Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“I’m always in a hurry to get out of that place,” I say, glancing behind me. “I hate it in there.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s not the nicest facility, though you’re pretty lucky with the nursing staff.” A smile curls in the corner of his mouth, but I’m not going to comment, even when he pretends to hide it by scratching the tip of his nose. “It was nice how they congratulated us on our marriage.”
I still say nothing, and I step back as a woman with a twin stroller barges between us, narrowly missing my toes. How did they even know? It wasn’t the gossip column, because there were no funny looks. No sly suggestions that I’d bagged myself a rich man. Just smiles and congratulations.
Ah! The realization hits. We’re both wearing wedding rings. Coupled with Baba’s confused mutterings, that was probably it.
“So now you’ve seen for yourself why I agreed to fake marry you.”
“But not why you real married me. And now you know you told me already about Roza’s coffee premonition.”
“You must’ve thought I was crazy,” I say. “I can’t think how I brought it up.”
“It was a really sweet moment. Even when you explained how you thought she was confused about the date.”
I say nothing and hope he’ll do the same.
“We got married on your original wedding date.” It’s a simple statement, though a tiny spark of humor lurks in those gray eyes of his.
“The date, yeah.” I scrunch my nose.
“It must’ve felt pretty wild for you.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Freaky would be another. “But it’s just a coincidence. Thank you for humoring her. You know, with all that palm reading and woo-woo stuff.”
“No problem.” Still with the amusement. Amusement restrained.
“Well, I’d better be off. I need to get back to Baba’s flat shipshape.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder, though that’s hardly the direction I’m headed.
“Today?” Fin’s brow furrows briefly.
“Not everyone owns their home,” I begin, my words spiky, “and the housing association wants the place back. Which is another reason I said yes. To Oliver and Evie’s scheme, I mean.” There’s no point hiding this stuff anymore. Not now that he’s seen where I come from. Though he hasn’t (and won’t) see the worst of it. “It’s. . . been a time. I got dumped. Baba lost her marbles and moved in there,” I say, throwing my thumb behind me. “Which meant I was about to become homeless a second time. My business went wonky, which you know, and all that together made for a very trying time.” Understatement of the century. “But things are looking up now.” I smile—staple that sucker on.
“Because you married your grandmother’s dream man?”
“No, that’s Alexander. Why are you pulling that face?”
“Reasons,” he replies enigmatically. Or annoyingly.
“Anyway, we should probably talk about our exit strategy at some point.” I sound so clinical, but it’s the best way. Right?
“From marriage?” He pushes his hands into the pockets of his pants, his gaze dipping briefly.
“Well, obviously, I have to find my Alexander at some point,” I mutter, slightly caustically.
“Of course.” He gives a huff of a laugh, that twinkle in his eye coming back.
“Look, Fin, I’m grateful for your help, and I’m sorry if it doesn’t always seem that way. I know I wasn’t very gracious before, but I would like to be your friend. If you think that’s possible still. You’re on good terms with your exes,” I add as an afterthought. A slightly desperate sounding one. “Not that we’d really be—”
“I’d like that. To be your friend.”
I thought I might feel relief, or comfort. I do not. “I’m going to be busy over the coming months. I’m sure we both are. And I expect, for appearances, we should probably be seen together. Sometimes. Maybe?”
“I think that would be best. Neither of us would benefit from being outed in a lie.”
“True. I think what I’m trying to say—and making a mess of—is that I don’t think we’ll be spending a lot of time together. But I’d like to—well, if you’d like to too . . .” I take a deep breath. “I want to sleep with you—in your bed. To be intimate.”
“Be intimate?” he repeats with a twitch to his lips.
“Have sex. And not just because there’s a chance someone on your staff might tell the tabloids.” A smile tugs at my lips, because we both know that was nothing but a ruse. A silly excuse. “I want you. And I want to.”
“I guess it is Roza sanctioned.”
“Can we not talk about my grandmother and sex in the same breath?”
“Can I ask what made you change your mind?”
“Last night, I came to the conclusion that, if we’re staying in the same house, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
A fact I find mortifyingly necessary to admit.