Page 9 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

“Alright then.”

We bail out of the taxi and the driver peels out of the parking lot, shaking his head. It’s not even the last call, and he’s already had one silent ride with a strange ending. I’m sure he’s seen worse. At least this ride didn’t end in him having to hose the back seat down at a car wash because someone yakked. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Ugh.

I follow Weland to her front door. Her condo complex is kind of, for lack of a better word, dumpy. It’s not the nice kind of place money can buy, but I guess most of the money went to her brother’s surgeries and aftercare. Plus, this agreement was to remain secret, and there was no way she could explain a sudden influx of money. People watched her video, but just one video that went viral wasn’t enough to buy or rent a real place, as she termed it. She gives guitar lessons for a living, so she had to geta place that matched her income, or people would ask what was going on.

I mean, probably.

She rattles her key in the lock. The condos are connected together barracks-style, with gray vinyl on the outside. They’re tall and thin, with little front porches and one parking spot each. I’m assuming the little red sedan in front of the place belongs to Weland. It doesn’t look safe, which makes my blood boil. I should have bought her a brand-new one. I still could. Except people will ask questions, and I don’t want to do anything that leads back to me, that leads back to my cousins getting leverage against me to prove the marriage is fake. They know I have a wife, but they don’t know who she is or where she is, and as long as they don’t know that, they can’t prove it’s not legit. They’ve no doubt tried. Many, many times. They haven’t found anything concrete, and I just have one more year to get through. Then, the shares will be irrevocably mine, and the company I can’t bear to lose because it’s myeverythingwill be safe.

I should not be here right now. If I were followed, this would lead whoever was looking straight to Weland’s door.

I duck inside, my heart racing wildly.

It starts racing for another reason a few seconds later. Because when I enter the small living room that the place opens up to, it smells like freshly baked cookies, ocean breeze, and sickly sweet dog farts.

“Beans!” Weland rushes across the room to hug her dog.

I think it’s a dog. Kidding. I know it’s a dog. She was right about it looking more like a hairy potato, the fur looking like old scraggly beard trimmings glued onto a grey, dumpy sort of old potato with toothpick legs stuck at the bottom. If you are thinking of a five year old’s monstrosity of a drawing that is supposed to be a dog, then think this one.

Okay, that’s unkind. I love kids. I just don’t plan on having any of my own. But I do like them. A lot. Other people’s kids are great. I’ve always felt more at home with kids than with any other humans. Kids say what they mean, and they’re guileless. It’s refreshing to cut through the crap sometimes. Plus, they have great imaginations. I support tons of charities and most of them are all for kids because that’s where I’m passionate about making a difference. I’ve seen firsthand what giving someone a chance can do.

Anyway, it’s also mean to think gnarly negative thoughts about someone else’s dog. It can’t help its genetics or the life it had.

“I’m just going to take him for a quick walk.” Weland clips a leash onto the dog’s red leather collar. He wags his tail as she takes him to the door and then lets out little chuffing woofs, impatient to get going. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?” I can’t believe it. She has zero stranger danger. This is not okay. My protective instincts roar to life, even if they’re misplaced in this situation. She’s not really mine to protect. She just needs to be hers to protect. To keep herself safe. I see no security here. The locks on the door look easy to get through. Yeah, the neighborhood is okay. Nothing scary going on there, at least. But that’s not the point. The point is, I’m a stranger in her house, and she’s just going to walk out.

“Sure, yeah. What are you going to do when I’m gone? Go through my underwear drawer and keep a pair of my panties like a weird and creepy panty snatcher?”

My face gets hot, and I don’t usually get hot faces. It’s not me. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay. Well, even if you don’t keep them, don’t go through them and sniff them or anything. I promise they all just smell like laundry detergent.”

“Holy Christ.”

Her cheeks go red to match mine. “Okay, that was too much.” She motions to the kitchen, which is just down from the living room. The whole area is open, with a staircase heading way up that looks far too steep and narrow right at the entrance. “I baked cookies this afternoon. They’re in a container on the counter. Feel free to help yourself.”

“I could be in here sprinkling drugs on your cookies. Getting up to no good. Committing nefarious murder. Are you sure about this?”

Her eyes narrow and rake up and down over me. My heart starts to pound all wonky again. “You did promise you aren’t a stalker or a creep, and you also said no seduction. So I think I’m safe.”

I quirk a brow. “I could say anything.”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “But you meant it. I can tell.”

I don’t get to respond because her dog leaps up and scratches at the door, wagging that stumpy tail like a maniac. Weland laughs, opens it, charges through, and then she’s gone, and I’m alone.

I need to fix this.

My first instinct is to call Smitty, but that would be giving up the game in the worst way. So that leaves…me. I can’t call my security people. Nothing to give me away. Not yet. But I will. I will make calls and put a team on Weland to make sure she’s safe. Someone to watch this condo since it’s not like I can drop by later and install security and better locks.

How can her father let her live like this?

How can her assholehusbanddo this? Why didn’tIinsist on safety?

She’s been living on her own for years now, and she’s been fine. It’s not your business. You have no right to make it your business.

Except I’m here now, I’ve seen this place, I know I have to do something, and that’s all there is to it.

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