Page 10 of Real Fake Husband

I couldn’t rat her out.

So, I remained quiet.

Just behind her, I noticed Callum’s stupid laughing face.

The same stupid face I’m now married to.

Of course,he’sthe reason why I got into trouble for the first time in my life. Ugh, just thinking about the incident makes my cheeks grow hot again and annoys me like it did back then. I try not to think about it.

“Ready to go to sleep, Mrs. Ashford?”

“Stop calling me that,” I snapped, turning around and entering the bedroom. I drop my bags onto the end of the bed and start unpacking.

Callum has the nerve to chuckle at me before he does the same thing. I can’t even look at him. My head starts racing with thoughts: Why me? Whyhim?Mrs. Blanchie had always talked him up whenever she and I spent time together. I remember many times when she tried to set me up with him over the years. I never understood why she was so convinced we’d be a good match. We can’t stand each other, and right now, he’s the last person on Earth I want anywhere near me.

It doesn’t help that when I turn toward the dresser, he’s already there, and I bump right into him. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab my arms and steady me. If it weren’t for the stack of clothes I’m holding, my breasts would be pressed right against his chest.

“Easy there, Josie,” he says, a cocky grin playing on his lips.

I shrug out of his grasp, ignoring the fact I can still feel the heat of his palms on my arms. “I know it’s difficult for you, but try to pay attention.”

“Still as charming as ever.”

“Back at you.”

The drawers have already been emptied, so I pick one and shove my clothes into it. I almost bump into him—again—as he pivots toward the closet. It turns into this weird dance of us constantly getting into each other’s way while we try to unpack. This room definitely isn’t the largest. It’s clearly meant for one person, not two. It doesn’t help that I’m also not used to sharing a space with someone, and he’s obviously having the same issue navigating around another person.

Eventually, we finish without knocking each other over. By now, I’m exhausted. I’ve been on my feet for over twelve hours, and I have to do it again tomorrow. All I want to do is take a hot shower and crawl into bed.

“I’m starving,” Callum says. “I’m going to order some food. You want anything?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I said I’mfine.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to. I’m so wound up by this whole arrangement. The fact that he’s not, is making me angrier. How can he be so calm about all this? How can he act like this is normal?

“I was just asking. You don’t need to bite my head off.”

I’m looking for my pajamas, only to realize I forgot my comfy T-shirt and flannel pants. Where is my brain? All I have is a nightie and—oh,thank God—my white robe. I pull them out of my drawer and shift to face him.

“How can you be so chill about all of this?” I ask. “Doesn’t it bother you? Us having to be married and living together?”

“You didn’thaveto do anything,” he says. “You could’ve easily walked away. But you didn’t. You came here, signed the papers, and agreed to the terms. If it bothers you so much, why did you go through with it?”

I don’t want to tell him I need the money. I don’t want to tell him how much my life will change with $750,000. But it’s more than that. Being a waitress is a great job I enjoy immensely, and it’s paying the bills. However, I don’t want to do it all my life. With this inheritance, I’ll be able to finally breathe and not have to work every second of my life like I’ve been doing since I was sixteen.

But I don’t tell Callum any of this because it’s none of his business.

Instead, I take a deep breath to calm myself. “No, I’m not hungry. Thanks for asking,” I say, completely ignoring his new question just to make a point, and pushing past him. “I just want to shower and go to sleep.”

I will not argue. Not now. Maybe later, though. We’ll see if the shower calms me down enough.

Callum lets me go without a word, but I can feel him watching me the whole time. It’s not until I reach the bathroom and lock the door (I double-check that it’s locked) that I sigh with relief. It’s going to be aloooongmonth. But I can do this. I can handle this. I’m not just saying it to convince myself. I can handle anything—even Callum Ashford.

This is the first time I’ve truly paid attention to Mrs. Blanchie’s bathroom—other than to use the facilities—and it’s twice the size of my old bathroom, with gorgeous fixtures in pristine condition. There’s a frickin’ clawfoot tub.

Forget the shower. I’m taking a bath.

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