Marla’s POV
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I stepped into the Twilight Zone. Because there he was, Ives Mercer, the ice-cold billionaire with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, sitting in a scratchy hospital chair, sleeves rolled up, eating greasy diner burgers and curly fries like he wasn’t above ketchup stains.
“I can’t believe you’ve never had a chili dog,” my grandma said, half-offended, half-amused.
“I usually stick to... cleaner food,” Ives replied, eyebrows raised as he tried not to spill mustard on his white shirt. “But this, this is kind of incredible.”
“It’s garbage,” I muttered, slouched on the windowsill, glancing at my chili dog while he begins to chow down, “but the good kind of garbage.”
He cracked a small smile. “Exactly.”
My grandma patted his arm. “Marla used to skip class just to get fries from that food truck on Maple. She has a weakness for junk.”
“What can I say, some things never change,” Ives said, glancing at me. I rolled my eyes, but my mouth twitched. And I hated that it twitched. There was no PR team here, no camera flashes. Just my grandmother and a man who, for reasons I couldn’t decode, was eating gas station nachos and talking about his favorite childhood cartoons like he had nothing else to prove.
It was the most human I’d ever seen him, and it messed with my head. Grandma eventually drifted to sleep with a soft snore. I stood to clean up the wrappers, the room dimming with her breath. The second it was just us, the air shifted. Still, and tight.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “Really.”
Ives leaned back in the chair, tossing a napkin into the trash bag. “She looked like she was waiting for someone in that video Dana sent.” I blinked. What video? I didn’t know what he meant, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I filed the thought away, a mental sticky note to ask Dana later. Right now, I have to focus.
“So you just showed up with a fruit basket like this is a PR tour?”
He looked down at his hands for a second, then shook his head. “No. I messed up earlier.” I blinked. Was that an apology trying to sneak out of his mouth? He continued, calmer than I've ever heard him.
“You got a call in the middle of a ball, and I just stood there like it was nothing. That was... wrong. I thought I was protecting the plan, keeping up the act… but I wasn’t thinking about you. Or her.” I didn’t answer right away.
Then he added, quieter this time, “I’ve never had a grandmother. Not one who made chili dogs sound like a love language.”
I looked at him. And for the first time, I didn’t see the strategist, the man constantly calculating outcomes. I saw someone who might actually feel bad. But before I could process it, a soft knock broke the moment.
A nurse stepped in, flipping through a folder. “Miss Quintell? Just a reminder, billing’s still pending. Let us know if you'd like to arrange something before discharge.”
My stomach twisted. “Yeah... I’ll take care of it.” The door clicked shut.
Ives turned to me. “You’re really pulling out of the deal?”
I crossed my arms. “You’re seriously asking that now?”
“I just need to know.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You want me back?” He nodded. And for one stupid second, my heart actually flickered. Then he said it.
“I need you. For the public, for the image.” There it was.
I let out a breath that felt like surrender. Of course. The warm moment, the shared burger, the chili-dog nostalgia, that was just the opening act. A performance. He didn’t want me. He needed me. For the role. For the image. Nothing more. And really, why did I even expect anything... more? But what choice did I have? There were still bills to pay. For my grandma. For rent. For the never-ending avalanche of debt that didn’t care whether my heart was in it or not.
“Do you have the ring?” I asked.
He nodded, reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. He held my hand and slid it through my ring finger. “Fine. Let’s continue this pretend shit.” Even though I don't feel like I’m pretending anymore.