Page 58 of Just My Fake Husband

“Ew.” She shoots a look of disgust and chews while she applies makeup to one eye.

She repeats the process of running back and forth from the counter to grab a bite and sometimes the bedroom for something else, all while texting or leaving voice memos to co-workers.

Finally, she’s ready to go and grabs the last triangle of toast off her plate, raising it in the air and tipping her head at me. “Thanks for the food.” She dashes to the bathroom to brush her teeth. One last glance at the house before we leave, and I almost comment on how it looks like a tornado hit.

But I don’t. My mom taught me better than that.

As we reach the car, I remind her of an important section in the contract. “You know, if you’d let me get you a nicer car, you could be driving yourself to work.”

“Sorry about the inconvenience to you.”

“No, I don’t mind. I just wanted you to remember that you have options.”

I open her door for her. “Thanks, but I can’t get rid of the car.” She slides onto the passenger seat. “I’m going to drive it as long as possible and then park it on the front lawn and fill it with potted flowers and watch as it goes to rust the next fifty years.”

At my look of horror, she laughs. “I’m kidding about the rusty flower garden part. But not about keeping it. It was my dad’s.”

We drive down the mountain to the resort and the whole way down, River is on her phone. “Trying to get caught up on emails but the service up here isn’t great.”

I press on the gas, sending her flying backwards as she grips the door handle with a “Whoa.” And then, a “Let’s go!”

I appreciate a woman who appreciates my ability to drive fast. Warmth seeps through my chest. It’s the same feeling I had this morning when I woke up to her in my arms, and every time I realize that I’m wearing a wedding ring.

This warmth is not a good thing to have, it’s a complication. I clear my throat and focus on trying to get River—my wife—to work safely and on time.

Except, I have to tell her something first, and I have no idea how she’s going to receive it.

Chapter 21

River

We drive to Tate International, and as often happens, I’m stuck with my first view of it as we come around the bend. It’s built into the mountainside with mid-century modern planes and weighty, classic touches. It’s both a jewel box and a fortress.

I only have a couple of minutes before my first meeting, but I’m prickling with thoughts of Gabriel and me sharing his bed and waking up entwined in each other’s arms.

What happened? We built a pretty solid barrier, but it was gone by morning. As embarrassing as that was, it was also nice. There’s a silent agreement between us—a fog ofthis never happenedwafts along the air inside the Bronco.

Well, I won’t be able to forget about it, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be talking about it, either.

This skewed the lines of our financial arrangement.

Right before I move to open the car door, Gabriel drops a bomb in my lap.

“River, thanks for this.” His eyes are the darkest shade of blue now, his voice gravelly. From his gaze out the windshield, he darts a sideways glance at me. The one dimple I see in his profile puckers.

He seems to be grappling for his next words, so I wait to respond. And it’s not that him thanking me is the bomb in my lap. The bomb is what it means, all that’s happened in this short amount of time and the emotion in his voice.

I’m not available for these feeling things. I have to be mother and father, sister and guardian to Skye. I can’t have this life. I squeeze both fists shut in my lap, trying to convince myself of something my heart and gut don’t agree with.

Finally, he says, “I think this is going to work out, and I’m grateful for all that you’re sacrificing to make this possible.”

By “work out” does he mean to get his job back or to “work out” work out? Like how a relationship works out?

A low hum of panic hits my gut. I swivel my new wedding ring on my finger back and forth before clamping my hands down in fists again.

“I think we pulled it off yesterday,” I say. “Your siblings seem surprised but accepting. And your mom was . . . actually really great.”

“I’m sure she has mixed feelings. She loves event planning and making things special for people, though. This means a lot to her, so thanks for being willing.”

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