fresh bread, roast chicken, ripe tomatoes. Matteo ran between the vines after eating, chasing butterflies, while Mama and Dominic talked about the unpredictable price of produce.

I sat back in my chair, watching the light filter through the leaves, feeling the warmth of something I didn’t want to name just yet.

After dessert, Dominic stood and reached into his jacket pocket.

The Words

“Can I say something?” he asked.

I nodded, unsure.

He turned to Mama first.
“Señora Rosa, thank you for raising a daughter strong enough to challenge me — and wise enough to forgive me when I get it wrong.”

Mama’s lips pressed together, but I saw her eyes soften.

Then he looked at me, his voice changing — quieter, more deliberate.

“I once believed family was something you were born into, not something you could build. You proved me wrong, Marisol. You and Matteo made me believe again.”

The Ring

He opened the velvet box. Inside wasn’t just a ring — it was a promise.

“I don’t want a two-year contract anymore,” he said. “I don’t want photos or investors or appearances. I want mornings, diaper changes, sick days, holidays. I want this — us — for real, for as long as you’ll have me.”

The Answer

For a moment, the world blurred. Mama had gone very still. Matteo, sensing something was happening, clapped his hands like he’d been waiting for a show.

“Dominic,” I whispered. “Are you sure?”

He smiled faintly. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

I looked at the ring, then at him — the man who had once treated me like part of a strategy, now looking at me like I was his home.

“Yes,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Belonging

He slipped the ring onto my finger — not sealing a deal this time, but sealing a choice.

We didn’t toast with champagne. We didn’t make speeches. We just stayed there a while longer, barefoot in the grass, Matteo laughing in the background, Mama humming under her breath.

And for the first time since the day I agreed to Dominic’s strange proposal, I didn’t feel like I was pretending to belong.

I did belong.
We all did.

---

THE END