Page 25 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

She holds my gaze for a beat longer, something unreadable in her expression, before she exhales and shakes her head again. “Come on. Let’s go enjoy the water before you start a full-blown beach brawl.”

Chapter 11

Emma

“Thisisjustgreat.”I cross my arms, glaring at Jonathan, who sits beside me with his wrists cuffed. Less than an hour ago, we were on the beach, enjoying the sun, until Jonathan decided to get into a fight. One moment I was admiring the view, and the next he was throwing a punch at some creep who’d been staring at me for too long.

Before I could even process what was happening, the man stormed off. I thought that was the end of it, but ten minutes later, he returned—this time with a police officer in tow.

“That’s him.” The man had pointed an accusing finger at Jonathan. “He attacked me for no reason.”

The officer sighed, looking between us. “Is this true?”

Jonathan crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t say it was for no reason.”

And just like that, we were handcuffed and brought to the station.

Now we’re stuck behind bars, and I can’t believe this is how my morning is going. I should have been writing.

“I can’t believe this.”

Jonathan glares back at me. “Don’t be such a diva. It’s just a small jail.”

“I’m not being a diva!” I exclaim, my voice shaking with anger. “I’d rather be writing right now, Jonathan, something I enjoy doing, in case you haven’t noticed. I wanted to be writing all morning, but you dragged me out to the beach and then punched someone!”

“To protect you,” he argues. “He was staring at you, and the things he said were vile.”

I huff angrily. “So what? A lot of men stare. That doesn’t mean you should go around punching them. Creeps exist, but he would’ve eventually moved on, and we could have enjoyed a nice dip in the water! But no, you just had to punch him.”

“I’d do it again,” he mutters, voice dark. “No one looks at my wife like that.”

I roll my eyes at how insufferable he’s being right now. I almost remind him that I’m his fake wife, but since an officer is watching us closely as another one talks with Jonathan’s lawyer on the phone, I keep quiet. I wonder if it’ll really be this easy for us to get out of this.

The second officer returns with a frown, as though he’d much rather not let Jonathan go.

“You’re free to go, sir, just refrain from punching random people,” the officer grumbles as he comes forward to undo the cuffs.

“You’re lucky that man didn’t want to press charges.”

“No promises, sir,” Jonathan says. “I won’t let anyone else be rude to my wife.”

My heart flips at his words, and no matter how much I want to stay mad, I can’t. I secretly love the way he’s standing up for me, the way he threw that punch without hesitation. No one has ever defended me like that before.

I don’t know what that means for us, because the more he calls me his wife, the more it feels real.

Finally, the cuffs are off and he looks up at me. “You’re not frowning. Does that mean you’re not mad anymore, and I don’t have to sleep on the couch? My back still hurts from last night.”

I roll my eyes at his antics, but I also feel bad that he had to sleep on the couch. “Maybe I’ll let you stay in the bed,” I say. “But let’s go back to our hotel before I decide.”

He smiles, then hooks my hand in his as we walk out of the station.

“Thank you,” I whisper, so quietly that I almost hope he won’t hear it.

“What did you say?” he asks cheekily, intentionally wanting me to speak up.

“Thank you,” I cough out, a little louder this time. Jonathan seems to be content with that, because he doesn’t ask me to repeat it again.

“You’re welcome, wife,” he says.

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