Page 50 of Just My Fake Husband

“Well then, how about you rewrite it to read from both of us? Keep it the same, just say ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ and sign it from both. And include me on the group text.”

A feeling of unease slams into me. “I don’t know. I don’t know if you want to hear what they have to say.”

At her grunt, I amend my words. “Not that it would be bad towards you because I think my family already likes you. No, I mean, they’re going to be angry that we eloped so soon.” I’ve been sucker punched in the gut. What was I thinking?

“Well then, all the more reason for me to be on there. We have to show them we’re a team. A united front. As yourwifeyI need to be involved in telling them.”

“Wifey, huh?” A smile threatens my lips.

“I was being facetious.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her eyes flash and her smile lights up every part of her face. “You don’t know the half of it, Gabriel Tate.”

“You’re right. And all I can think about is how I’m going to push ‘send’ and then it will be like I’m releasing a couple of lambs to the slaughter.”

“The slaughter? You make it sound like your family’s the worst. They’re not.”

“I know they’re not. They’re just going to be surprised.”

“Who’s going to be more upset? Sebastian or Henry?”

I sigh, gripping my mug. “I’ve been so worried about Sebastian, I almost forgot about Henry. He’ll be just as bad.”

“Henry’s harmless.” She laughs. “At least where his family’s concerned. And now I’m part of the family, like it or not!”

She’s so jovial about this. But in a detached way, like it has nothing to do with me. She’s not all in her head about this situation like I am.

“Fine.” I breathe. “I’m not going to be a helicopter husband.”

“Oh, I would shut that down so fast.” She shakes her head. “Iamshutting that down. No helicoptering, okay? And yes, I’m nervous about the initial reaction. But it will blow over and they’ll get used to it. I’m not going to hide from them while they go through their process.”

River mentioning my family going through their process makes me feel like we’re hunkering down. Maybe I should have planned better, been more husbandly and stocked up with a bunch of flashlights and bottles of water.

Without warning, she jumps up from the table and makes a shooting motion with both hands. “Give me five minutes before you hit send, okay?”

“So, you are nervous.”

She shrugs, tilting her head back in a show of defiance. But somehow, I see through it, to the underlying vulnerability she doesn’t want anyone to see. “I need a sec. Wouldn’t you be nervous?” she says defensively.

“I am!”

She straightens away from me, back to her position of strength. “We should figure out a codeword. Something we could say or text or Morse Code to each other if the interrogations get too intense and we need to tap out or flee or whatever.”

“How about ‘Crap has hit the fan’?”

She laughs. “I was thinking something more subtle. Like, ‘I could really use a bean burrito right now.’”

“Boring and not at all accurate. But fine.”

“It has to fit into normal, everyday speech,” she insists. “And, more importantly, you don’t like bean burritos?”

“Oh, I love ‘em. But I think with the way my nerves are, I couldn’t eat one for a year.”

“Like, this entire year we’re . . .” she glances both ways, before leaning in. “Married?” she whispers. And then she does that thing, where she brings the tip of her tongue to the top of her upper lip.

Her mouth torments me.

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