They sat back down. The adrenaline was slowly leaving Imogen's system, leaving her shaky and cold.
"Thank you," she whispered. She stared at his hands. They were elegant, long-fingered. No dentist had hands like that. "You saved me."
"He seems like a charming individual," Gael said, signaling a waitress to bring a glass of water.
"He's my ex. My parents... they like him because he has money. Or they think he does." Imogen took the water with trembling hands. "I can't believe you did that. You could have been hurt."
"I work out," Gael lied effortlessly.
"For a dentist, you're very... intense."
Gael leaned forward. "Imogen. I have a confession."
Her heart sank. Here it comes. He's a serial killer. Or he's married.
"I'm not a dentist," he said.
Imogen stared. "What?"
"Dr. Aris is a colleague. He was called into an emergency surgery and asked if I could meet you so you wouldn't be stood up. I shouldn't have let it go on this long." He paused. "I work in IT. Backend developer."
Imogen let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The story was plausible, a neat explanation for the mix-up. And yet, the faint memory of that silent, expensive car still lingered. An IT guy? She looked at his calm demeanor, the way he handled Chad with brutal efficiency. It didn't quite add up. But what other choice did she have? Believe the lie and get out, or question it and go back to Rick and Linda? Desperation made the choice for her. "Oh. Oh, thank god."
Gael frowned. "Thank god?"
"I hate dentists," she admitted. "The sound of the drill... it freaks me out." She smiled, a genuine, small smile that transformed her face. "IT is good. IT is safe. You just... type code, right?"
"Right," Gael said. "Lots of typing. Very boring."
"Boring is good," Imogen said fiercely. "I want boring. I want a life where nobody throws bottles and nobody screams."
She looked down at her hands. "Does this mean... you're still interested? Even after seeing the baggage I come with? Even though this was a mix-up?"
Gael looked at the bruise on her cheek. He thought about the sketchbook in his apartment. He thought about the board meeting he was missing right now, and how much he hated the sharks in suits who wanted to marry him off to some senator's daughter to merge assets.
He needed a shield. She needed a sword.
"I'm interested," Gael said.
"Really?"
"But I have conditions."
"Name them."
"We get married. Legally. As soon as possible. My... family... is pressuring me to settle down. If I show up with a wife, they back off."
"Done," Imogen said immediately. "I need the marriage certificate to get a new passport without my parents' signature. They're holding my documents hostage."
Gael's jaw tightened. "They're holding your documents?"
"Yes. It's complicated."
"We'll get them back," Gael said, a dark promise in his tone that Imogen missed. "Condition two: We live together. It has to look real."
Imogen hesitated. "Live together? In your... apartment?"
"It's a two-bedroom," Gael lied. He had ten bedrooms. "You'll have your own space. I work long hours. You'll barely see me."
"Okay," Imogen nodded. "Okay. I can do that."
"Condition three," Gael said, his voice dropping lower. "This is a contract. A partnership. No emotional entanglements. No... expectations."
Imogen looked at him. He was handsome, strong, and apparently kind. It would be hard not to have expectations. But she was broken, and she had nothing to offer a man like him but debt and drama.
"Agreed," she said. "Strictly business."
