Page 47 of Just My Fake Husband

He nods. “I’m taking care of that, yes.”

The contract stipulated we’d keep our finances separate. It’s just as well. I don’t need Gabriel knowing how much I spend on accessories and clothes for Lunch Lady Liz.

I finally give in to the urge to lie on the bed, flopping back so that my hair flies out from my head in every direction. I give a visible moan at the delectable feeling, and glance at Gabriel, who is scowling down at me.

Maybe I shouldn’t flaunt the fact that I’m sleeping here, and he’s got a questionable air mattress.

“You hungry?” he asks.

I rub my belly as I pull myself up, with great effort, to sitting. “Starving.”

He leaves the doorway and heads for the kitchen. “I got us Italian.”

“In honor of the couple who owns this place?” I call out before I move to close the bedroom door. “Uh, I’m just going to change.”

Not that I needed to tell him that. I remove my wedding gown, panicking for a moment when I have a hard time with my zipper. This is not going to be one of those movies where the guy has to help the girl out of her clothes!

I manage to get it unzipped and change into a lightweight, apricot sweatsuit.

There. The most unappealing thing I own, next to my ratty old bathrobe.

His gaze flicks to me when I come out of the bedroom. “Hey.” He pulls the foil pans from the refrigerator—it’s Wolf brand, but custom as it’s about half the width of a normal one—and puts them in the oven—also a Wolf—to reheat.

“Where did you get this food? There’s not an Italian restaurant around here.”

A pause. “Denver. Ever been to Macciato’s?”

“I’ve heard of it, but no.” That would require a special circumstance to want to spend all that money on noodles. But getting married is special enough, right? “You drove all that way? Today?”

He looks uncomfortable. “I wanted to get something good for us.”

I peek in the foil-lined paper bag on the counter. “Hearty Italian bread?” I lift one of the tubs next to it. “And a variety of high-end butters?”

“It is our wedding night.” His eyes flash, promptly causing my heart to do a flip-flop.

I have to spin around toward the kitchen sink to get away from those searing blue eyes. Instead, I focus on the fact that I’m suddenlystarving.After a moment, I look again, and now he’s got his tie undone and it’s hanging from his neck. Whenhe moves, I see the small patch of skin showing above his half-unbuttoned shirt.

Mama Mia.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clear my throat.

“I thought it would be a nice gesture is all.” His tone has a splash of defensiveness. “I figured most people like pasta, right? It’s pretty basic.”

I grab the sponge near the sink and begin wiping down an already pristine countertop, carefully lifting the “World’s Best Dad” medallion in the cracked frame to wipe under it. Poor Gabriel. This is a very physical reminder of what he’s lost. “I’m sure it will be good. So what are you doing tomorrow?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he says. “I can cross off getting married. Now we have to figure out ways to convince my parents that this is the real deal.”

“I told Sebastian I wasn’t coming into work tomorrow. Obviously, I didn’t say anything about being on my ‘honeymoon.’”

“They’ll all discover the reason soon enough.”

I scoff. “What are they going to say? I almost want to go in tomorrow to get it over with, to . . . you know . . .” I can’t even say it.

“Face Sebastian. Right.” Gabriel screws up his features, deep in thought. “I have a feeling they’re going to be coming by here for some answers as soon as they hear the news.”

I shake my head to clear it. I have to do this. It’s not a crime to elope. “So we just wait here after sending out the photos like we’re in a courtroom waiting for the jury’s verdict?”

He eyes me carefully. “Pretty much.”

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