Page 41 of Faking It with my Billionaire Grump

“Okay,” she says a little breathlessly. “So, how will this work?”

“We get married.” I grin.

She gives me a look, but then she smiles. “I’m serious. How do we do it? Do we just tell people? Are we going to tell them that it’s pretend, like we have with the engagement? Will we have to live together?”

Lifting my hands up in surrender to her quick-fire questions, I say, “Woah. Slow down. Let’s do this one step at a time. Besides, with a discussion this big, I need coffee. Come on.”

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting on the porch with coffee in hand, discussing how this will work at a far slower pace than Tilly’s earlier questions. With a quick Google search on her phone, we discover that there’s no notice period in our state, so it’s totally feasible that we could have just gone off one afternoon and done the deed.

We agree to tell everyone the same thing we did about our engagement.

Tilly shakes her head. “They’re going to think we’re nuts.”

“From what I hear,” I counter, “everyone’s loving the idea. They’re all totally on board with getting rid of Bryan.”

She sighs then. “I didn’t really give them much credit, did I?”

I don’t want her to feel bad again, so I ignore that question. “I’m sure your mom is thrilled, though.”

I know Bella. She was devastated when Tilly left, but she was also really disappointed that Tilly and I didn’t end up together.

“Oh, don’t get me started,” Tilly blurts, a comical expression on her face. “If I have to hear her tell me that ‘something might come of this’ one more time, I swear, I’ll go mad.”

While I smile, I swallow back the rising memory of pain that rears its ugly head every now and then. Our lives could have been so different. Tilly would be my wife, and I’m certain we would have produced one or two smaller versions of ourselves by now.

“She’ll get over it,” I say, trying to keep the hurt from my voice. “Right. So now, we need to pick a date for our wedding. Does tomorrow suit your schedule?”

She grins over at me and the upper-class voice I’m using. “Sure. Tomorrow is fine. I think I can fit you in.”

“How gracious of you,” I reply.

Before she leaves, Tilly surprises me with a hug. “Thank you for doing this,” she says. I’m trying to concentrate on her words while struggling to cope with my reaction to her body pressed so closely to mine and the wonderful scent of coconut that seeps from her hair. “I know I’ve caused you nothing but trouble since I got back.”

She steps back then, and I look down at her. “You always did, Tilly,” I say jokingly.

Grinning up at me, she then turns on her heels and heads for her truck. Once more, I watch the plume of dust follow her up the track, and with my hands tucked into my jeans pocket, I heave a sigh.

Back in the house, I head upstairs. I don’t need to worry about organizing a room for Tilly. There’s a guest room already made up for when Cal comes to stay. I head through another door and step into a room I haven’t ventured into for a long while. It’s full of old junk, a storeroom of a time long gone.

Pushing past the old boxes, baseball bats, and bags of clothes, I reach a dresser that sits against the far wall. Opening the top drawer, I gaze down at the item I put there a long time ago. Picking it up, I slip it into my pocket. I never thought it would see the light of day, but life has this habit of throwing you curveballs that take you completely by surprise.

I meet the guys at the bar for pool later that evening. I haven’t really talked to them since Tilly and I arranged the fake engagement, but we’ve kept in touch in other ways.

“How’s the ball and chain?” Phil smirks. He’s standing at the pool table, waiting for Chris to take his shot.

“Jeez, man, did you just walk out of the twentieth century?” I quip back. “I haven’t heard that expression in decades.”

Phil turns to the others. “Did you see how he expertly avoided the question there?”

The others nod and grin.

“Yep,” Chris says after missing his pocket.

“Is it working?” Joey says after taking a swig of his beer. “Is the ex falling for it?”

I quickly spin around and scan the bar before turning back to Joey. “Will you keep your noise down? He could be in here.”

“He’s not,” Joey says, shaking his head. “Greg’s been keeping us posted. He hasn’t left Culling.”

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