Page 29 of Married to the Frenemy

Never felt so beautiful.

“It’s perfect. Trust me.” With her hands on my biceps, Parker forces me to face her. “When Beckham sees you, he’s going to want to find somewhere private so he can consummate your marriage.”

“Highly doubtful.” I roll my eyes, pushing out of her hold. “Let’s just get this over with. The sooner we’re married, the sooner we can divorce.”

“If you say so,” Parker sings as I open the door and slip onto the second floor landing.

The instant I do, Maggie runs toward me, stopping just short of me to do a twirl in her white dress with a full tulle skirt. “Look, Mama! I’m a princess.”

I crouch down to give her a tight hug. “Yes, you are. But even without the pretty dress, you’re always a princess to me.”

“But you like my dress, right?”

“Of course.” I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?”

She nods, her expression becoming serious. “I’m supposed to put flower petals down for you.”

“Perfect. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She beams, then furrows her tiny brows. “Does this mean Mr. Beck is my daddy now?”

“No, sweetie. He’s not. He can be like a daddy, but he’s not your real father.”

Although I’m not sure I should even give her sperm donor the courtesy of referring to him as her father.

“Then who is my real daddy?”

I glance nervously at Parker, who discreetly steps away, allowing me the chance to talk to Maggie in private. I knew she’d eventually ask these questions, especially now that she’s around other kids and sees them play with their fathers.

When I chose to keep Maggie, I promised myself I wouldn’t do or say anything that would make her feel like she wasn’t wanted. Which is exactly what telling her about her sperm donor might do.

After all, his solution to my surprise pregnancy was to throw money at me and tell me to make it go away.

Make her go away.

That was the last time I saw or spoke to him. I didn’t even bother reaching out when Maggie was born. I grew up with parents who acted like I was nothing more than a giant inconvenience. At least when they weren’t bossing me around and dictating my life for me. I swore I’d never put Maggie in that situation.

“Your daddy is someone I knew a long time ago who’s no longer in our lives.”

“Is he under the stones?”

“The stones?”

“Yeah. Like where people get buried when they go to haven.”

I laugh at the way her innocent brain processes things.

“No. Your father isn’t in heaven. He’s alive.”

Confusion wrinkles her brows. “But if he’s alive, then?—”

“Some mommies don’t need daddies to help raise their kids. Sometimes mommies are better off without the daddy.”

“And you’re better off?”

“We’re better off.”

She contemplates this for several moments. Then she gives a curt nod. “Okay. When are we having the cake you made?”

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