Page 63 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
I finished making myself presentable in the silence, my mind spinning with everything that had changed in the span of an hour. When I was ready to leave, I moved toward the door, but his voice stopped me.
"Sadie." I turned back to find him watching me intently. "This doesn't have to complicate things."
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that statement, but I just nodded. "Seven o'clock."
I slipped out of his office and walked down the empty hallway, my legs unsteady, my heart still racing. I could feel his eyes on me until I turned the corner, could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin.
Without thinking, I lifted my fingers to my lips, and despite everything—despite the complications and the confusion and the certainty that this was going to end badly—I found myself grinning behind the soft touch.
He was incredibly sexy, and the memory of his mouth on mine sent heat spiraling through my body all over again. But I couldn't mistake his kindness toward me, his support of my mother, his determination to save Eloise's school, and this undeniable chemistry for anything more than what it was—surface-level attraction in a complicated situation.
I didn't really know him. Not the man behind the careful control and expensive suits. And if I wasn't careful, if I let myself believe this was more than a convenient arrangement with unexpected benefits, my heart was going to get completely destroyed.
So why couldn't I just detach? Why couldn't I take advantage of his generosity and keep my emotions safely locked away where they belonged?
15
HARRISON
Sadie arrived at seven-fifteen, and I watched from the living room window as she gathered her purse from the passenger seat before climbing out of her car. The porch light did nothing to illuminate her face well, leaving long shadows across her face that made her look tired and worried. Or maybe she was tired and worried like me.
I opened the door before she could knock.
"Hey," she said, and her voice was steady, even when I could see the tension in her shoulders.
"Come in." I stepped aside, noticing how she paused to look toward the stairs. "Eloise is already asleep. Soccer practice wore her out." We hadn't told Eloise about the arrangement yet, though I doubted a child her age would understand what was really happening. Which was another hurdle we'd have to cross.
Her backpack sat beside the entry bench where she'd dropped it after school, one small sneaker left lying as if she'd kicked it free while spinning toward the kitchen. The other shoe lay on its side near the coat closet. I found myself focusing on these details because I needed somewhere else to focus—anywhere other than the way Sadie's sweater draped over hercurves or how her perfume tickled my nose, making my fingers itch to reach out and touch her.
This was an arrangement. A practical solution to a complicated problem. Nothing more. Even the sex we'd had meant nothing, or at least I was trying to convince myself it was nothing. It became increasingly harder to maintain that self-talk every time we were in close proximity and I let my mind wander.
"Can I get you a drink?" I asked, already moving toward the kitchen. "I opened a bottle of wine."
"That would be nice." She followed me with quiet footsteps. "Thank you."
I pulled two glasses from the cabinet, hyperaware of her watching me pour. The Pinot Grigio was one I'd picked up specifically for tonight—not too expensive to seem presumptuous, not too cheap to seem careless. I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time in the wine section of the grocery store, second-guessing myself because despite the new salary and the ability to go all out, I wanted to maintain some modicum of decorum. Sadie needed this arraignment as much as I did, and even as far as arranged marriages went, this was moving at supersonic speed.
"How's your mother doing?" I handed her the glass, careful not to let our fingers brush.
Sadie accepted it with both hands, and I caught the slight tremor in her grip. "Better today. The new medication seems to be helping with the nausea. She actually ate a full meal for the first time in a week. It's all part of helping her digestive system heal now that she's not pouring alcohol into her throat every day." The comment felt odd, especially watching her sip her wine, but I reminded myself that she was not her mother.
"I'm glad to hear that," I said around a sip of wine.
"Are you?" she asked, lifting one eyebrow. "Most people ask because they think they should, not because they actually wantto know." Her shoulders drooped and she stared down into her glass. "I'm sure a lot of people think she's a plague and don't see the disease that's affecting her."
The honesty in her voice caught me off guard. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't care."
She studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you. For caring, I mean. And for… all of this." She gestured vaguely around the kitchen. "I know this situation isn't exactly what either of us planned."
I took a sip of wine to buy myself time. The truth was that I cared more than I should, more than was wise, given the circumstances. When she'd told me about her mother's detox, my first instinct hadn't been to worry about how it would complicate our arrangement. It had been to wonder what I could do to help, what resources I could provide, how I could make her burden lighter.
That reaction should have been a warning to me.
But what did I expect to happen when I asked a random stranger to marry me? Of course we were going to develop some sort of relationship, right? I never expected it to be so immediate or so physical. I'd have settled for amicable friendship. But this? Some part of me probably hoped that given how explosively we'd hit it off, something more could honestly develop from it all. And another part of me definitely believed she was taking pity on me, using me for the things I could provide—mutually understood—and thought of me like a father figure, not a lover.
"The paperwork," I choked out, because focusing on logistics was safer than examining the way her presence made this house feel different. Warmer. More alive than it had been since Eloise was born.
"Right." Sadie set her wine glass on the counter and reached into her purse. "I brought copies of everything you requested—social security card, medical records, birth certificate." She setit on the counter next to her glass, and I remembered the file Blackwood had prepared for me.
