Page 88 of A Very Happy Easter

“No idea.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t waste a monthly date on it. And at some point…” I took a deep breath. “At some point, we need to talk about whether we’ll be renewing this agreement. You committed to a year, and…”

Heath’s arms loosened. “You don’t want to continue?”

“No, I do. I absolutely do.”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about. Edie, I’ll fake-date you into eternity if that’s what you want.”

He kissed my hair and hugged me tight again. And that’s when I realised. We were sitting in a closet. Of course, I already knew we were sitting in a closet—I wasn’t that dumb—but we were sitting in a closet together. Heath had his arms around me. He was kissing my hair and saying sweet things and there was nobody around to hear them but me. He wasn’t playing to any audience, and neither was I.

“When you mentioned going to the races, did you mean a real date?”

“You can put whatever label you want on it.”

My tongue tied in knots, and so did my insides. What if I ruined things?

“I don’t know if I can date. But I…I…I don’t want to lose you.”

When I couldn’t speak, Heath did.

“You’re already dating. You’ve been dating like a boss for eight months now. Which part of us do you think is fake? The daily messages? The way we hold hands in public? The dinner conversation? You waking up in my arms this morning? Nothing needs to change.”

“But I’m paying you to be here,” I whispered.

Silently, he fished his phone out of his pocket. Miracle of miracles, we still had network coverage. He opened a banking app, filtered the transactions, and steadied the screen for me to read. Rent money transferred in from me. A day later, the same amount transferred out to Vocare. Every month for eight months.

“I…I don’t understand. I thought you needed the money?”

“Turns out that when you’re absolutely gone for a woman, you don’t waste so much cash buying pointless shit in a vain attempt to fill the hole in your life.”

I tried to unravel his words. Heath was gone for me? I was the woman? The lump in my throat made it difficult to speak.

“But dating is different. It means more. You’ll want more.”

He knew exactly what I meant. “I want whatever you’re comfortable giving. If sex happens, it happens. I’d rather stay celibate for the rest of my life than sleep with any other woman.”

I gasped as the sound of breaking glass came from the other room, and Heath’s arms tightened around me once more.

“What was that?”

This time, he kissed my temple. “Probably just a window. The banging means one of the shutters has come loose, but I’m not going out to check. Relax, and everything will be okay, I promise. Storm’s nearly over.”

“I’m not actually worried about the storm.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about us. We’re good. I mean, apart from having to go to a shitshow of a wedding in two days, we’re good. And I hate to say it, but when you see Constance sideways on, she definitely looks pregnant.”

I let out a groan. “I know. We’re hoping everyone just goes along with the pretence.”

“Could she wear a cape or something?”

“We’re going to drape the veil around her, and the photographer has strict instructions. He’s going to edit out anything that looks like a bump.”

Which was quite sad, really. If I had a bump, I’d wear a neon “Baby on Board” badge with an arrow pointing at it.

“Someone’s going to get a surprise in five months when an eight-pound baby shows up, but hey, that’s not our problem. Back to more important things—us.”

Heath swept my hair to the side and kissed my neck. This time, his lips lingered, and I felt the promise behind them. A shiver ran through me at the same time as heat flooded my veins.

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