Page 32 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

“Exactly, it’s just one night, so I can handle it,” she says cheekily.

I shake my head. “No, I meant that I can handle it, not you. I meant to say I’d rather have the couch while you sleep on the bed.”

Emma glares at me. “So what you mean is that as a woman, I can’t handle what a man can handle? Are you being sexist, Jonathan?”

“Absolutely not! You know I’m not sexist.” I glare right back at her. I’m panicking so much that I almost don’t notice her small smile and the fact that she’s holding back a laugh. “Fine, you can sleep here. Goodnight, Emma.”

Emma grins, a triumphant glint in her eyes as she plops onto the couch, hugging the pillow like a prize. I almost believe it’s comfortable, but I’ve slept on it before, so I know just how horrible it is. And yet, I can’t make her change her mind.

“Goodnight, Jonathan. Can you get the lights for me while you’re leaving? Thank you,” Emma calls after me. I do as she says and turn off the lights. I return to the bedroom and prepare myself to sleep. I take off my shirt and slide into bed wearing only my boxers, ready for a good night of sleep.

We left the fair right after the death wheel incident because neither of us wanted to try any of the other rides. We shared so many moments, but not once did we kiss again. I yearn for another kiss, but it feels like we need to be in the moment before it happens again.

I toss and turn in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs. My limbs feel leaden and my body aches with exhaustion, but my mind refuses to shut off. My nap earlier was barely enough to get me through the day. And yet, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking of Emma sleeping on the couch, and I feel awful. I should have insisted for her to take the bed.

I stare at the alarm clock on the side table, and the time seems to stand still. I’m no closer to sleeping. I get up and hunt down my sleeping pills. Not very long ago, I had stress-induced insomnia that was only helped by medication. I check my travel bag, and I’m lucky enough to find the pills. I pop a few into my mouth and swallow them with some water.

I stare at the ceiling, willing the pills to take effect. Minutes crawl by, then an hour, and still, nothing. Frustration coils in my chest as I shift under the covers, exhausted but restless, my thoughts circling back to Emma on the couch. I sigh, knowing the reason I can’t sleep is because I feel uncomfortable with Emma sleeping on the couch when I’m the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.

I walk into the living room and whisper her name. “Emma, are you awake?”

But she’s snoring softly, her head cocooned in her hands while her pillow sits behind her. I can tell she’s not uncomfortable, but I can’t for the life of me let her sleep there. I rush back to the bedroom to put on a shirt so she doesn’t feel weird about it, and return to pick her off the couch.

She’s light as a feather even when sleeping, her eyelashes fluttering with every breath she takes. Emma wraps her arms around me and hugs me in her sleep, nearly making me drop her. I take deep breaths, compose myself, and carry her into the bedroom.

I gently place her on one side of the bed before barricading the space between us with all the pillows and extra towels I can find. This way, we won’t accidentally touch, even in our sleep. Satisfied with my work, I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She looks ethereal asleep, and I smile thinking of her earlier protests. She looks far more comfortable sleeping on the bed, and she instantly curls around the blanket I placed over her.

“Goodnight, my wife,” I whisper so I don’t wake her up, before returning to my side of the bed. It takes me less than a minute to fully fall asleep.

***

A loud bang wakes me up instantly, and I’m shocked to find my limbs tangled around someone else’s…around Emma’s.

Her face is red when I look up at her, one hand on her head. “I bumped my head trying to leave the death trap that is your arms.”

“Death trap?” I mumble, my brain still half-asleep. Emma glances down, and I follow her gaze to find my arms wrapped firmly around her small frame, in a grip so tight I doubt anyone could escape it.

I immediately back away, my eyes falling on Emma, who seems unable to get out of bed.

“I am so sorry. I thought you’d be more comfortable in bed,” I mutter to her, while looking around for the fortress of pillows I built between us. But they’re all sprawled over the floor in a manner I can’t even begin to explain.

“It’s fine,” Emma squeaks, her cheeks red as cherries. “It was just…surprising, that’s all. I hate to ask you, but…we didn’t do anything inappropriate, did we?”

It’s my turn for my face to heat into a shade so red it puts tomatoes to shame. “Oh no, we did nothing like that. I even added pillows between us so we wouldn’t…touch. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…if I knew this would happen, I wouldn’t have moved you.”

I’m a mumbling mess, and Emma looks like she’s so embarrassed she wishes the floor would just swallow her whole.

“It’s alright, I promise,” Emma says. “To be fair, it did feel really cozy in your arms.”

I look away because I can’t stand to blush anymore. “Okay, I think we should get ready to eat and head out.”

Emma nods, but neither of us moves. A blanket of awkwardness that I hate settles over us. I wish she would yell at me, say something mean to cut through the tension that makes us unsure how to act around each other.

Breakfast arrives a little later, and we eat in silence so heavy it settles like an anchor in my gut. I try to break the silence, but it makes matters worse, if that’s even possible.

“You could stay for the rest of the honeymoon if you want to,” I say.

Emma shakes her head. “It’s fine. I kind of miss Grover Hill, if that makes sense.”

---