Chapter 2

That night, the housekeeper hands me a small silver pill case.

"Mr. Ethan has a congenital heart arrhythmia. Emotional distress can trigger episodes. He doesn't like taking his medication. Mrs. Wentworth Senior hopes you can keep an eye on it."

She pauses at the door and lowers her voice.

"His condition has gotten worse since he and Miss Walsh broke up two years ago."

Oh.

So that's why they choose me. I'm not really a fiancée. I'm here to keep him safe.

The next morning is my first day of school, and my name is already everywhere before I even set foot on campus.

The barbecue guy's fat daughter.

A charity case the Wentworths are paying for.

Ethan Wentworth's surprise fiancée.

And the girl who stole Serena Walsh's spot.

Serena Walsh is kind of a legend at Ridgemont.

Long hair, white dress, so thin it looks like a stiff breeze could carry her away. She's the lead in the campus arts ensemble, and everyone sees her as the face of the love story the Wentworth family supposedly tore apart."

She and Ethan have the looks, grades, and family background that make them seem like the perfect couple.

And me? When I check in to get my gym uniform, the woman behind the counter stares at the size chart for a solid minute.

"…Honestly, I didn't think anyone would ever need the 4XL."

A few people nearby laugh.

I don't let it get to me, so I change, grab a campus map, and decide to wander around, but before I can get far, it starts pouring.

The September rain comes down hard and fast. I duck into the first open building I find — the athletic center — and realize I've stumbled into a boxing gym.

The thud of fists against heavy bags echoes off the walls, and the air smells of rubber, sweat, and something sharper underneath.

There's a guy inside.

He's wearing a black tank top that clings to his shoulders and back, with his hands wrapped in tape and a faint scar across his brow.

He's just finished a round, and his dark hair hangs damply over his forehead.

If Ethan is cold and untouchable, this guy is intense and dangerous, like he's always ready for a fight.

He's rewrapping his hands when he looks up. Across the dim gym, he sees me.

Our eyes meet, and my heart starts pounding against my ribs.

That's weird. Why does he feel so… familiar?

"Lost?" His voice is low, still a little breathless from training.

"Uh… just getting out of the rain."

"This area's not open to students."

"Oh — okay, I'll go."

I press a hand to my chest and turn to leave.

Behind me, I hear a sharp metallic snap as the chain holding a heavy bag breaks.

A two-hundred-pound heavy bag swings down toward a guy packing up equipment beneath it.

My body moves before my brain does.

I lunge forward and catch the broken strap with both hands.

The bag freezes in midair, less than four inches from the back of his skull.

The chain overhead keeps swinging with a metallic clink, and the sound reminds me of ice cracking beneath my hands.

Dark water rises from somewhere deep in my memory, making my fingers go numb, and I freeze until another hand, wrapped in tape, grabs the strap and steadies the bag beside me.

He's right next to me, and his palm feels hot against mine.

"Let go," he says. "I've got it."

"I'm fine."

I hook the bag back onto the frame. My student ID slips out of my shirt pocket and lands at his feet.

He bends down and picks it up.

"Tatum Gallagher."

He looks at me, then up at the heavy bag. His expression shifts from surprise to recognition, and the corner of his mouth lifts as if he's just discovered something interesting.

"…So. You're Ethan Wentworth's little fiancée?"

"Let me introduce myself, fiancée."

He steps closer, and his warm, steady breath brushes my face as the dangerous edge around him gives way to something teasing and almost playful.

"I'm Ethan's older brother. Damien Wentworth."