Page 14 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

“Right,” she says with a snort. “You’re notthatcontracted husband—my secret piece of paper, name blacked out, ultra-private, keep-my-lips-shut gag order deal husband. You’re some other guy who secretly wants to make this marriage the real deal, and you’re actually here to find out if that’s even possible, if we could even like each other as friends, let alone ever think about being married for real, having babies, and doing life together. And you had to come in and do it undercover because it’s the only thing that would have worked, and it wasn’t all some bizarre test. You’rethatkind of secret husband.”

I’m not one of those people whose brain takes off and makes them say things without thinking about them first and carefully weighing every single option. Without watching my back, guarding my fanny, and constantly looking over my shoulder. Without researching things first.

Except, apparently, I am.

“What if I were that kind of secret husband? What if we gave this marriage a real shot?”

Chapter seven

Weland

Hallucinations aren’t a thing for me. Auditory hallucinations included.

Normally.

I must have eaten something wild before bed, and this is all a dream. Maybe the one odd hour of sleep I had just isn’t cutting it. Whatever was going on, whatever I promised myself that I would roll out of bed and manifest the shit out of, nothing could have prepared me for this. In short, if it’s not a dream and it’s not real, then it has to be a hallucination. There is no Sterling, and he’s not incredibly hot, so hot that it’s a little bit unfair because no one on earth should get to be that good-looking, plus tall, dreamy, swoony, and good-smelling. He’s not here in my kitchen, and I didn’t just threaten to dice his arse ten ways to Sunday with a carrot peeler. He, for sure, didn’t just tell me he wanted to give this marriage a good old-fashioned shot. He did not just tell me he wanted to have babies with me.

Alright, so he didn’t say that last bit.

It’s just that making this marriage work, doing life together, finding out that it does work, and then eventually falling in love and being there for each other would probably one day entail us having a family. Becoming a family.

Holy banana and Beans’ farts, I need to sit down.

I stumble over to the super tiny round glass table and chair set I have in the corner. Pulling one chair out, I barely catch myself in it before my legs go into jelly mode. Across the room, Beans lifts his head and makes a sudden noise, growling low in his throat.

“I’m okay, boy. It’s all good,” I assure him.

But honestly, I don’t know if it’s all good, and I’m definitely not okay. How can this be happening? I can see how the dots can be easily connected, but it’s still just so crazy.

Sterling doesn’t walk over, but he’s still so close because the kitchen is so small. This whole condo is so tiny. It feels like he’s sucked all the air out of the room with his incredibly good-looking vortex and the huge bomb he just dropped on me.

And then…

We both smell it at the same time.

I slam my hand over my face and drag my sweater up at the same time to try and block out a bit of the choking fumes.

Sterling isn’t so lucky. His button-up shirt isn’t easy to drag up, and yes, even though he slept in it, the thing is still perfectly wrinkle-free. And so are his slacks. It makes sense now that he has tons of money. Obviously, because he’s paying me a total of half a million to be his on-paper wife so, he probably has millions or billions socked away. I’d bet billions. Five hundred thousand would be a drop in the bucket then. It makes sense why I got the vibes that he just flew in and wasn’t from here and why I also got the weird, earth-shaking sensation that he knew me. I thought it was some cosmic connection, but no, he really does know me because he pays Smitty to spy on me. Orsomething like that. Report back, whatever. I knew all about that. I’m not holding that against him. Just the rest. The rest I can definitely hold against him.

As soon as this dog fart clears out.

“Good heavens,” Sterling chokes out. He lunges for the tea towel I keep hanging from the oven door and uses it to block his nose and mouth. He still makes a coughing and gagging sound because he must have gotten more than a small dose of fumes before the tea towel was in place. “I think that beast needs to go to the vet.”

“I took him there. The day before yesterday. When I got him.” My tone is defensive, said from under my sweater. “Do you think I would just get a dog from a shelter and not get him care? They do their best, but clearly, he needed a checkup. The vet said he was fine.”

“Probiotics then. Doggy probiotics. Are those a thing?”

“I imagine they make them,” I respond.

“Well, then he needs them. Something needs to be balanced out in there. Those smells aren’t just unnatural. They’re ungodly.”

I smirk. “Ungodly, hmm?”

“Alright, don’t go there. I used the wrong word. Anyway, those smells are just…wrong. Something is off. Something that could be fixed with some healthy gut culture.”

“Fine, maybe I agree with that.” Then, I pause, still trying not to breathe through my nose. The smell is starting to permeate through my sweater, so I should shut up since I don’t want any of it getting into my mouth. “The rest, not so much. I’ll have to talk to my family first, and you’ll have to meet them. I won’t do anything they aren’t on board with.” I say it fast to get it out and get my mouth shut again, so it comes out sounding like a bunch of garbled nonsense. I think the only thing Sterling catches is family, but he clearly gets the gist.

“Family? You want me to meet them?”

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