Page 26 of The Accidental Wife

“Tristan, can we please get a quote? Why did you lie about being married?”

I open the door, so Shayla could get in, and I walk around the car. “Guys, you’re trespassing on private property. Please leave.”

“Can you please confirm the pregnancy?”

I sigh and roll my eyes, “She’s not pregnant. I wasn’t forced into marrying her. I married her because I’m in love with her. There’s your quote. I urge you to stop printing false stories and respect our privacy.” I tell them and open the driver side door and get in. They push the cameras against the tinted windows and keep snapping photos of us as I pull out of the parking space. I speed away and out of the car park. “You all right?” I ask, glancing over at Shayla, who sighs and nods while looking out of her window.

“I’ll never get used to having cameras shoved in my face and people screaming at me like that. I don’t know how you do it.”

I shrug, “You get used to it after a while. It’s overwhelming the first few times, but eventually, it just becomes the norm.”

“If you say so.” She mumbles, looking at me briefly before averting her gaze out of the window again. We didn’t exchange any more words until we got back to my place.

Shayla looks around my apartment as we walk in. “You live here alone?”

I nod, tugging my tie off and folding it up neatly. “Yes, why?”

“It’s pretty big for just one person. Don’t you ever feel lonely in this big apartment?” I smile and shake my head.

“Not really. I barely spend time here, to be honest. I’m out of the house early, and I get home pretty late from work, so it’s pretty much used as a crash pad now.” I explain, setting my briefcase on the white marble countertop, unlock it, and pull out the contract I had my lawyer draw up. “I don’t know about you, but after today I could use some wine,” I say, walking over to the kitchen to grab two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Sounds good.” I open the bottle of white wine and watch as Shayla wanders around the apartment. She walks over to the bi-fold doors to the terrace and looks out at the view. “Wow, that view is gorgeous.”

I walk over to her with two glasses and the bottle of wine in my hand. “I know. It’s why I bought this place. I fell in love with the view instantly. Would you like to sit outside? The sunset is stunning from up here.” I ask, and she nods beaming. I hand her the bottle of wine and pull the big bi-fold doors open. “Take a seat, and I’ll grab the contract.”

Shayla walks over to the white sofa outside and places the bottle and the glasses on the table. I grab the contract and walk over to her, taking a seat beside her. I pull the paperwork out of the envelope while she pours the wine. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” She picks up her copy and flips the first page, her eyes skimming over the front page. “Miss Hart may not speak of nor share the contractual agreements with any third parties?” She reads and lifts her eyes to look at me. “In doing so, a penalty of £500,000 will be imposed.”

I nod, “I mean, I know you wouldn’t, but just in case you take this agreement and sell it off to the tabloids. It’s a discretion agreement. It’s just a clause to protect myself and my family. You understand.”

Shayla chuckles but nods. “Right, because if had that much money laying around I’d be working for you.” I give her a mega-watt smile and she rolls her eyes before she turns the page and reads the first line. “Whoa, hold on, we have to stay married a year?” She looks at me again and shakes her head. “No, absolutely not.”

I frown, “What do you mean absolutely not? A year is a sufficient amount of time for people to believe we tried to make it work.” I explain, and she shakes her head again.

“A year is an exceptionally long time, Cole. Six months.” She says, and I shake my head this time.

“Too short, nine months.”

“No, three months.”

I sigh, and we glare at each other, “Fine, six months.” I concede striking out the clause and amending it to the new timeline. “You’re so stubborn.”

Shayla smiles and takes a sip of her wine. “I know, it’s a gift.” She looks at the next line, and her eyes go wide. “Wait. What? This clause says I have to move in with you?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

She shakes her head swiftly. “No, no bloody way. I am not living with you.” She claims, dropping her pen and crossing her arms over her chest while glowering at me.

I rub my forehead in frustration, “Shayla, we’re married. It’s expected of us to be living together. If you keep saying no to everything we will never get anywhere.”

Shayla stares at the papers apprehensively and looks at me again sulking. “Fine.” She agrees, picking up her glass of wine and knocks it back.

“Thank you. Okay, moving on.”

“Neither participants must engage in any other sexual activities or relationships with any other persons for the duration of the marriage.” She reads and chuckles. “Oh good, a no cheating clause, the pillar of every good marriage.” She drawls sardonically, and I smirk into my glass.

“Doesn’t hurt to be clear. If we want this to be believable, then we need to be careful and if that means we can’t see other people, then so be it.” Shayla watches me for a long moment and drops her gaze to the papers in front of her.

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