Page 38 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

I hope you haven’t forgotten about our deal? You’re still expected to be my wife, and I’m your husband.

Signed, your dearest Jonathan

Her email comes in almost immediately, and I’m shocked.

First of all, don’t call yourself my dearest, because you never have been and we both know this is all a lie. And yes, I am aware of my position as your wife. Where do we go from here?

Emma

I snort at her curt signature. I can almost hear the sass in her words.

There’s a banquet in two days, in the evening. You’ll be expected to show up with me so I can show you off like a medal and everyone will fawn over how lucky I am to have you. I’ll send you a dress of course, and you only have to pretend to love me. Shouldn’t be too hard, considering how irresistible I am, don’t you think?

Your Jonathan.

I find myself smiling as I wait for her response, fingers drumming lightly against the desk. My eyes stay locked on the screen, anticipation buzzing in my chest. I should have tried this before.

Her email comes in quickly. I expect her to tease me, to remind me that I’m not hers or that I’m not as irresistible as I think I am. But her email is just one line, simple and direct:

I’ll be there.

My smile fades. I was hoping for even the slightest hint that she cares. Exhaling, I shut my laptop and head to the kitchen. Maybe whiskey isn’t the answer, but right now, I just need something to take my mind off this feeling.

I wonder how everything unraveled so quickly. Just when things were finally looking up between us, Jessica had to appear and shatter it all. It’s almost laughable, how one moment can change everything.

I laugh because, at this point, what else can I do? Maybe it’s better to let go, to stop trying so hard for something that was never meant to last.

Chapter 17

Emma

TheaudacityofJonathanto make my heart race with a single email after ignoring me for almost two weeks. The absolute nerve of him to play it like nothing is wrong, that a random woman didn’t kiss him, that he didn’t send me a hundred bouquets of flowers that I all let rot… but still secretly took photos of.

The first thing I’ll tell him in person is how wasteful he is for buying all those flowers. He’s better off planting his own garden at this point!

I march up and down the house, trying to dissolve the nerves that are beginning to crawl through me. Ever since I told him to stop sending flowers, he did. And yet, now that they’re gone, I can’t help but miss them.

Reed walks into my room to find me pacing, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans casually against the doorframe. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” I ask with a frown.

“I thought you girls needed hours to get ready.” He sighs before pointing at the clock behind me. “If you don’t get ready now, you’re going to be late to the banquet.”

Crap. I completely forgot I have somewhere to be tonight. The stupid banquet. Jonathan emailed me the details yesterday told me he’ll leave my dress in my room at his house—which I find very inconvenient—and that I should meet him there.

“I totally forgot,” I groan, glad that at least I just showered. “I’m going to get ready now.”

Reed nods as he fixes his cuffs. “Don’t be too late. Jonathan has to be there on time to give an impressive speech and all that.”

I don’t wait around to hear the rest of what he says. I scramble back to my room to get ready. My hair is completely undone, and my makeup needs a lot of work. Shoot, how did I forget the date? Jonathan told me this would be the last time we’d need to be seen in public together, and afterward, we could quietly finalize our divorce.

I thought that was okay, since I don’t want anything to do with him anyway. But why does the idea still hurt? Thinking about never speaking to him again makes me feel empty.

I rush through my makeup, and it surprises me how good it turns out. I hurry through fixing my hair, and now I need to get my dress. I glance out of the window to find that Jonathan’s house is in complete darkness, meaning he’s likely already gone to the banquet. He told me he’ll leave the door open for me, and I need to lock up after myself.

When I walk into the house, I feel like it’s alive. I can feel Jonathan’s presence in every room, and memories swirl in my head. I start to think fondly of our kiss, but then the image of that woman kissing him and him not pulling away comes to mind, and my stomach curdles with hate and absolute disgust at myself for still having feelings for him.

“Stupid Emma,” I mutter to myself as I walk into the bedroom that was assigned to me. I let out an audible gasp. The gown before me is phenomenal—a floor-length silver dress covered with sequins and a low neckline. It’s glorious to even look at, and I fear I’ve never worn anything as exquisite as this dress.

---