Chapter 5 - MIDNIGHT ON THE DOCK
By midnight, the rehearsal dinner had dissolved into a haze of clinking glasses, distant laughter from the fire pit by the beach, and the steady, rhythmic lapping of the tide against the estate’s private wooden dock.
Maya slipped away from the pavilion, kicking off her heels and carrying them in her left hand as she walked down the winding stone staircase toward the water.
The night air was freezing, biting sharply against her bare shoulders, but she needed the cold. Her brain felt like it was operating at three hundred percent capacity, spinning in circles around the man who had just hijacked her life, her family, and her nervous system over the span of thirty-six hours.
She reached the end of the wooden dock, sitting down on the edge and letting her bare feet dangle a few inches above the dark, inky water reflecting the pale glow of the moon.
Footsteps crunched softly behind her on the weathered planks.
She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The scent of rain and sandalwood preceded him.
Mason stepped out of the shadows, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it neatly over the wooden railing. He loosened his silver silk tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt, and sat down right beside her on the edge of the dock, letting his long legs hang over the water.
“Your family thinks we’re heading to Paris for a romantic getaway after the wedding tomorrow,” Mason remarked quietly, staring out across the dark expanse of the strait toward the distant lights of Vancouver Island.
“My aunt is already mentally planning our nursery,” Maya muttered, resting her chin on her knees. She turned her head to look at him sideways. “You realize, of course, that when this weekend is over, I have to go back to serving oat milk lattes to tech bros in Pioneer Square while you go back to whatever shadowy empire you run from the top floor of a glass tower.”
Mason didn't answer immediately. He picked up a loose pebble from a crack in the wood, turning it over slowly between his thumb and forefinger.
“What do you think I do, Maya?” he asked softly.
“I think you’re dangerous,” she answered without missing a beat. “I think you walk into rooms and people change the subject. I think you have men who follow your orders without asking questions, and I think your version of a ‘bad day’ involves federal indictments or international supply chain disruptions.”
Mason tossed the pebble. It skipped once across the dark water before sinking silently into the depths.
“And yet,” he said, turning his head to meet her gaze, “you didn't hesitate to bring me to your family’s wedding.”
“I didn't have a choice! You bullied me into it with your brushed-metal business card and your intimidating jawline!”
A low, rich chuckle rumbled in Mason’s chest. “You always have a choice, Maya. You chose to trust a stranger because you were cornered.”
“Desperation isn't trust,” she shot back, though the heat had drained entirely from her voice.
Mason shifted closer. The warmth radiating off his broad frame cut through the cold island wind. He reached out, his long fingers gently brushing against her bare arm, sending a shiver racing straight down her spine.
“What if I told you,” Mason whispered, his voice dropping into a raw, unguarded register that made her breath catch, “that out of all the meetings, all the acquisitions, and all the rooms I’ve walked into this year... bringing you to this island was the only thing that felt real?”
Maya’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked up into his storm-gray eyes, searching for the calculation, the irony, the game.
There was none. Just an absolute, terrifying depth.
“You don’t even know me, Mason,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
“I know enough,” he replied, his thumb tracing the line of her jawline. “I know you work eighty hours a week to keep your head above water. I know you protect your friends like a wolf. And I know that when you looked at me across that coffee shop table yesterday morning... you weren't looking at a monster. You were looking at someone who understood what it means to carry too much weight alone.”
Maya’s throat tightened. She wanted to pull away, to build her walls back up, to remind him of the gulf between her tiny studio apartment and his armored Porsche.
Instead, she leaned into his touch.
And then, far down the stone path behind them, a sharp voice cut through the night air.
“Maya? Mason? Are you two down by the water? The stargazing session is about to start!”
It was Aunt Judith.
Mason let out a soft, long-suffering sigh, dropping his hand from her face. He stood up smoothly, offering his hand down to her.
“Come on, future Mrs. Reed,” Mason murmured, a wicked, magnetic smirk touching his lips as the moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face. “Your family is waiting.”
Maya took his hand, letting him pull her up to her feet.
As they walked back up the dock together toward the blazing lights of the estate, Maya realized something terrifying:
May you like
She didn't want the weekend to end.
And worse... she was starting to think the fake boyfriend might actually be the only real thing in her life.
