Page 64 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
"Be right back," I told her before I retrieved the sealed envelope from my desk in the adjoining study. The lawyer had been thorough, as expected. Marriage license application, insurance paperwork, medical proxy forms, and the prenuptial agreement that had taken three revisions and a slew of text message conversations to get right.
We spread everything across the kitchen island, and I found myself standing closer to her than necessary, catching the scent of her shampoo—something clean and floral that made me think of the garden Eloise had been begging me to plant in the back yard.
"This is the license application," I said, pointing to the top form. "Pretty straightforward. And these are for adding you to my health insurance policy."
She nodded, scanning the documents with her eyes, letting her finger drag across the pages. I'd seen her grade papers at school pickup, the way she made notes in careful script along the margins. Picturing her in her teacher role made my body begin to respond as I imagined a fantasy of myself as her student and her as the hot teacher. I had to clear my throat and take a step back because the urge to touch her was so strong.
"The medical proxy—" I choked out.
"Makes sense," she said. "If we're married, legally speaking, we should be able to make decisions for each other if needed." Her eyes rose up to meet mine and there was no mistaking the way she looked at me, hungry and a bit flustered like she felt the static charge in the air.
The casual way she said it—if we're married—sent my emotions swirling. In two days, she would be my wife. Not in any way that mattered, not in the way I'd once imagined marriagemight be, but legally. Officially. She would wear my ring and take my name and move into this house and?—
I cleared my throat again to keep myself focused. "The prenup is pretty comprehensive. I'd recommend having your own lawyer review it before you sign."
"I can't afford a lawyer."
"I'll pay for it," I offered, and as I did, I stepped forward.
She looked up from the papers, surprise flickering across her face. "You don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do. This protects both of us, but you should understand exactly what you're agreeing to. I'll cover the consultation fee."
For a moment, I thought she might argue, but then she nodded. "Thank you."
Sadie's soft smile behind another sip of wine made something warm knot up in my chest. She was stunning, and patient, and understanding. Soft spoken, and brilliant, and so kind with my daughter, it made it seem so natural that she would be my wife. I found myself staring and her cheeks warming to a cool crimson.
"The wedding is Thursday," I mumbled, just to have something to say. "Two o'clock at the courthouse. And you'll need to move in this weekend."
Her eyebrows rose slowly in surprise. "This weekend." Yes, I was a fool. This was too fast for her and I was pushing too much.
"Is that a problem? I know it's fast, but the board is already asking questions about my personal life. The sooner we establish a normal routine, the better."
"No, it's fine. I just…" She leaned on the counter and the wine glass in her hand bobbled. "I still need to tell my mother about the specifics. She knows I'm getting married, but not about the arrangement. And you still need to tell Eloise."
The reminder snapped me out of my chemistry-drunk stupor. I'd been putting off that conversation, telling myself I was waiting for the right moment. But the truth was I had no idea how to explain this to my daughter. How did you tell a nine-year-old that you were marrying her teacher for legal reasons? That it wasn't real, even though she would be living in our house and sharing our meals?
"I'll talk to her tomorrow," I said.
Sadie lifted the glass to her lips, but her hands were shaking now—subtle tremors that she was trying to hide. The wine sloshed against the side of the glass, and then she was gasping as red liquid splashed across the front of her sweater and down onto the paperwork.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry." She set the glass down hard, reaching for the scattered documents.
I was already moving, pulling my handkerchief from my pocket. "Don't worry about it. Here, let me?—"
We both leaned forward at the same time, my hands covering hers as I tried to blot the wine from the papers. Our heads collided with a soft thunk, and I found myself looking directly into her eyes, close enough to see the flecks of gold around her pupils, close enough to count the freckles across her nose.
Close enough to kiss her.
The thought formed before I could stop it, and then somehow, it was happening. My lips found hers, soft and wine-sweet, and for one perfect moment everything else disappeared—the paperwork, the arrangement, the careful boundaries I'd constructed around this entire situation.
She kissed me back.
Her hand came up to the back of my neck, holding me there. I slid my palms to her waist, feeling the heat of her through the knit of her sweater. When her fingers curled into my shirt andtugged, I moved closer, stepping between her legs where she stood at the island.
The kiss deepened until I couldn’t stand the layers between us. My hands moved under her sweater, finding the warm skin at her lower back. She gave a small sound, not quite a moan, and rose onto her toes.
I lifted her, setting her on the edge of the counter. The soft clink of the wine glasses shifting to the side barely registered. She braced her hands on my shoulders while I tugged her sweater up and over her head.
