Page 32 of Real Fake Husband

“What does it matter?” I huff in annoyance. “As long as toothpaste is coming out, it should be fine.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not. And put it back in the right spot.”

“Oh, my God! You’re such a control freak! First, you complain that I don’t press the toothpaste correctly, and now you say I don’t put it in the right spot? I’m sorry I used it. There, happy?”

“Geez, woman, I didn’t ask you to get down on your knees and swallow, dammit, just to stop pressing the fucking toothpaste in the middle and then put it back in the right spot. Why is it so hard? You asked me not to touch your stuff, so don’t put the toothpaste withyourstuff. I can’t find it if it’s buried between your makeup.”

“Well, you stop rearranging the pillows on the couch!” I fling my hands out in frustration.

“Well, then don’t pile them up all in one spot.”

12

JOSIE

TWENTY-ONE DAYS LEFT

Apattern is emerging in our coexistence: We don’t relent. Usually, the arguments go in circles before one of us grows too tired of arguing and storms away—mostly me. I usually rush out to take a hot bath to calm myself, and when I come out of the bathroom, he’s gone. I wonder where he gets all the energy after the hours at the dealership. From our few conversations that don’t revolve around tubes of toothpaste or his biker boots, I gather that he goes out to the bar to see a game, connect with old friends, or just ride around with Theo.

He’s at the dealership site every single day. If he’s not helping with the construction, he’s working on other tasks that are required when building a business. Once, he took a day trip to Cali to settle business on the West Coast.

Nowhere in the will does it state that we must be together twenty-four-seven. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as on the go as he is. But I have to give him credit: Whatever he’s doing seems to be working. As far as I can tell, he has tons of friends among his peers, the new building is coming along great, and his other dealerships are running smoothly.

It certainly makes a difference whether you set up your own business, like Callum, or work for someone else. I have to breathe regularly and remind myself not to be bitchy. If what he says is true—and he’s not a liar, never has been—then he’s worked hard to turn his passion into his profession.

So, what is it that…excites me, even dazzles me about him? Why can’t I just shrug my shoulders and say, “Hey, we’re both doing our thing and this ‘forced union’ will be history soon”?

Since I’m exclusively sleeping on the couch, I almost always wake up when he arrives home late. He tries to be quiet, but the building is old. The front door and floorboards creak with the slightest pressure. Most of the time I pretend to sleep. Thank God we only have three more weeks of this—otherwise, I think we might kill each other.

Okay, I’m exaggerating. We won’tkilleach other.

Maybe torture one another a little bit.

13

CAL

It’s past midnight when I unlock the door and slip into the dark apartment.

I remove my boots, instantly sidetracked.

Moonlight was invented to shine through the blinds and illuminate Josie’s beauty. Quietly, I sneak past the couch she’s sleeping on. More light reflects on her frame, and when my eyes find her face, I stop in my tracks. She looks deceptively like an angel, innocent and calm. Her facial features reflect a peacefulness I’ve never seen on her before.

She’s breathtakingly beautiful.

Her loose hair hugs her face, and the waves kiss her shoulders. All of the day’s events leave my body as I take in the unfamiliar sight, watching her breathe soothingly, entranced by the rise and fall of her chest, admiring her gorgeousness.

As if aware of my presence, she suddenly stirs, and her head and shoulders turn in my direction. For a moment I expect her to open her eyes, but she only gasps in her sleep.

Without a second thought, I reach for the blanket to cover her body.

For one last time, my eyes roam over the sleeping angel and the image she presents to me.

I bend down and brush a soft kiss onto her forehead.

“Good night, sweet thing.” It’s barely a whisper.

Calm sleep is her only answer.

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