Page 49 of Just My Fake Husband

“It looks comfortable,” he says, and I’m trying to figure out if that’s a compliment or not when he adds, under his breath, “It does not still fit.”

When his gaze goes to my legs, I get it.

He’s attracted to me in this.

He’s attracted to me in this?

It’s threadbare, thin, and eggplant purple. But it hits my mid-thigh . . . I grew quite a bit after the age of twelve. I should have thought about that.

The dynamics of this have become even more complicated. I don’t say a thing. What is there to say? I just make a couple of pieces of toast as quickly as possible, humming under my breath so that it appears I’m not paying any attention to him.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” he says. I guess it doesn’t matter that I wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Yes?” I ask, cautiously.

“Will you write a press release about our marriage? It would be nice to send it out in a couple of days.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

A press release about our union? That’s not going to be hardat all.

I take the plate back to my room.Theroom or is it officiallymyroom? Probably not since his clothes are all in there still. I eat as quickly as I can and get dressed in a flannel shirt and leggings. I’m up in the mountains, aren’t I?

Right as I move to open the bedroom door, a text buzzes through.

Gabriel:I’m sending you these for your approval before I unleash them to my family.

It’s the photos Milo took. I feel my knees buckle.

Gabriel chose three. We’re standing on the steps of the courthouse, holding up the marriage certificate. In two of them, we’re smiling appropriately, detached, like we’re models in a bridal magazine.

But the third one is more serious, and we’re looking at each other from the sides of our eyes. It’s nice. Pretty.

You know what? Photography is a wonder. A form of magic. Because the way we’re looking at each other? I could almost think that we were actually in love.

Chapter 17

Gabriel

“So? Are those photos okay? Is my text okay?” I ask as she joins me at the banquette. It seems like a common courtesy to ask those questions when one has a fake marriage to appease one’s family. As one does.

Except it’s not fake. It’s very much a legal marriage of convenience. A real agreement to be unconventional. Which is exactly why her parading around in a short, very thin bathrobe is problematic.

And to be fair, she wasn’t exactly parading around. I couldn’t help but notice it, and having to resist her for a year if she’s wearing that? Forget about it.

“They’re fine.” She pulls the photos up on her phone again. “I can admit that we look good. Milo’s a good photographer. And Jana’s are nice, too.”

“Yes. And I think we make a nice-looking couple.”

She glances at me, but I pretend I don’t see.

“Yes. I suppose,” she says. “I think they’ll do the job.”

“And the text? Do you approve?”

“Honestly, this is your deal with your family. I don’t—”

“But I want you to know what’s going on. I want you to know how I’m going to present it to them. That’s what a married guy needs to do, right?”

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