Page 41 of Wild Side
“Cleaning.” I reach farther over my head, wiping higher on the gray kitchen cabinets.
“Why?”
“I like a clean house. It soothes me.”
Because it’s one of the only things I can control right now.
“You need to make sure that Milo grows up understanding that a clean house is important. You can’t just send him out into the world thinking that paid staff will clean up after him and that his secret CIA daddy will pay for everything.”
“CIA?”
I shake my head, moving to the next cabinet with an irritated huff. “You are secretive and covered in bruises. Porn doesn’t make sense anymore. And I’m tired of asking, so whatever. You go ahead and keep your weird secrets. Anyway”—I forge ahead, barely pausing to breathe—“men can’t just go out into the worldas lazy slobs who don’t know how to cook anything. If he’s going to be a good partner one day, he should at least have some domestic capabilities. And I don’t know what your place is like, so if you don’t keep it clean, you better fucking star?—”
“I’ll marry you, Tabitha.”
His words suck all the air out of the room, and I pause with my back to him. What he said was clear as day, and yet I can’t have heard him properly over the pounding in my ears.
“That’s not a funny joke,” I venture, turning to face him in slow motion.
“No, I agree.”
There isn’t a stitch of humor in any of his strong features. That nose, just slightly big. His brow, just slightly heavy. Those lips, just slightly pouty. Masculine from head to toe.
And entirely serious.
“But…” My brain searches for the words, but none jump out at me. He’s struck me speechless.
Eventually, I come up with, “But why would you do this?”
A shrug. “For Milo.”
I swallow the unexpected sting of those words. I’m not under any delusion about what’s between Rhys and me.
There’s animosity and sexual tension, but not a lot of love. Which is fine. I’ve never been the girl who dreams about her wedding day with the perfect white dress and Pinterest-worthy decorations. But there’s still something hollow about the moment. A pang of longing for something I never knew I wanted.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Are you?”
My lips roll together. I know I’m the one who suggested this. But still.
What the fuck am I doing?
My teeth nibble at my bottom lip as I nod over and over again. “Sure. Yeah. We can hit the courthouse, get our marriage certificate, and then you can do whatever you want. We can stay married just long enough for you to get citizenship and then split. Keep it all very amiable for Milo’s sake. I would pinky promise you not to come after half of what’s yours when we divorce but…” I trail off with a grimace, deciding now is not the moment to antagonize him over his weak-ass pinky promises.
Still, I don’t miss the flash of sadness in his eyes as he looks away.
“Sorry. I just mean—we can get ’er done, high-five, and go our separate ways.” I’m talking, but it feels surreal. Like I’m outside myself watching the scene play out on television.
Rhys sighs and lifts a hand to scrub at his stubbled chin. “It’s going to have to look a little more real than that, Tabby. We’ve got Milo in the mix. We can’t have people talking about it being fake. I don’t know how closely the government will be watching now that I’m on their radar. Immigration will be suspicious as hell.”
My stomach drops as I fixate on one thing.Milo. How will he take this?
I toss the rag on the kitchen counter and take a few steps closer to him. “Wait. So you’re saying we need to have a real wedding? Like with real guests and shit?”
The world around me spins, and my chest goes tight. I know I felt like I was due to make a stupid choice—but notthisstupid. I must be downright delusional to think that I could pull something like this off.
“With real guests and shit,” he deadpans.
