Page 48 of Fake Wife for Dr. Secret Daddy

When she comes, her eyes fly open and she lets out a beautiful, earth-shattering moan. It’s all it takes for me to go over the edge, my vision whiting out as I come hard and fast, filling her up.

It goes on and on, the moment so good that I must put a hand over my mouth to stop myself from actually telling her the depth of my feelings. When I come back to myself, I kiss her once, trembling.

“Thank you, Ted,” she says. I collapse beside her. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I smell her vanilla perfume. All around us, the sounds of summer in Lake Las Vegas fill the space, and the sun is warm enough for me to feel myself lulled toward sleep.

“For what?” I slur, tucking her closer to me.

“For everything,” she whispers, kissing my chest.

My heart swells. “I’d give you anything, Winnie.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to.

I hold her in the sunlight, and I think that this is more than I could ever ask for.

CHAPTER 20

Winnie

Sometimes when I stare at Ted, I see a prize. A prize I am not willing to let go, a prize that I worked hard to get. A prize that I come home to after a hard day at work, a prize that I console myself with when the going gets tough.

Right now, I am staring at him as he sleeps, my prize. He is even more beautiful in slumber, his hair tousled and his face relaxed and devoid of stress and worry.

I resist the urge to touch him in order not to disrupt his sleep. He had been in the gym yesterday, and it was only right he slept for as long as he could. Stealthily and slowly, I creep out of bed, heading to the children's room.

I stare at my beautiful babies as they sleep, their eyes closed. Isla's thumb was in her mouth, she never seemed to stop sucking. Luna is spread out on the bed, just like her father, refusing to give care in the world.

It is their birthday, and I know I must celebrate it. It is worth celebrating, after everything we have been through.

I stare at them and wonder what would've happened if fate hadn't decided to let our paths cross again. I do not think I would've been able to make it this far without them. I would probably return to inpatient care again, sipping tea and eating crackers with other patients.

I disappear to the kitchen, making a mental note to start preparing for the birthday celebration. Not that I knew a lot of people–it was going to be warmer inviting only those I knew and seeing them partake in the joy I also felt.

Opening the cupboard, I searched for the coffee bag, determined to make Ted a quick breakfast to get him up and running for the children's birthday.

I know that Grace, his mother, wouldn't hesitate to rush down here as soon as she heard that it was her grandchildren's birthday. She had always loved them from day one, and she wasn't going to stop now.

Switching the knob of the gas cooker, I turn the heat up, letting the flame caress the side of the kettle. Without skipping a beat, I retrieve eggs from the freezer in the corner, proceeding to break them as I position a frying pan on the other side of the gas cooker.

In minutes, I was rounding up the frying of the egg and then proceeded to make the coffee.

I made it just how he liked it–hot, black, and no sugar, unlike me who loved it sugary and with a lot of cream.

In a jiffy, I put on the toasting machine and retrieve a considerable amount of bread, I toast them one after the other, waiting till the last one comes out a grizzly, sturdy brown before I leave the kitchen, stacking the breakfast onto a tray.

In the room, I am in shock to discover that Ted is still sleeping.

It makes me wonder what type of workout he did in the gym. I smile, remembering how he had maintained he wanted to go to the gym because since we had begun living together, I made him lazy, and only hungry for my recipes and my body.

Letting my hand run through his hair, I wake him up. His face is a huge disappointment as if he had been yanked out from one of the best dreams of his life.

“Today is Sunday, I don't have to go to work, do I?”

I smile at him, then hold my nose in pretense, proceeding to take a step backward. His hand over his mouth, he breathes into it, then perceives.

“If you know I have bad breath, why bring me breakfast in bed?”

He is smiling now, a wistful smile on his lips. I know it is an open invitation to come and taste his breath, which is everything but not bad, but I decline, shaking my head with a firm no.

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