Three weeks after the Hamilton trial, Emily's life had settled into a demanding but satisfying rhythm. She'd won her first case, earned Ethan's respect, and was beginning to feel like she actually belonged in the Major Crimes Unit. The other ADAs had started including her in lunch plans, asking her opinion on cases, treating her as a colleague rather than the new kid who might not last.

She was reviewing case files at her desk—which was still by the copier, though Ryan had joked that surviving the Hamilton trial had earned her a promotion to "near the copier"—when Ethan emerged from his office looking particularly stormy.

"Conference room. Now," he said, not just to Emily but to the entire unit.

They filed in, exchanging curious glances. Ethan stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, radiating frustration. "I need to address something. There's been speculation about my personal life, and it's affecting this office's professional atmosphere."

Ryan coughed, trying to hide a smile. Jessica looked fascinated.

"My mother," Ethan continued through gritted teeth, "has apparently told half of Seattle's legal community that I'm 'actively seeking a life partner.'" He said it like he was reading a coroner's report. "This is incorrect. I am not seeking anything except to be left alone to do my job."

"Your mom called Judge Morrison's chambers today," Marcus said helpfully. "Asked if his daughter was still single."

Ethan closed his eyes. "Perfect."

"Also, she stopped by the office earlier," Jessica added. "I think she was... scouting?"

Emily had stayed quiet, but she was starting to understand. "Your mother's trying to set you up."

"Trying is generous. She's conducting a full-scale campaign." Ethan rubbed his temples. "Last month it was the mayor's niece. Before that, a partner at Caldwell & Smith. Yesterday she ambushed me with the daughter of her tennis instructor. I've been on seventeen blind dates in six months."

"That's..." Emily tried to find a diplomatic word. "Persistent."

"It's psychological warfare," Ethan corrected. "She's convinced I'm 'wasting my prime years' on work. Apparently thirty-six is ancient in her view and I need to settle down immediately before I become—and I quote—'an eccentric old bachelor like your Uncle Theodore.'"

Ryan laughed. "Uncle Theodore lives in a mansion with twenty cats and writes mystery novels. He seems happy."

"Exactly my point. But try telling Margaret Carter that her son doesn't need to be married to be fulfilled." Ethan paced to the window. "The worst part is she's escalating. She's threatening to host a dinner party and invite every single woman under forty in Seattle."

"That's definitely psychological warfare," Jessica agreed.

The meeting broke up, everyone heading back to work with a new appreciation for their own families' relative normalcy. Emily returned to her desk, but she couldn't stop thinking about Ethan's situation. She'd caught glimpses of his mother during the Hamilton trial—elegant, formidable, the type of woman who got what she wanted through sheer force of will.

Hours later, Emily was leaving the office—a reasonable nine PM for once—when she found Ethan still at his desk, staring at his phone like it might explode.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

He looked up. "She's texted me twelve times. She's planning a 'casual dinner' on Friday and has somehow compiled a guest list of eligible women that reads like Seattle's most eligible bachelorettes list. Half of them are attorneys. Do you know how awkward it is to have opposing counsel try to make small talk about potential relationships?"

Emily sat down in the chair across from his desk. "Have you told her to stop?"

"Repeatedly. She thinks I'm being stubborn. In her mind, my reluctance is evidence that I need her help more than ever." He set his phone down. "I've tried everything. Reason, anger, avoidance. Nothing works."

"What you need," Emily said slowly, an idea forming, "is to make her stop thinking you're available."

"Short of moving to another country, I'm open to suggestions."

"Get married."

Ethan stared at her. "What?"

"Not really," Emily clarified quickly. "But if your mother thought you were married, she'd have to stop the blind date ambushes. She couldn't very well introduce you to eligible women if you had a wife."

"You're suggesting I lie to my mother."

"I'm suggesting a temporary solution to a persistent problem." Emily leaned forward, warming to the idea. "Think about it. A fake marriage, just for show. Long enough to get her off your back. Six months, maybe a year. Then you could get quietly divorced and she'd be too embarrassed by the 'failure' to start the matchmaking again."

Ethan was quiet for a long moment. "That's either brilliant or insane."

"Could be both."

"And who exactly would I fake marry? I'd need someone convincing, someone my mother would believe—" He stopped, his eyes narrowing. "You."

Emily's heart jumped. "What? No, I wasn't suggesting—"

"It makes perfect sense. We work together, we've been spending long hours on cases. My mother's seen you at the courthouse. She already thinks you're competent and professional—her two favorite qualities besides wealthy and well-connected." Ethan stood up, pacing now. "It would work."

"That's crazy."

"Crazy would be enduring another year of my mother's matchmaking." He turned to face her. "Think about it, Sullivan. What do you have to lose?"

"My professional reputation? My credibility? My sanity?"

"Your professional reputation would be fine. If anything, people would take you more seriously—unfortunately, marriage still conveys a certain gravitas in legal circles." He was fully in prosecutor mode now, making his case. "As for credibility, we'd keep it professional. No one needs to know it's not real except us. And your sanity—consider this your revenge for all the coffee runs and impossible deadlines I gave you the first week."

Emily should say no. This was absurd, impulsive, exactly the kind of complicated mess she'd come to Seattle to avoid. But she found herself considering it. She had her own reasons for wanting to appear unavailable—a persistent ex-boyfriend back in DC who hadn't quite grasped that "no" meant no, for one. And the idea of playing house with Ethan Carter, of getting an inside look at the life of Seattle's most eligible bachelor turned fake husband...

"We'd need rules," she heard herself say. "Clear boundaries. A contract."

Ethan's expression shifted to something like triumph. "Naturally. We're lawyers. We'll draft it properly."

"Separate bedrooms. No one can know it's fake—the whole point is to make it convincing."

"Agreed. One year maximum. After that, quiet divorce, we go our separate ways."

"And if your mother doesn't back off even after the marriage?"

"She will. She's many things, but she respects the institution of marriage. Once I'm 'taken,' she'll redirect her meddling energy to my cousins."

Emily stood up. This was crazy. Absolutely crazy. "I need to think about it."

"Of course. Take tonight. Let me know tomorrow." Ethan walked her to the elevator. "For what it's worth, Sullivan, I think we could make this work. We're both practical people. We can handle a simple arrangement."

As Emily rode the elevator down, her mind was racing. A year of fake marriage to her demanding boss. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, probably. But as she walked to her car through the cool Seattle night, she found herself seriously considering it. And by the time she got home, she'd already started mentally drafting contract terms.

The next morning, Emily arrived at work early. She'd spent half the night making a list of conditions and concerns, and the other half wondering if she'd lost her mind. Ethan was already in his office, of course, and when he saw her, he raised an eyebrow.

Emily took a deep breath and walked in, closing the door behind her. "I'll do it. But we do this right—legal contract, clear terms, absolute discretion."

Ethan's smile was the first genuinely warm one she'd ever seen from him. "Deal. Let's draft the terms over lunch."

They spent the lunch hour in a private conference room at a restaurant across from the courthouse, hammering out details like they were negotiating a settlement. Separate bedrooms. No physical relationship beyond what was necessary for public appearances. Equal division of household expenses. Clear exit strategy after one year. Either party could terminate early with thirty days notice.

"This feels very unromantic," Emily said as they reviewed the typed document.

"That's the point. This is a business arrangement, not a relationship." Ethan signed the bottom. "Though we'll need to make the public appearances convincing. My mother has a sixth sense for anything fake."

"How convincing?"

"Hand-holding. The occasional show of affection. Nothing over the top, just enough to appear like a real couple." He handed her the pen. "Still in?"

Emily signed her name. "Still in. Though I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when this inevitably gets complicated."

"Noted." Ethan folded the contract and put it in his briefcase. "Now, we need a story. How did we get together?"

They spent the next hour crafting their narrative—late nights working on cases had turned into genuine connection, they'd tried to keep it professional but feelings had developed, they'd decided to give it a shot outside of work. It was close enough to the truth to be believable, just missing the actual feelings part.

"When do we tell people?" Emily asked.

"Tonight. There's a benefit dinner for the Legal Aid Society. Half the legal community will be there, including my mother. We'll arrive together, announce we're dating, and by Monday the whole courthouse will know."

"That fast?"

"Might as well rip the bandaid off. Besides, my mother's dinner party is Friday. If we're going to derail it, we need to move now."

Emily nodded, feeling the reality of what they'd agreed to settling over her. "Okay. Tonight then. I should go home and find something appropriate to wear."

"Something that says 'serious relationship' but not 'desperate,'" Ethan suggested, then caught her glare. "Not that you would. Just—you know what, I'll stop talking."

"Good plan."

That evening, Emily stood in front of her closet having a minor crisis. She'd been to plenty of legal functions, but this felt different. Tonight she wasn't just Assistant District Attorney Emily Sullivan. Tonight she was Ethan Carter's girlfriend, soon to be fake fiancée, eventual fake wife.

She chose a deep navy dress—elegant, professional, with just enough style to look like she'd made an effort. Simple jewelry, her hair down instead of in its usual bun. When Ethan picked her up at seven, his expression suggested she'd made the right choice.

"You look nice," he said.

"You sound surprised."

"I'm not. I've just only ever seen you in work mode." He was in a tuxedo, and Emily had to admit he cleaned up well. "Ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The benefit was held at the Four Seasons, the ballroom glittering with Seattle's legal elite. Emily spotted judges, defense attorneys, other prosecutors, and—standing near the bar in a spectacular silver gown—Margaret Carter.

"There's my mother," Ethan murmured. "Game face on."

He took Emily's hand, and they crossed the room together. Margaret saw them coming, her face lighting up with curiosity as she registered her son holding hands with a woman she recognized.

"Ethan! And Emily Sullivan, isn't it? We met at that fraud trial." Margaret's eyes dropped to their joined hands. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Ethan squeezed Emily's hand. "Mom, Emily and I are dating. It's recent, but it's serious."

Margaret's expression cycled through surprise, delight, and calculation in about three seconds. "Dating! How wonderful! How long has this been going on?"

"A few weeks," Emily said, finding her voice. "We wanted to keep it quiet at first, given that we work together."

"Of course, of course. Oh, this is wonderful! I had no idea—well, I should have known something was different. You've been less cranky lately, Ethan." Margaret beamed at them both. "You must come to dinner this week. Both of you. I want to hear everything."

As Margaret hurried off—presumably to tell everyone she knew—Emily and Ethan exchanged a look.

"That went well," Emily said.

"Too well. She's planning the wedding in her head already."

"Speaking of which, how long before we make this official?"

Ethan considered. "A month? Fast enough to convince her it's real, not so fast it seems suspicious."

"A month," Emily repeated. One month until she became Mrs. Ethan Carter, at least on paper.

She was definitely going to regret this.

The month passed in a blur of carefully orchestrated public appearances and private awkwardness. Ethan and Emily attended legal functions together, had "date nights" at prominent restaurants, and endured Margaret Carter's increasingly enthusiastic involvement in their relationship.

"She's already picked out china patterns," Emily told Ryan one afternoon at the office. "We're not even engaged yet—officially—and she has china patterns."

Ryan laughed. "Welcome to the Carter family. When Ethan's cousin got married, Margaret planned the entire wedding in three days. Three. Days."

"That's terrifying."

"Wait until you meet the rest of the family."

The engagement happened exactly four weeks after the benefit dinner. Ethan had called Emily into his office on a Friday afternoon. "My mother's getting suspicious about why I haven't proposed yet."

"It's been a month."

"In her world, that's an eternity when you're thirty-six and 'not getting any younger.'" He pulled a small box from his desk drawer. "I got a ring."

Emily opened it to find a simple but elegant diamond solitaire. "This is... actually beautiful."

"I know your taste. You're not flashy." Ethan took the ring and got down on one knee, and even though they were alone in his office and this was completely fake, Emily's heart still jumped a little. "Emily Sullivan, will you marry me and help me survive my mother's matchmaking for the next year?"

"Most romantic proposal ever," Emily said dryly, but she held out her hand. The ring fit perfectly. "Yes, I'll marry you and save you from your mother."

They told Margaret that evening over dinner at the Carter family home—a sprawling estate in Madison Park with views of Lake Washington. Emily had been prepared for enthusiasm, but Margaret exceeded all expectations.

"Married! Oh, this is perfect! When? Where? I know the perfect venue—the Rainier Club, or perhaps the Olympic? We'll need at least six months to plan properly—"

"Actually," Ethan interrupted, "we were thinking of something smaller. Simpler."

Margaret looked like he'd suggested getting married in a parking lot. "Smaller? Ethan, this is your wedding. Our family has certain expectations—"

"City Hall," Emily said firmly. "Next week. Just family."

"City Hall? But—"

"Mom." Ethan took Emily's hand. "Emily and I both work demanding jobs. We don't want months of planning and stress. We want to be married, quietly, and get on with our lives."

Margaret looked between them, and Emily saw the moment she made a choice—respect her son's wishes or risk pushing him away. "If that's what you want," she said finally. "But I'm hosting a reception afterward. Non-negotiable."

"Deal," Ethan agreed.

So the following Friday, Emily found herself standing in the King County Courthouse—the same building where she'd won the Hamilton trial—wearing a simple cream-colored dress and holding a bouquet of white roses that Margaret had insisted upon.

Their witnesses were Ryan and Jessica from the office, both of whom had been let in on the truth. "This is the wildest thing I've ever seen," Jessica whispered while they waited. "And I once prosecuted a guy who robbed a bank dressed as a banana."

"Thanks for the perspective," Emily muttered.

The ceremony itself took less than ten minutes. Judge Patricia Morrison, a friend of Ethan's father, officiated. She smiled at them warmly, completely unaware this was all a performance.

"Ethan Carter, do you take Emily Sullivan to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"Emily Sullivan, do you take Ethan Carter to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Emily looked at Ethan, at this man she'd known for barely two months, at the fake marriage they were about to officially enter, and pushed down the small voice that whispered this was insane. "I do."

"By the power vested in me by the State of Washington, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

That part hadn't been in their contract. They'd agreed on hand-holding and occasional shows of affection, but somehow they'd failed to discuss the actual wedding kiss. Emily saw the same realization dawn in Ethan's eyes.

But they had an audience, including Margaret who was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. So Ethan stepped forward, cupped Emily's face gently, and kissed her.

It was supposed to be brief and perfunctory. A box to check. But the moment his lips touched hers, something sparked—surprise and heat and something neither of them had anticipated. The kiss lasted perhaps five seconds too long to be merely performative, and when they pulled apart, Emily saw confusion in Ethan's eyes that probably matched her own.

"Congratulations," Judge Morrison said warmly, completely oblivious to their internal turmoil.

Margaret descended on them immediately, hugging Emily tight. "Welcome to the family, dear. I knew the moment I saw you two at that benefit that you were meant for each other."

If only she knew, Emily thought.

The reception at the Carter house was exactly the elegant affair Emily had expected—white flowers, champagne, tasteful catering, and about fifty of the Carters' closest friends. Emily smiled until her face hurt, accepted congratulations, and tried not to think about the fact that she was now legally married to her boss.

"You okay?" Ethan asked during a rare quiet moment on the terrace.

"Just processing that I'm now Emily Carter."

"You don't have to change your name. We never discussed that."

"Actually, keeping Sullivan might raise questions. People will wonder why I'm not taking your name." Emily sipped her champagne. "It's fine. It's all part of the performance, right?"

"Right." Ethan was quiet for a moment. "About that kiss—"

"We should probably discuss it," Emily agreed. "It was... more than we planned."

"We have good chemistry. That's useful for maintaining the illusion."

"Very useful," Emily said, but she wasn't entirely sure either of them believed that's all it was.

They left the reception around nine, driving to Ethan's house in Queen Anne—a beautiful Craftsman that would now be their shared home. Emily had moved most of her things in over the past week, her belongings now mingling with Ethan's in a way that felt surreal.

"I'll take the master bedroom," Ethan said as they stood in the entryway, suddenly awkward. "You can have the guest room. It's actually bigger, and it has better light."

"Are you sure?"

"Consider it a wedding gift."

Emily smiled despite herself. "The romance never stops."

They established their routines over the next few days. Ethan woke at five for his morning run. Emily needed coffee before she was human. They took turns with breakfast, coordinated their schedules, and somehow made it work.

At the office, reactions ranged from surprised to delighted to suspicious. A few people clearly wondered if Emily had married the boss for career advancement, but Ethan shut that down quickly by assigning her the same demanding caseload as everyone else.

"If anything, I'm harder on you now," he said when Emily complained about being assigned three cases simultaneously. "Can't have anyone accusing me of favoritism."

"Your dedication to appearances is overwhelming," Emily said dryly.

But despite the challenges—the gossip, the scrutiny, the weirdness of going home with her boss every night—Emily found herself settling into the routine. They'd have dinner together, discussing cases and occasionally arguing about legal strategy. They watched terrible reality TV on nights when they were too tired to talk. They developed a comfortable rapport that felt, if not quite real, at least not entirely fake.

"This is working better than I expected," Ethan admitted one evening two weeks into the marriage. They were in the kitchen, Emily cooking pasta while Ethan made the salad.

"Famous last words."

"I'm serious. We're compatible. We respect each other's space. No drama."

"Yet," Emily said. "Give it time."

But privately, she was thinking the same thing. Maybe this wouldn't be the disaster she'd feared. Maybe they could actually pull this off—a year of comfortable pretense, then an amicable split.

What she didn't know yet was that complications were already forming. Because three weeks after their City Hall wedding, Emily would realize she'd missed her period. And one week after that, she'd be staring at a positive pregnancy test, the word "PREGNANT" glowing up at her like an accusation.

Their fake marriage was about to become very, very real.