Page 1 of I Replaced His Husband
KAY
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway yanked me out of a restless, shallow nap. My heart kicked into overdrive, thudding hard against my ribs. I knew exactly who had arrived. And why.
I jumped to my feet, knocking over a few pillows from the makeshift nest I’d built on the bed. Throat dry, breath quick and shallow, I went to the window and pressed my forehead to the glass.
A black Ford was parking with slow, intended care, lining up neatly along the flower beds where the smoke bush seedlings were growing. The low hum of the engine must’ve drawn my brothers, Marco and Adam, out of the house. I saw them approach the man stepping out of the car.
My heart raced like I’d been running, making me a little lightheaded. For a second, my vision blurred, and I thought it was Maurice.
Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, something about the way he moved, it brought back the memory of my husband. But of course, it wasn’t Maurice, because his body lay at the bottom of the sea.
This man was a stranger. An intruder in the fragile little world I’d built around my grief.
The window was shut, but with the AOs' enhanced hearing, I could catch bits and pieces of their conversation. They were trying to make it sound casual, like this wasn’t strange or vaguely inappropriate.
Handshakes, small talk about the drive and the traffic; just filler words. The man didn’t say much. He looked tense, dropping his keys, bumping his elbow on the side mirror. His every movement showed obvious signs of stress. According to Marco and Adam, the guy wasn’t the player or lover-boy type. This arrangement was just as challenging for him as it was for me.
He’d gone through a divorce last year. Took it hard, apparently. My brothers had filled me in over the last few days, but I hadn’t really been listening. I wasn’t ready to let anyone else into my life, not even close, so why would I need those extra bits of noise cluttering my head.
It had barely been two months since Maurice’s car went off that cliff, taking him from me forever.
My miserable life. What had it turned into?
I closed my eyes for a second and took a long breath.Remember, Kay! You agreed to this. You’re the one who made the call.
I could still back out. But I knew I wouldn’t. The alternative was just too dangerous. I’d hit my limit. My health was starting to get worse.
I tried to tune back into their voices, but I couldn’t concentrate. The glass muffled anything quieter than a raised tone anyway. So I just watched him.
His hair gleamed in the sunlight, a deep chestnut with auburn highlights, cropped short above his slightly tanned neck and longer on top. The black T-shirt clung to his muscular chest. Of course, I’d seen his photos before since he’d gone to college with my brothers. The guy was stunningly handsome, and I suspected that was exactly why they picked him. They had plenty of other friends who would have gladly taken on the task: Danny, Gregory, Chuck, Henry. All their alpha buddies were nice guys, responsible, with good jobs, but looks-wise? Not so much.
And him? He had it all.
So Adam made the call and offered me this man, assuming his good looks would make it easier for me. But assumptions and reality are two different things.
I watched him with narrowed eyes.
He was leaning against the hood now, trying to look relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t let up. Finally, I heard Adam offer him food and a shower, and the three of them disappeared inside.
Silence fell.Tick-tock, tick-tock.
My time was up.
Forgive me, Maurice. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be… a whore. But I don’t have a choice.
I figured I had maybe half an hour, an hour tops, before they came upstairs. That had been the agreement: no getting-to-know-you dinner, no small talk, no flirting. Just something clinical, mechanical. A therapy for me.
I knew he worked remotely, that he could stay here for a few months, or longer, if I asked him to.
That thought itself hit me with a flash of irritation. It would be hard to keep him out of my space, to avoid slipping into conversation or accidentally sharing meals or lazy afternoons on the terrace. And I couldn’t handle that right now. Everything in me rebelled against the idea of forced closeness, of someone invading the tenuous quiet I’d wrapped around myself.
But was it still that quiet? Or safe? Or was it all just slowly falling apart anyway, while I curled up in my sad little nest, sobbing, trying to hold on?
That nervous flutter came back in my chest. How could he possibly understand what I was feeling, and respect my space, without a word between us? Had my brothers explained enough for him not to bolt the moment things got difficult?
I didn’t want to be rude, but I would be. I knew it. He’d just have to deal with it.
The only question was: what boundaries should I set? How strict should they be? Would my grief push him away? Make him resent me enough to walk out?
