Page 41 of My Possessive Billionaire: Our Fake Marriage

“That makes no sense. How would I walk over a squishy, lumpyhuman body in heels? It would be a lot easier to just step over or go around the puddle.”

“It’s just a figure of speech, hon, don’t read so much into it.”

She reached out and put a hand on top of my glass. “And maybe dial back on the caffeine.”

“Some of us aren’t pregnant and can have all the lattes they want,” I said, snatching my drink from her clutches. “Here’s the thing, though. As much as he keeps giving me space, I really don’t want to leave home all that much. I like spending time with my fake husband when he’s being, well, human.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, he’s even become interested in the charity work we do. He’s helped me work on our event planning and other projects.”

“Oh, I see. Is that why Jenna’s been spending so much time sitting in on our meetings? She’s been chumming around with both Ramone and Jake.”

I felt a bit miffed. I didn’t want to lose my friends to little miss-perfect-computer-brain.

“I see. I had no idea I was so replaceable.”

“No one could ever replace you, hon.”

My phone dinged with a particular tone. I quickly dug it out of my purse.

“Who in the world is so important that you put down your latte to answer them?”

“It’s just my husband. We have a charity brunch event for the Audubon Society later this week, and he’s probably just texting to remind me.”

I opened the text and found it was indeed just that. I noticed Jennifer looking at me rather intensely.

“What?” I said, closing down my phone.

“You just called Evan ‘my husband,’ didn’t you?”

My cheeks flushed with heat.

“I might have, but don’t read too much into it. It’s, um, complicated.”

“It was complicated when we met for breakfast last week, and the week before. But you never once referred to him as ‘my husband.’ It was always Evan or ‘my fake husband.’”

“What are you saying, it was a Freudian slip?”

“Was it?”

I groaned in frustration and rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m Jennifer,” she said smoothly. “Amanda, tell me, how do you really feel about him?”

I looked her in the eye and knew I couldn’t lie.

“Sometimes, I forget the fake part. You know? Like we’re just going about our business, going about our day, and for a little bit I’ll forget that it’s all fake. I’ll forget that I’m just playing a role.”

I dropped my gaze to my latte. It didn’t need stirring, but I did it anyway, the metal of the spoon sliding against the glass cup.

“It feels good to be next to him. To be living with him. Even when he tries to push me into something, it feels like he’s doing it because he cares. Even if he’s expressing it the wrong way, he still cares.”

I looked up and swallowed, hard.

“Is it out of the realm of possibility that maybe, just maybe, a man like him could really be interested in a nobody like me?”

---