Nadia didn't sleep. She lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling of the penthouse, listening to the faint rhythm of Tom's breathing from his side of the bed. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind replayed scenarios of failure: stumbling over a question, contradicting Tom, or, worst of all, exposing the marriage for what it was.
By six a.m., she gave up on pretending. She slipped out of bed, padded to the kitchen, and started a pot of coffee strong enough to jolt her into functioning.
Tom appeared half an hour later, hair tousled, tie dangling around his neck. He looked maddeningly calm.
"You've been up all night," he said, noting the untouched mug in her hands.
She didn't deny it. "If we contradict each other on air, Reinhardt will walk. Vogel will tell him we're frauds, and Verdant will collapse."
"And Kingsley Hotels will be left looking like liars." Tom shrugged, pouring himself coffee. "So we don't contradict each other."
She narrowed her eyes. "That's your strategy?"
"That's the only strategy." He sipped. "We rehearse. We trust each other. And then we perform."
Nadia let out a humorless laugh. "Trust. Right."
Tom leaned against the counter, studying her. "You don't have to like me, Nadia. You don't even have to trust me for real. But today, you have to look like you do."
---
They spent the next three hours in the living room, going over potential questions. Tom had a frighteningly good grasp of how journalists thought, predicting the angles before Nadia even considered them.
"They'll ask about how we met," he said, lounging on the sofa with his tie finally in place.
Nadia sat opposite him, notebook in hand. "We tell them the gala at Grosvenor House, three years ago. That's when we actually spoke more than two words."
He tilted his head. "They'll want details. Personal ones."
She hesitated. "Like what?"
"Like why me, why you. What drew us together."
Nadia frowned. "Business. Respect for each other's work."
"That's not romantic."
"It's truthful."
Tom leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Nadia, they don't want truth. They want a story. They want to see two powerful people who found something real in the chaos of London business. They want love, not a merger."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You make it sound like a fairy tale."
He smiled faintly. "I make it sound believable."
---
The practice continued. He asked about her favorite memory together. She stiffened, realizing she had none. He supplied one for them both: a quiet evening after the Verdant-Kingsley renewable partnership was signed, when they shared champagne on the terrace.
"That never happened," she pointed out.
"It did now," he replied.
She scribbled it down, unease curling in her chest.
By late morning, she was drained. Tom was unflappable, confident in every answer. She envied it, even as she resented his ease.
---
The car ride to the Financial Herald studio was silent. Paparazzi had already gathered outside, cameras flashing as the black sedan pulled up. Nadia smoothed her blazer, heart hammering.
Tom reached for her hand. She jerked slightly but didn't pull away.
"Remember," he murmured as the door opened. "We're not business partners today. We're a couple."
---
The studio lights were harsh, the stage minimalist: two chairs angled toward a polished desk, cameras looming overhead. The interviewer, a sharp-eyed woman named Charlotte Hale, greeted them with a professional smile.
"Thank you for agreeing to this," Hale said. "There's been much speculation about your sudden marriage. Today, we'd like to give you the chance to address it."
Nadia's pulse pounded in her ears. She lowered herself into the chair beside Tom, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.
Hale wasted no time. "Let's start with the obvious. Nadia Petrova, Tom Kingsley—why now? Why marry, and why each other?"
Nadia's mind went blank. She opened her mouth, but Tom spoke first.
"Because it felt inevitable," he said smoothly. He turned to look at Nadia, his gaze steady. "We've been circling each other for years. Business brought us together, but I'd be lying if I said it stayed just business."
Nadia forced a small nod. "We… complement each other. Professionally, yes, but personally too."
"Personally how?" Hale pressed.
Tom smiled. "She grounds me. Reminds me that there's more to life than boardrooms. And she's brilliant. Watching her fight for Verdant was… unforgettable."
Nadia swallowed hard, caught off guard. His words didn't sound rehearsed. They sounded too real.
---
The questions continued.
Hale: "What was your first date?"
Tom: "Dinner at Scott's. She ordered for both of us."
Nadia: "Because you were on your phone the entire time."
Hale: laughs "So she took charge right away?"
Tom: "She always does." soft glance at Nadia
Hale: "How do you balance two empires under one roof?"
Nadia: "With boundaries."
Tom: "And with trust."
Hale: "Children in the future?"
Nadia stiffened. "That's private."
Tom chuckled. "We'll take it one step at a time."
---
Halfway through, Nadia felt her nerves fading. Something strange was happening. Tom wasn't just covering for her—he was weaving them into a real couple with every answer. He remembered details she hadn't expected him to know: her favorite wine, the way she always double-checked contracts at two a.m., the small scar on her wrist from a lab accident years ago.
When Hale asked, "What's the most surprising thing you've learned about each other?" Tom didn't hesitate.
"That she bites her lip when she's nervous," he said softly. "Like right now."
Heat rushed to Nadia's face. Hale caught it instantly, her smile widening.
Viewers at home would believe it. Nadia could barely stop herself from believing it.
---
The interview wrapped after forty-five grueling minutes. Hale shook their hands. "Thank you. Whatever the press says, you've made your case."
Outside, cameras flashed again. This time, Tom didn't hesitate—he laced his fingers through Nadia's and led her firmly to the car. She let him.
---
Back in the penthouse, Nadia collapsed onto the sofa, heels kicked off, exhaustion rolling over her.
"You did well," Tom said, loosening his tie.
"I nearly fainted."
He smiled. "But you didn't. And the investors will see two people who can handle pressure together."
She looked at him, searching his face for cracks, for the calculation she always expected. But instead she saw something steadier.
"You meant some of that," she said quietly.
He didn't look away. "All of it."
The words lodged in her chest like a stone.
Before she could reply, her phone buzzed. A message from her lawyer:
Reinhardt impressed. Investment talks moving forward.
Relief flooded her. They'd survived.
Yet as she set the phone down, she realized survival wasn't what shook her most.
It was the way Tom's hand had lingered in hers. The way his words had slipped past performance into something dangerously close to truth.
And the terrifying part was how much she wanted to believe him.