Page 97 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

I need to stop this, stop wondering what my life will be like after we part ways, stop imagining what it would be like if we didn’t.

Nine days. Nine days and then we go back to being strangers who once shared a life, a contract, and apparently, a mutual appreciation for sustainable energy metrics.

The thought shouldn’t hurt this much.

But it does.

27

Tatiana

Ican’t concentrate worth a damn this morning. Christopher’s talking about quarterly projections, but my mind keeps drifting back to last night with Dom.

We ended up having sex again. And it was amaza-frickin’-crazy, as always. And then there was the way he carried me to his bed. The way he looked at me when—

Focus, Tatiana. You’re at work. Stop thinking about Dom before you accidentally type “orgasm” instead of “organization” in these meeting notes.

I shake my head slightly and force myself to type faster, capturing Christopher’s points about market expansion. The fluorescent lights of the Blackwell Innovations conference room seem too bright today, making my mild headache worse.

I can’t stop replaying the past few nights in my head. They’re all essentially the same... a blur... the way Dom and I couldn’t help ourselves, falling into each other like it was inevitable.

But last night, afterward I made myself leave his bed. Forced my jellied legs to carry me back to my guest suite like a responsible adult who remembers this is all temporary. Sleeping in his arms again would’ve been dangerous... too intimate, too real. Too much like we’re actually married instead of playing parts in this elaborate charade that’s going to be over soon.

Because even though it was only supposed to be physical release... a footnote in our bizarre contract... being with him always feels like more. So much more. Especially after the bonding we experienced at the gala.

“Tatiana, could you send these revisions to the marketing team?” Christopher hands me a folder, snapping me back to reality.

“Of course,” I nod professionally, taking the documents. “I’ll have them distributed by noon.”

“Just in time to make your lunch appointment,” he comments. “With Sabrina?”

I nod distractedly.

He gives me a curious look. “Everything all right? You seem a world away.”

“Just tired,” I reply smoothly. “The gala last night ran late.”

Not to mention the after-party activities with your best friend that kept me up even later.

Christopher accepts this with a nod. I suspect he knows the truth about my arrangement with Dom, even though neither man has admitted it outright.

Well, either way, the countdown clock ticks relentlessly in my head.

Eight days left until the annulment.

And then I can return to my apartment, my normal life, and stop pretending to be Mrs. Dominic Rossi.

Yes. Eight days. Then I never have to see him again, beyond his cursory visits to Christopher’s office.

That last thought drops like a stone in my stomach.

Oh god. I’m falling for him, aren’t I?

Despite everything.

Despite the specific warnings I gave myself.

What the hell am I going to do?

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