Sophia pressed her forehead to the cool passenger window, fighting a ridiculous smile as the car rolled to a gentle stop. A discreet sign above the old brick shop read Vinci's Creamery — Small Batch, Big Sins.
Nate's low chuckle drew her eyes back to him. "What? You look like you're about to accuse me of kidnapping."
"Not yet," she shot back. "But I didn't peg you for an ice cream and sprinkles kind of man."
"I'm full of surprises." He pushed open his door, circled the car, and opened hers before she could argue. A small, infuriating gesture that still melted her inside. He offered his hand and she took it, ignoring the heat that rushed to her cheeks.
Inside, the shop smelled like roasted nuts, toasted waffle cones, and sugary decadence. It was quiet except for a soft indie song playing overhead. No curious onlookers — just them and a bored teen behind the counter.
Sophia leaned over the glass display, her eyes going wide at the rows of pastel colors and swirls. "Okay, confession: I haven't had proper ice cream in forever. Does this break some high society rule for you, Mr. Sterling?"
Nate stepped closer, so close his shoulder brushed hers. "Absolutely. But you're worth committing scandal for."
She snorted a laugh, trying not to dwell on how good he smelled — a mix of clean linen and something darker. She pointed at a neon pink tub. "Strawberry cheesecake swirl, please. Extra sprinkles."
Nate raised a brow. "Sprinkles? Really?"
She jabbed his ribs lightly. "Judge me and I'll tell the internet your billionaire weakness is chocolate fudge."
His grin was sinful. "Fine. One classic dark chocolate for me. No sprinkles. A man has to draw the line somewhere."
They took their cones to a tiny corner table by the window. Sunlight streamed through, catching a flicker of genuine warmth in Nate's eyes she hadn't noticed before. He watched her with quiet fascination as she licked a drip from her cone, his tongue darting over his own bottom lip unconsciously.
Sophia pretended not to notice. "Why here? I figured you for some rooftop champagne bar type."
He leaned back in his chair, dark eyes softening. "When I was in law school, this place was my break from everything that felt too heavy. Exams, court internships, my mother breathing down my neck."
She tilted her head, genuinely touched. "So you brought me to your secret comfort spot?"
Nate's gaze locked on hers, no teasing now. Just truth. "Guess I did."
For a heartbeat, the world outside — gossip, fake contracts, exes — faded into sugar and laughter and the warmth of something real. Then her phone buzzed twice in her purse. She ignored it. For now, this was hers.
He lifted his cone in a mock toast. "To scandalous sprinkles."
She tapped hers to it, her laugh ringing out like a promise. "And secrets worth keeping."
Outside, the storm of cameras and old ghosts waited. But in Vinci's Creamery, they were just Nate and Sophia — maybe the most dangerous truth of all.
They lingered longer than they should have — a pair of grown adults dribbling melted ice cream on napkins, snickering like teenagers dodging homework. For a moment, Sophia felt like her old self again — the girl who believed in spontaneous fun, in warmth for its own sake.
Nate rested his elbow on the tiny table, chin propped in his palm as he watched her. He hadn't touched his phone once. Not even when it vibrated in his pocket, twice, then three times. She caught the flicker of restraint and couldn't help asking:
"Does the great Mr. Sterling really ignore work calls for sprinkles and strawberry cheesecake swirl?"
His mouth curved. "Careful, Miss Dawson. Flattery like that could make me reckless."
She rolled her eyes, licking the last of her cone. "I'm serious. You're always so… composed. Except with me."
Nate studied her like she was a puzzle with one missing piece he couldn't quite find. "You want the truth?"
She leaned back, crossing her legs beneath the little table. "Try me."
A small silence stretched — not awkward, but weighted. Finally, he said, "I'm tired, Sophia. Of pretending. Of nodding at boardrooms full of men I don't respect. Of charity galas where everyone's mask is glued on tight."
His voice was low, but it throbbed with something real. Something raw she hadn't heard before. "You're different. With you, I don't have to be Nate Sterling the bulletproof lawyer. I can just… be."
Sophia's heart tripped over itself. She looked away, trying to gather her words. "Don't say things like that. It makes it harder to remember this isn't—"
"Isn't what?" His tone was gentle but insistent.
She bit her lip. "This is supposed to be fake, Nate. Easy. Strategic."
He reached across the table before she could stop him, brushing his knuckles over hers. The contact was featherlight, yet her pulse skyrocketed. "And is it? Easy?"
Sophia's laugh caught in her throat. "No. Not even a little."
The air shifted then — the entire shop seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them breathing too carefully. She told herself to pull back, to say something flippant and break the spell, but the truth pressed against her ribs.
"I hated how people pitied me after Ryan," she blurted. "Like I was fragile glass. Like I should be grateful anyone wanted me again."
Nate's eyes darkened. His hand turned, palm up, inviting hers. She slid her fingers into his before she could think better of it. His hold was steady. Warm. Too reassuring for her battered walls.
"No one who sees you would ever pity you, Sophia," he said quietly. "Least of all me."
Her breath trembled. Outside, someone walked past the window, but she barely registered it. All she saw was him — the calm in his storm, the storm in her calm.
"Why do you do this?" she whispered. "Make it harder to pretend."
His smile was heartbreakingly soft. "Maybe because I'm done pretending."
Her phone buzzed again, jolting them. She snatched it up out of reflex, eyes catching the notification: Tabloid Alert: Who is Nate Sterling's Mystery Woman?
It stung more than she expected. Reality crashing back like a slap. She tried to pull her hand away, but he didn't let go.
"What is it?" he asked, reading the tightness in her eyes.
Sophia exhaled. "People know. They're speculating already."
Nate's expression hardened, protective in a way that both terrified and thrilled her. "Let them. I'm not hiding you."
She wanted to protest, to remind him that this was fake — that he didn't owe her real loyalty. But the way his thumb traced over her knuckles silenced every argument.
She slipped her hand free gently, needing space to breathe. "We should go. Before I melt all over your bespoke suit."
He gave a huff of laughter, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. "Sophia."
"What?"
"This thing between us… I won't let anyone twist it into something ugly. Not Ryan. Not the press. Not my mother."
She swallowed, hope and dread tangling in her chest. "Then we'd better be ready. Because it's about to get very ugly."
Outside, a faint click of a camera reminded them they weren't alone.
And somewhere between the sweetness and the secrets, Sophia knew she was standing on the edge of a cliff she might not want to climb down from.
Sophia and Nate stepped out of the cozy ice cream shop into the chill dusk air. She tugged her coat tighter, still feeling the ghost of his touch on her hand. She told herself to focus on the fact that someone had snapped their picture — that gossip sites were about to have a field day. But all she could think about was the look in his eyes when he'd said I'm done pretending.
She should have been the one to slam the brakes. Instead, she was floating dangerously close to believing him.
Nate's phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He reached for her elbow, guiding her across the busy sidewalk toward his car like he had every right to steer her through life now. She let him. Worse — she liked it.
"Sophia."
His voice pulled her back from her spiraling thoughts. She looked up, ready to remind him that this was supposed to be a partnership of convenience — not stolen glances and unspoken confessions. But her words died when she saw who was leaning against Nate's car, hands casually tucked into his suit pockets, grinning like he owned the night.
Ryan.
"Wow," Ryan drawled, pushing off the hood. "I knew I'd catch you both eventually. But an ice cream date? That's… new."
Sophia's stomach dropped. Nate's hand slipped to the small of her back, anchoring her in place.
"Ryan," Nate said, voice so even it made Sophia shiver. "I don't recall inviting you here."
Ryan ignored him, his sharp gaze flicking over Sophia — lingering at her flushed cheeks and the way she instinctively pressed closer to Nate's side.
"You look good, Soph," Ryan said with that infuriating smugness. "I'd say you upgraded, but—" He shrugged, eyes flicking to Nate. "Rebounds are rarely improvements."
Sophia tensed, the old humiliation curling in her gut. But before she could open her mouth, Nate's calm snapped. His hand on her back dropped to her waist, pulling her more firmly against him. A clear message.
"Watch your mouth," Nate said, tone low and dangerous. "She deserves better than your pathetic barbs."
Ryan laughed, sharp and grating. "Touchy, Sterling. You never gave a damn when I dated her. Or did you? Was she always your plan B?"
Sophia's cheeks burned, mortification threatening to drown her. But Nate didn't flinch. He stepped forward so fast Ryan almost stumbled backward.
"You're drunk or stupid — which is it tonight?" Nate asked, his words soft but edged like a blade. "You want to test me, Ryan? Try it. One more word about her and I'll bury you in so many lawsuits you'll wish you'd never been born."
The threat, wrapped in that infuriating calm, made Ryan pause. He scoffed, but she saw the flicker of fear behind his bravado.
"Relax, man. I was just saying hi. We all know this—" He gestured between Nate and Sophia, waving his hand dismissively. "—is a PR stunt. A good one, I admit. The ice cream, the hand on the back, the doting boyfriend act. Hell, your PR team deserves a raise."
Sophia inhaled sharply, feeling the words like poison in her veins. Was it all just an act? Did Nate really believe it wasn't? She hated that part of her still wanted him to deny it.
Before she could think twice, she snapped, "Leave, Ryan. Go crawl back under whatever rock you came from."
Ryan's eyes widened at her vehemence — maybe shocked she'd found her bite at last. "Wow, Soph. Don't get too comfortable. We both know your taste in men is—"
Nate moved. Not a punch — but a step so fast Ryan flinched. Nate's voice was deadly calm. "I said, watch your mouth."
For a second, no one breathed. Then Ryan's mask slipped. He lifted his hands in mock surrender, lips twisting. "Whatever you say, big man. Enjoy your… girlfriend."
He spat the last word like an insult, then turned and sauntered away, disappearing into the traffic. The moment he was gone, the bubble burst. The city noise rushed back, cold air sharp in Sophia's lungs.
Nate turned to her immediately, his hands still anchored at her waist. "Ignore him. He's nothing."
But Sophia's mind was buzzing — the tabloid rumors, the raw truth in Nate's threats, the fact that he'd defended her without a second thought. And the worst part? She wanted to believe him more than she wanted to protect her heart.
The world narrowed to the two of them. His breath mingled with hers, the city fading behind a haze of tension so thick it hummed through her bones. If he kissed her now, she wouldn't stop him.
But she didn't get the chance to decide. A camera flash popped behind them — more paparazzi, fresh meat for tomorrow's scandal mill.
Nate stiffened, jaw clenched. "Come on," he murmured. "Let's get out of here."
He opened the car door, shielding her from the hungry lenses as he helped her in. As the door shut, Sophia pressed her palm to her racing heart.
Fake or real, she was in deeper than she'd ever planned to be.