Chapter 8 - THE BLACK-TIE ESCAPE
By two in the morning, the wedding reception had finally burned itself out.
The drunken uncles had been stuffed into Ubers, Aunt Judith had retired to her bridal suite to count her newly acquired social victories, and the grand glass pavilion was quiet, illuminated only by the dying embers of the fire pit down on the beach.
Maya stood on the balcony of the master guest cottage, staring out at the moonlight dancing across the ink-black waters of the strait. She had kicked off her heels hours ago, and now wore one of Mason’s oversized cashmere sweaters over her slip dress, the sleeves rolled up past her wrists.
Sliding glass doors clicked open behind her.
Mason stepped out onto the balcony, carrying two crystal glasses of aged bourbon. He handed one to her, leaning his forearms against the wrought-iron railing beside her.
“Your family is officially convinced we’re moving to a penthouse in Zurich next month,” Mason remarked, taking a slow sip of his drink.
Maya let out a soft, melodic laugh, leaning her head against his shoulder. “My aunt asked if you could help my cousin Toby restructure his student loans. I told her you specialized in hostile takeovers, and Toby turned the color of skim milk and ran away to the dessert table.”
Mason chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his side. The cold island wind didn't reach them here, sheltered by the stone architecture of the estate.
“So,” Mason murmured, looking down at her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “The twenty-four hours are up, Maya. The wedding is over. The charade has concluded.”
Maya’s heart did a strange, painful little flip in her chest. She looked up at him, her dark eyes searching his face in the moonlight.
“Is it a charade?” she asked softly, her voice barely louder than the lapping of the tide below.
Mason’s hand slid up her back, his fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of her neck. His thumb brushed gently against her lower lip.
“Not a single second of it,” he whispered.
He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that erased every doubt, every fear, and every rational thought in her head. It was deep, hungry, and entirely absolute—a promise carved in stone.
When they finally broke apart for air, Maya rested her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful thud of his heart beneath the cashmere sweater.
“So what happens tomorrow?” she asked, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Do I go back to pulling double shots at Verona Brew while you manage international cartels from your corner table?”
Mason’s arms tightened around her, holding her as if he never intended to let go.
“Tomorrow,” Mason said, his voice ringing with quiet, absolute authority, “you hand in your apron. And you come work for the only investor who matters.”
Maya laughed, tilting her head back to look at him with shining eyes.
May you like
“Is that a hostile takeover?” she asked.
“It’s a merger,” Mason replied, kissing her forehead. “And it’s permanent.”
