Page 33 of The Fake Husband Play
Clearing my throat, I pat the tissue flowers into place and step back. “There. Now you’re fancy.”
He grins. “Not as fancy as you.” His gaze tracks down my frame, making me tingle as it drags back up. “You look good in a little sailor girl dress.”
“Thank you,” I say, very glad I kept digging until I found my figure-skimming navy dress with the white piping around the arms and waist. It has a vintage 1940s vibe I love and…apparently, Grammercy does, too. “Should we head down to the licensing department?” I glance up at the clock on the marble wall in the big, open lobby. “We’ve only got about thirty minutes before our appointment with the justice of the peace, right?”
“Yeah, but we’ll have plenty of time for the license. They aren’t busy. I checked when I got here.” He nods over his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Dawn.She’s not a hockey fan, but she’s really excited about us getting married.”
I exhale a soft laugh as I follow him toward a set of marble stairs curving around to the lower floor. “Oh yeah? So, you’ve been flirting with the women in the licensing department, is that what you’re saying?”
He flashes me another one of those Grammercy grins, the ones that hit me like a sexy jolt of electrical current every time. “I’ve been known to grease the wheels of bureaucracy with a wink and a smile. Is that so wrong?”
I shake my head, returning his grin. “Nope. Not in my book. Not even a little bit. I’ll have to take you with me next time I hit the DMV.”
He laughs. “Done. Though I can’t imagine you have much trouble charming your way to the front of the line. I’d let you cut in front of me, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks,” I say, with a slightly flustered laugh.
Is he flirting with me? Probably not. But even if he is, that doesn’t mean it means anything. Louisiana boys are notorious flirts. It’s something in the water that creates men who love spicy gumbo, duck hunting, and flirting with any woman who will stand still long enough.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Downstairs, we do indeed acquire our license in record time. Dawn is a sixty-something Cajun woman with an accent so thick I can barely understand her, but she and Grammercy slip into Creole with ease. Ten minutes later, we’re back upstairs with our license, waiting on the firm seats outside the judge’s chambers while the couple in front of us says their vows behind the closed door.
Not many people are getting married on this sunny Monday afternoon in October.
Married.
We’re getting married, literally any minute now.
I lean over, hissing beneath my breath, “Are you sure you don’t want a prenup? I really don’t mind. We could postpone the ceremony for a few days and?—”
“No need,” he cuts in with a grin. “I’m not worried about it. I trust you.” His expression sobers as he adds, “How about you? Is there something more you need to feel you can trust what we have planned? If so, I’m happy to wait and get that in writing. Though I know we both don’t like the idea of Mimi being uninsured, even for a day or two.”
I look up into his dark eyes, completely dumbfounded. This man is completely upending his life to help me and my sick little girl, and he’s asking if I trusthim? And offering to put whatever I need in writing?
“You’re something else, Grammercy Graves,” I murmur, meaning it.
“In the good way, I hope,” he says, his gaze locked on mine, making my pulse beat faster.
“In a very good way,” I say. “If I didn’t know your backstory, it would be hard to believe you’re real. But any man who spends his first paycheck with the NHL to buy his mama a nice place to live is a real one in my book.”
“And any mama who sleeps on the couch so her kiddo can have her own room is a real one in mine,” he says.
Silence falls between us as we stare into the very hearts of each other. For a moment, all the artifice and social graces are gone, and we’re just two people whohaven’t walked the easiest road. People who have faced harder times than most, and had to grow up way faster than our peers, but who have chosen to let our struggles make us kind instead of bitter.
Determined instead of defeated.
Hopeful instead of hard.
This man…mightactuallybe my soulmate, I realize.For real.
The thought barely has time to land—and turn my stomach inside out—when the couple in front of us exits the judge’s chambers, grinning ear to ear.
“Ready?” Grammercy whispers, taking my hand.
I nod, curling my fingers around his warm, dry palm. “I am.”
And I do…
