Page 7 of Real Fake Husband

“Congratulations, Mrs. Ashford,” I can’t resist teasing her. “Should we kiss now and seal the deal?”

“Hell will freeze over before I kiss you.” A hand goes up to her hair as if to make sure I’m not pulling her pigtails. Then she rolls her eyes and grabs her bags. “And there’s no way I’m taking your last name.”

“Good. After this month is over, we can just move on and pretend like it never happened.” I grab my bags as well.

“Fine by me.” She shrugs indignantly.

“Fine.”

We step toward the hallway, and there’s a moment of awkward shuffling. We each try to go first. She ends up pushing past me, accidentally grazing my chest slightly, muttering under her breath, and I let her go because I’m a goddamn gentleman. Also, I get to see her swaying hips while she walks.

A second later, she stops abruptly. “You havegotto be kidding me.”

“What’s the problem?”

Slowly, she turns to look at me. “There’s only one bedroom.”

Sure enough, there are two doors at the end of the hall, and one leads to the bedroom. The other is the bathroom. Ahh, I forgot about that. I look over her head into the room and see the neatly made queen-sized bed with a stitched rose floral comforter and an ornate mahogany headboard. Recalling Gran’s instructions about not changing or moving furniture, I can’t help but chuckle with amusement.

“Well, shit,” I say, smirking at Josephine. “I guess we’re sharing a bed, Mrs. Ashford.”

JOSIE

THIRTY DAYS LEFT

The universe hates me.

It has to. What other explanation is there for this whole thing? It’s crazy enough that I need to be married toandlive with Callum Ashford for a month to gain an inheritance I didn’t even know was coming, but there’s only one small bed!

And that damn smirk on his face?

The tattoos definitely weren’t there the last time I saw him. Now they’re everywhere, as far as I can tell. His arms are covered, and I can see ink creeping up his neck from beneath his tight black T-shirt. Has he always been that muscular? I believe I would remember if his arms were likethatin high school.

Doesn’t matter. I don’t care how attractive he is.

He’s still a jerk.

It was Mrs. Rudolph’s senior year art class—I’d been looking forward to it all year. Because we were about to graduate, Mrs. R had started giving us the freedom to work on whatever projects we wanted. I’d been dying to get my hands on some charcoal, since I’d been getting better at drawing people—and art class was the perfect place to practice.

Mrs. R wasn’t there yet, so I plopped my bag down on my desk and sat next to my best friend, Gwendolyn. She was already hard at work, scribbling on a piece of red paper.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

Gwendolyn didn’t look up. “A note.”

Oh, boy. I knew what that meant. Seemed like it was time for Gwendolyn’s new crush. I’d lost count of the number of secret crushes she’d had throughout high school. Pretty sure she’d had a crush on every guy in our grade (which was kinda funny).

Curiosity got the best of me, and I asked, “Who’s it for this time?”

“Cal Ashford.”

My eyes practically bulged out of my head. “Ugh, seriously? Him?”

“He’s gorgeous,” she gushed with that smitten expression on her face. “And he’s smart and funny—”

“He’s annoying.”

“Don’t say that! He isnot.”

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