Mr. Bennet spoke without looking up from his plate as he loaded his spoon. “We got that shipment of prairie clover in.”

Immediately, Mrs. Bennet pounced, the conversation fueled and stoked by Tess, who mercifully steered her through a number of topics, ending up in weddings where I joined in. As we went on about floral arrangements, the rest of the table carried on, the bubbling conversation easy and fluid, just like the Bennets. They might run on high octane, but they didn’t seem to quarrel, didn’t seem to snipe. The jab here or there, sure, but it was clear without more than a moment with them that they were a unit, a team. Even as an outsider, or perhaps especially as one, there was a feeling of belonging and a desire to belong, to become a part of that unit and hope that your little cog was somehow useful to their machine.

Kash slid his big hand into my lap, palm up, and I filled it with mine. We shared a look, a look that noted the farce as well as the rightness. It was a strange thing, the knowledge that we weren’t much more than a fling and the sense that we were so much more.

But I reminded myself of the truth between us. He didn’t want a relationship any more than I’d said I did when this all began. It was he who’d proposed we enter into this arrangement, and he’d made it clear that this was nothing more than an affair, a fleeting attachment. Nothing more, no matter how it might feel.

And I put that truth on repeat to carry on with the sham, pretending not to enjoy it as much as I did.

By the time dinner was over, I’d been asked only a couple more inappropriate questions, none of which fazed me, simply because I didn’t believe Mrs. Bennet would ever do any purposeful harm. I helped the Bennets clear the table and wash the dishes, wearing a hot-pink apron covered in yellow daisies that Mrs. Bennet had me don to protect the integrity of my white suit. But the second things slowed down, Kash made our excuses and swept me out the door with my unending promises to return soon and a hug from his mother that might have dislocated a rib.

As we walked toward our hotel, I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, and he flexed his arm to draw me closer.

“I am so sorry about that,” he said the moment we were out of earshot of the house.

I imagined Mrs. Bennet rushing to open one of the front facing windows so she wouldn’t miss a thing, and the vision made me smile.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed being your … well, if your mother is to be believed, we’re to be engaged any day.”

He chuckled, but the sound was edged with discomfort.