The days before the interview were a whirlwind of preparation and strategising. Clara enthusiastically approved, declaring it a "PR coup" and a "golden opportunity to shape public perception."

"This is it, darlings," Clara exclaimed over the speakerphone during one of our many planning sessions. "This is your chance to tell your story your way and present the epic romance of it all. When Arianna is done with you, they'll all be hooked."

I glanced at James, who seemed to share my scepticism. "Not so fast, Clara," I warned. We have to nail down a story and make it airtight. Arianna is thorough with her research and has really astute questions."

"You two have to get your story straight," she replied matter-of-factly. "Every detail, every anecdote must feel authentic and lived-in, like the great love affair of our time."

James scrubbed a hand over his face, looking as tired as I felt. "We know, Clara. We're working on it."

"Good. Keep me posted. And remember - the world is watching. Make it count."

The line went dead, leaving James and me in heavy silence. We were holed up at my house, papers and empty coffee mugs strewn across the wooden dining table.

"Well," James said after a beat. "You heard the woman. Let's get to work."

And so we did. For hours, we hashed out the finer points of our supposed love story, crafting a tale of reunion and redemption that would make even the most jaded cynics swoon.

"Okay, so we reconnected at the charity gala a few months back," I said, tapping my pen against my lip. "Cue the sparks, the tension, the undeniable chemistry..."

"Fueled by too much champagne and a dangerous waltz on the dance floor," James added with a wry grin. "It's classic. The audience will eat it up."

I rolled my eyes, even as my lips twitched. "Right. So we danced, flirted, and felt that old pull reigniting..."

"Then I swept you off your feet and into a steamy coat room rendezvous."

"James!" I threw a balled-up sticky note at his head, fighting a blush. "Be serious."

He laughed and raised his hands in playful surrender. "Alright, alright. No more coat-room canoodling. Understood."

We toiled late into the night, enhancing our fictional history until it sparkled like a fairy tale come alive. By the time we wrapped up, my head was spinning, and my eyes felt gritty.

Yet, beneath the fatigue, there was a spark of something different—maybe excitement or nerves. The narrative we crafted was engaging, romantic, and completely enchanting.

I hoped it would be sufficient to finally quiet the sceptics and critics.

✦﹒✦﹒✦

The morning of the interview arrived bright and early. I roused to the sound of my alarm, hit by the sinking realisation that I would lay bare my soul—or a carefully crafted version of it—to one of the nation's most prominent journalists in just a few hours.

No pressure. Right.

I was a jittery mess when I arrived at the studio, my stomach a riot of butterflies and my palms clammy. James was already there, looking unfairly composed in a charcoal suit and crisp white shirt. He looked at my ashen face and pulled me into a secluded corner.

"Hey," he murmured, his hands coming up to rest on my shoulders. "Breathe, Noreen. We've got this."

I blew a shaky breath, trying to let his calm assurance settle my rattled nerves. "I know. I just... I don't want to screw this up."

James's lips quirked, his eyes softening. "You won't. We won't. We're a team, remember?"

I managed a wobbly smile, some of the tension easing from my frame. "Yeah. A team."

He squeezed my shoulders once before releasing me. "Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

The interview was conducted in a dreamlike haze: Arianna was incisive and penetrating, just as her reputation indicated, firing questions at us about our history, our relationship, and our future plans.

But to my surprise, James and I answered her questions reasonably well, slipping into an easy rhythm as we told our story of star-crossed love and second chances.

It's frightening how easily we can tell our life stories for years, not just this moment.

"Now, Noreen," Arianna said, her gaze sharpening. "I must ask about the rumours swirling around your recent alumni reunion. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen you getting cosy with an old flame - one Elliot Blackwood. Care to comment?"

My heart skipped a beat, and my mouth felt parched. We had been so engrossed in our story that the thought of questions about Elliot hadn't even crossed my mind.

Before I could fumble my words, James seamlessly stepped in.

"Ah, yes. Elliot." He laughed warmly and in a self-deprecating manner. "His presence brought some old insecurities rushing back."

Arianna leaned in like a shark catching a whiff of blood. "In what way?"

James sighed, his expression turning rueful. "Well, as I'm sure your research has uncovered, Noreen and I didn't get along in university. I was pretty awful to her at times. And much of that was due to my jealousy over her relationship with Elliot."

My head whipped towards him, my eyes widening. What was he doing? This wasn't part of the script.

But James forged ahead, his gaze steady on Arianna. "The truth is, I had feelings for Noreen even back then. But I was young and stupid and had no idea how to handle them. So I lashed out and tried to push her away. Seeing her with Elliot brought all those old insecurities rushing back."

Arianna nodded slowly, her face serious. "So the rumours of bullying."

"Are unfortunately true," James said heavily. "I'm not proud of how I acted back then. But I think I've grown since I became a better man. A man worthy of Noreen's love and trust."

My throat closed up, my chest aching at the raw sincerity in his voice. For a moment, it didn't feel like an act. It felt real.

Too real.

Arianna's gaze turned to me, sharp. "And you, Noreen? How do you feel about James's past behaviour?"

I swallowed hard, scrambling to find my footing. "I...it wasn't easy learning to trust James after everything that happened between us. But he's worked hard to prove himself, to show me that he's changed. And seeing him be so honest, so vulnerable...it only reaffirms my belief in him. In us."

I reached for James's hand, threading our fingers together to show unity for the cameras. But the way his hand tightened around mine and his eyes burned into me...it felt like more.

The rest of the interview flew by in a haze, Arianna walking us through the paces of our love story. By the time we wrapped up, I felt raw and exposed, like I had flayed myself open for the world to see.

"You two were phenomenal," Arianna gushed as the crew began breaking down the set. "Such a beautiful journey and growth together. The piece is going to be a hit. I can feel it."

We murmured our thanks, shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries. But all I could focus on was the heat of James's palm against mine, the way his thumb stroked absently over my knuckles.

I held it together until we were safely ensconced in the car, the privacy screen raised between us and the driver. And then I turned on James, my voice trembling.

"What was that? In there, with Elliot and the bullying...that wasn't what we rehearsed."

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I'm sorry for springing it on you like that. But Noreen..." He met my gaze, his eyes sincere. "It was the first thing that came to mind to save us from that trap of a question. We had rehearsed everything but forgot to put up a strong front for questions about Elliot and the past. I had to think on my feet."

I stared at him, my heart still pounding from the intensity of the interview interview. "So...it was a line to explain your past behaviour?"

James hesitated for a beat before nodding. "Yeah, a believable story to sell the narrative." He gave me a wry smile. "Guess those acting classes my mother forced on me as a kid finally came in handy."

I let out a shaky laugh, some tension draining from my shoulders. Of course. It had all been part of the act, a clever bit of improvisation to cover our bases. I felt foolish for reading anything more into it.

"Well, it worked," I said, aiming for a lightness I didn't quite feel. "Arianna bought it. Hell, I almost bought it myself."

Something flickered in James's eyes, there and gone too quickly to decipher. "That's the goal, right? To make it feel authentic?"

I nodded, turning to stare out the window. "Right..."

The rest of the ride passed in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. It wasn't until we were pulling up to the Maeers' estate that James spoke again.

"Noreen, about what I said in there..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "I just want you to know that even if it was for the interview...I meant it. I am sorry for how I treated you back then. And about wanting to be a better man, someone deserving of your trust. That part wasn't an act."

My throat tightened, my eyes stinging with sudden tears. "I know," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "And for what it's worth...I do trust you, James. More than I ever thought possible."

His answering smile was gentle, almost wondering. "Then I'm the luckiest bastard on the planet."

Before I could respond, the car stopped, and that moment was broken. But walking through the door into warmth and laughter from James's family, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between us.

The line between pretence and reality was blurring with each passing day. And I was no longer sure which side I was standing on.

All I knew was that when James took my hand in his, the heat of his palm bleeding into my skin...it felt more real than anything I had ever known.

And that terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.

Because falling for James Maeers? Letting myself trust him, care about him, want him?

It was the biggest risk of all.

As we entered the grand foyer of the Maeers' estate, Evelyn and Charles welcomed us with outstretched arms and beaming faces.

"Noreen, James! Welcome, welcome!" Evelyn gushed, pulling me into a tight hug. "We're so happy to have you both here for the weekend."

Charles clapped James on the back, his eyes twinkling. "Son, you're looking well. And Noreen, lovely as ever."

I smiled back at Evelyn, returning her embrace. "Thank you for having us. It's always a pleasure to visit."

As we made our way into the sitting room, the tension from the car ride still hung between James and me, a palpable heaviness that even Evelyn's chatter couldn't entirely dispel. I caught James' eye as we settled onto the plush sofa, trying to gauge his mood.

He smiled reassuringly and gently squeezed my hand. His casual, almost thoughtless gesture sent a warm flutter through my chest.

I met his eye across the dinner table, and the tenderness and affection shone there. The risk might be worth it.

James was on the ball during dinner, refilling my glass of wine and laughing in just the right spots as Charles told us tales of his latest golf conquest. To a passerby, we looked like a happy, well-adjusted couple.

But beneath the surface, I could feel a change in James, some subtle change in how he spoke to me. His touches, lingering a breath longer, his eyes holding mine with newfound intensity—it was as though the interview had peeled away some layer between us, and I saw into emotional depths neither of us had anticipated seeing.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, I leaned against James' side, relishing his comforting heat. How our bodies fit together easily and comfortably was amazing, like expertly fitting jigsaw pieces.

Now, lying in bed at last, the thought of sharing a room with James and a bed sent me thrills of nervous expectation. We had played this familiar tango before, yet somehow, this time, it all seemed new: fresh with unexplored energy, alive with sharpened senses.

Sliding under the cool sheets, I lay there, ridiculously aware of James lying beside me. With that realisation, I couldn't help but wonder how far we'd come from enemies to reluctant allies and whatever this was—this strange, undefined space between pretence and reality.

I lay awake for a long time, listening to the even cadence of James' breathing, trying to make sense of the riot of emotions swirling inside me. The interview stirred up so many memories and long-buried feelings. Watching James confront our past, acknowledge his mistakes, and grow touched something deep within me.

But I couldn't afford to dwell on it, to read too much into his words or actions. We had a role to play, a charade to maintain. Anything more was a risk I couldn't take.

Sleep had been a long time coming, and my mind was whirling with questions and doubts. But finally, when I did drift off, it was with the phantom sensation of James's hand in mine, anchoring me even in dreams.

The rest of the weekend passed in a haze of lazy mornings and long, rambling walks through the estate grounds. James was always by my side, his arm through mine as we strolled along the winding paths.

Our interactions were far more comfortable, born of shared experience and growing trust. Our conversations flowed easily, punctuated by teasing quips and genuine laughter.

I saw little things in James, tiny details I had never seen before: the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, a dimple in his left cheek when he laughed. His care and patience as he walked me through the intricacies of NexusWave's latest project never made me feel foolish about my questions.

It was a side of him I had never fully appreciated—tender attentiveness that made something warm and tender unfurl in my chest, a softness I hadn't known I could feel for James Maeers.

The way we both became more and more comfortable in each other's presence didn't erase the spectre of our arrangement; it hung over us constantly, an unspoken boundary that neither dared cross.

When we said goodbye to Evelyn and Charles on Sunday afternoon, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. The simple pleasure of good company and fresh air eased the stress and strain of the interview and its aftermath.

As James took the country roads back to town, winding between fields and forest, I found myself stealing glances at him repeatedly, the strong profile line and the way fading sunlight played across his features. He caught me looking once, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

I merely shook my head, fighting back a smile. "Just thinking," I murmured. "About everything."

James nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It was a good weekend," he said softly. "I'm glad we could do this; we could get away from all the noise for a bit."

"Me too," I agreed, surprising myself with its sincerity. "Thank you, James. For everything."

He reached across the console to take my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. "You never have to thank me, Nor. I'm just glad you're here."

The words were simple but lodged in my throat, heavy with unspoken meaning.

As the city skyline came into view, the real world rushing up to meet us, I felt a pang of wistfulness, a longing to stay cocooned in this fragile bubble of peace we had created.

But I knew it couldn't last forever. We had roles to play and expectations to meet. The interview would air, and the media circus would begin anew.

Yet, as I glanced down at our joined hands, James's thumb stroking idly over my knuckles, I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between us. Some boundaries had blurred, and some lines had been crossed.

And though I couldn't yet name the emotion swelling in my chest, I knew one thing with bone-deep certainty.

There was no going back, only forward into the great unknown.