Page 6 of Fake Wife for Dr. Secret Daddy

But Luna is curiously reaching for Winnie, and Winnie does look smitten with Luna. A trial run couldn’t hurt, could it?

“That sounds great,” I say. Mom beams and Winnie seems to relax a bit. Huh. Maybe she was worried about getting the job, too.

We hear a car pull up, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. That must be my father. I’m glad he’s here—he’s always been more personable than me, and he’s had a soft spot for Austin and Winnie since they were kids. Hopefully, he’ll be able to make this entire thing less awkward.

With Luna on her hip, Mom dashes towards the side of the house to meet Dad. I wave to Luna, who is chanting Pop Pop! Pop Pop! affectionately.

Unfortunately, that leaves me with just Winnie.

I turned to her, taking her in. She looks mostly the same, though she’s not in the signature smokey eye makeup she used to wear. I wonder if it’s because it’s so hot out or if it’s just not what she likes anymore.

Austin mentions Winnie in our letters, of course, but they are always vague and brief. I’d been hesitant to bring her up because I was too afraid, he’d uncover my less-than-chivalrous decisions that fateful night.

“Long time no see,” I say to Winnie, then wince at how stupid that sounded.

Winnie, graceful as ever, smiles. Her smile is smaller now that Luna isn’t here than I remember when she was younger. But then, I hadn’t fucked her and left the state then.

A pit in my stomach opens, and I open my mouth to apologize?—

“Luna’s a real sweetheart,” she says, glancing towards where my parents are walking back with her, swinging her between them.

“She’s the light of my life,” I answer honestly.

Winnie’s eyes flicker over my face, almost consideringly. Then she nods once. “Yes, I imagine she would be.”

“Austin didn’t mention you were a nanny now.” I’m being such a fucking coward, but Winnie has relaxed a bit, and my parents are almost within hearing distance.

“It’s a new thing,” she shrugs. “I’ve taken… some time off, and this is me jumping back in.” Her eyes widen a little. “But I’m qualified. I’ll take good care of her, you know.”

“I believe you.” And I do. Something about Winnie gives off trustworthiness.

She glances between me and my parents before leaning a small step closer. “No one knows,” she whispers, eyes downcast on the grass. “So, don’t worry or say something dumb, alright?”

Relief floods through me. “Right,” I reply. “Yeah, I mean… Yeah.”

“Ted!” My father calls. “Look at this delightful girl we’ve found!”

Luna giggles brightly. My father had split his time between Lake Las Vegas and New York, so while Luna knows him, he’s far more exclusive and exotic than myself or my mother. I roll my eyes at how obsessed they already are with each other.

“Son, come inside with me for a moment. We’ve got work to discuss. Let’s let the girls get lunch ready.”

My mom smiles, and I wince a little. I don’t want Luna growing up with the soft, lowball sexism that I had like men going inside to work while women get lunch ready. But…

My father had a look on his face that meant business, and I decided to talk with Mom later rather than make a scene now.

I followed him to the main house. The wide, sparkling glass doors that separate the inside from the back patio are as familiar to me as anything else in the house, but it still feels like stepping into a different world to go inside. The winding path to my father’s office is easy, yet like I’m a kid about to get scolded, dreadful.

He sits down, and so do I, too. Then he passes me a manilla folder labeled Inheritance: Ted Gates. I frown. “What is this?”

“It’s labeled,” my father says with an exasperated sigh. “You’ve returned to receive your inheritance, haven’t you?”

I blink at the folder, opening it. “I came here for a job,” I reply. “One you asked me to come for?”

“Taking over the Gates Hospital Foundation is hardly a job,” Dad says. It’s your birthright. These are the terms and conditions of the inheritance. They’re the same as the ones I had to follow when my father stepped down, though we’ve removed the archaic requirements.”

“Archaic?” I ask, quickly scanning the documents. Medical degree, ten years of service, proven capabilities to handle large sums, married— “Married?” I blurted out.

My father nods, brow furrowing. “Of course. You’ll need to be married like I was to your mother. It proves responsibility, accountability to someone other than yourself, too?—”

---