Chapter 8 - The Unspoken Truth
Claire leaned against the wooden railing, looking out over the dark waters of Lake Norman.
“So,” she murmured softly, her voice carrying a quiet, sweet sadness. “Ten hours is officially up.”
I stepped up beside her, leaning my elbows on the railing. “It’s been almost fourteen hours, actually.”
“Are you going to charge me overtime, Mr. Reed?” she asked, looking up at me with a soft, teasing smile.
“I don't know,” I smiled back. “My rates for playing a fake husband are pretty high.”
Claire laughed—a light, musical sound that seemed to chase away the last remnants of the night’s trauma. She turned her body toward me, resting her hand lightly against my chest, right over my heart.
“Why did you do it, Mason?” she asked, her eyes searching mine with absolute earnestness. “When I shoved that silver ring onto your finger in seat 31A, you could have called the flight attendant. You could have told me I was crazy. You didn't know me.”
I looked down at her—at her brilliant dark eyes, her strength, her gentle soul that had survived years of emotional cruelty without losing its sweetness.
“I spent twenty years driving trucks across this country, Claire,” I said quietly. “I’ve seen thousands of roads, thousands of towns, thousands of people running away from something. But when I looked at you at Gate 42 in Rome, I didn't see someone running away.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw someone waiting to be found,” I murmured softly. “I saw a woman who deserved a man who would stand in front of her when the wind got rough.”
Claire’s breath hitched. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she didn't wipe them away. She reached up, her fingers gently cupping the side of my face.
“I didn't recruit a fake husband, Mason,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I think I found the only real man I’ve ever met.”
I leaned down, closing the small distance between us, and kissed her.
It wasn't a fake kiss for Grant. It wasn't a performance for her mother or the cameras. It was slow, deep, and sweet—a promise forged in the sky over the Atlantic and sealed under the stars of North Carolina.
When I pulled back, Claire was smiling, her face radiant in the lantern light.
“What happens now, Mason Reed?” she asked.
May you like
I took her hand, holding it tight against my chest.
“Now, wife,” I smiled, “I drive you home.”
