Page 9 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

“My mother sent them.”

He zeroes in on them as I drop them into the trash, then regards me, frowning. “She’s still doing that shit to you?”

My heart speeds up, and a pit forms in my chest as a memory flashes through my mind. The day my mother took me dress shopping for the middle school dance. How she wouldn’t let me buy the one I fell in love with because she said it didn’t flatter my figure.

“Obviously,” I bite out. The last thing I want to discuss with him is my mother. “Sit,” I point at my bed.

He looks from the bed to me, arching a brow several shades darker than his natural blond hair. “Already inviting me into your bed? I’m not surprised.”

I bite back a growl. I’ve never wanted to kick someone in the face more in my entire life.

“Don’t act like you aren’t familiar with falling into girls’ beds.” I cross my arms over my chest but quickly drop my arms to my sides. Something about him makes me incredibly defensive. “I need you to be straight with me. What all does this entail?”

My stomach rolls. Why am I even considering this?

He swallows, looking away like he knows there’s a good chance I’ll go running and screaming for the hills.

“We’ll need to get a place together. I need to have a proper home.” He glides his long fingers through his hair. “According to my lawyer, they’ll do home checks.” Rubbing his palms over his jeans, he cocks his head to the side. “They’ll interview us too, to make sure we’re competent.”

Great, Daire getting custody of his kid is reliant on me proving I can handle a child.

My chest is so tight it’s hard to breathe. “How old is this kid?”

“He’s a few months.”

I choke on my own saliva, hacking so hard that he actually gets up and hovers close, his hands held out in front of him like he’s not sure what to do. Clearly, he has some work to do before he can be deemed competent enough to take care of a child.

Note to self—sign up for parenting classes.

Jesus, why am I taking this so seriously?

“Sorry,” I say, breathless. “Swallowed wrong.”

Instead of sitting on my bed again, he pulls out my desk chair. His big body makes it look like a child’s chair.

He presses his hands together, almost in prayer. “I need you, Rosie.” The words are soft, though his shoulders are rigid and his mouth is set in a firm line, like it hurt to make that admission. “Please don’t back out on me.”

I lower my attention to the floor between us. I can’t look at him right now. “When would we have to get married?”

“As soon as possible,” he answers without hesitation.

If my stomach sinks any lower, it’ll be on the floor. “I want a wedding. A real one.” I tilt my chin up defiantly. I’ve always dreamed of an elaborate wedding—thousands of flowers, an orchestra playing my favorite modern love songs, an elegant white gown.

The relationship may be fake, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a wedding.

He groans. “No.”

“Fine.” I smile. “Then get out. No deal.”

He clasps his hands and glowers at me. “I know you’re not going to stop at a wedding.”

“Obviously not.”

He looks away. “We get married as soon as possible. A simple courthouse ceremony?—”

“That—”

“But…” He holds up a hand, cutting off my protest. “Once we secure a custody agreement,thenyou can have your wedding.”

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