Page 58 of The Fake Affair

“You’re brooding again,” Audrey says, perched on my office couch. “Stop it.”

“I don’t brood.”

“Please. You’ve been staring at the same contract for twenty minutes.” She rubs her slightly rounded belly. “Speaking of which, how’s therapy?”

“Good.” And it is. Three sessions in, I’m starting to understand things I’ve carried for twenty-eight years. “Bella comes to the Friday ones.”

“And?”

“And it helps. Having her there.” I sign the contract without reading it.

“Look at you, talking about feelings.” She grins. “Almost like an adult.”

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Shouldn’t you be planning your big romantic gesture?”

I glance at my phone. Everything’s set for tonight.

“He’s nervous,” Audrey stage-whispers to her belly. “Your uncle Logan’s actually nervous.”

“Don’t you have a husband to torment?”

“He’s in surgery.” She stands, gathering her things. “Besides, this is more fun. Text me how it goes?”

After she leaves, I check the arrangements one final time. Bella thinks it’s a casual date. She doesn’t know I’ve been planning this for days.

My phone buzzes with a text from her.

Finishing up office space hunt. Still on for tonight?

I smile and text back.

Wouldn’t miss it.

The chef arrives at six, transforming my kitchen into something that smells like heaven. By seven, everything’s perfect. Candles are lit. Wine—sparkling juice for her—is chilling. The dessert plate is waiting in the kitchen with its message written in chocolate.

The elevator dings at seven-thirty.

Bella steps out looking devastatingly gorgeous in a deep blue dress. “Something smells amazing.”

“You look amazing.”

“And you look absolutely handsome.” She smiles as I help her out of her coat. “What’s the occasion?”

“Can’t I spoil my...” I pause. We haven’t defined what we are yet. That’s tonight’s mission.

Her eyes sparkle. “Your what?”

“Let’s eat first.”

Dinner is perfect. She tells me about the different office buildings she’s found so far for her marketing agency, her eyes bright with excitement. I tell her about therapy, about finally understanding why I’ve always needed control.

“I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “For doing the work.”

“It’s easier with you there.”

The chef appears to clear our plates. “Dessert?”

---