Page 43 of Married to the Frenemy

“We don’t need a contract to tell us what we should and shouldn’t do,” I continue. “I knew going into this that there might be a few growing pains along the way. That we’d both have to make a few sacrifices.”

“And you’re okay with that? Have you thought about what you’ll have to give up to convince people this marriage is real?”

“Like what?” I bring my wine glass to my lips, studying her from over the rim before taking a sip.

“You know.” She gives me a pointed look.

Setting my glass onto the island, I feign confusion. “I don’t.”

“Sex, Beckham. You’ll have to give up sex.”

I give her a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders. “I know.”

“And you’re okay with being celibate for the next six-plus months?”

“I’ll survive.” I hesitate, then ask. “Will you be okay?”

I hold my breath, unsure I’m ready for her answer. I know she’s been with men since me. Hell, she has a four-year-old daughter. But I’m not sure I can stand hearing the details without wanting to fly into a jealous rage.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I haven’t slept with anyone since I got pregnant. I’ll be just fine.”

“Are you serious?”

While her answer fills me with a certain level of ease, I can’t mask my surprised reaction. And I thought I’d set some sort of record by going on six months.

“I have a kid,” she reminds me, as if that’s the only explanation I need.

“Still. You haven’t been with anyone since then?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” she snips back. “Don’t tell me you believe what some of the other preschool moms say. That because I used to work as a cocktail waitress at the casino, I probably supplemented my income by spreading my legs, since so many of the other girls do it.”

“No,” I answer quickly. “Not at all. I…” I trail off, my stomach churning over the idea of anyone thinking that of her.

A surge of protectiveness builds inside of me to the point that I want to go to school drop-off in the morning and give some of those women a piece of my mind. Tell them about the Haley McBride I once knew so intimately.

“Is that what they really say?” I ask softly.

She lowers her head, fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt.

“Maybe not to my face, but I hear them talking. I know it wasn’t the most respectable job, especially for a mom, but it paid better than most other part-time jobs. Without having to spread my legs.”

“I’d never think that of you, Haley.”

On instinct, I grab her hand in mine and brush my thumb along her knuckles. I’m not sure if it’s more for her or me.

“They really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

She darts her gaze up to mine. “Who?”

“Your parents.”

She doesn’t agree. But she doesn’t defend them, either.

I saw how they treated her when she was younger. How they always demanded the world of her. Expected her to be content with the life they planned for her without a single care for what she wanted.

“Forget about them. If they can’t see what an incredible woman you are, it’s their fucking loss. Because you are so much more than a cocktail waitress or a mother or a dog walker or anything else. So fuck them. Fuck them all.”

It’s the same thing I used to tell her whenever she gave me one of her excuses about why we needed to keep our relationship quiet. After all, her parents would never approve of their daughter dating some kid from Sycamore Falls who’d already been arrested on more than one occasion. Not when they had big plans for her that included her marrying the son of a respectable politician.

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