Page 76 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
But I was already walking away, done with his explanations and his boundaries and his need to control every aspect of our arrangement.
"Sadie, wait."
I turned around at the bottom of the stairs, and all the frustration and fear and loneliness of the past week came pouring out.
"No!" I shouted. "I can't take this. It's too much. I need my life to be normal, and if you can't manage to understand that, then maybe we should call this whole thing off!"
I ran up the stairs, not caring how loud my footsteps were or how childish I probably sounded. When I reached my room, I slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
Then I collapsed on my bed and tried to figure out how everything had gone so wrong so fast.
19
HARRISON
Istood at the kitchen sink, my hands gripping the edge of the counter hard enough to leave marks in my flesh. Through the window, I watched Eloise chase the neighbor girl around their swing set while the woman supervised from her patio chair. The scene looked peaceful, normal—everything I'd tried to build for my daughter. Everything I was apparently capable of destroying in one jealous outburst.
The taste of shame was bitter in my mouth. I'd acted exactly the way my father would have—controlling, possessive, unreasonable. The very traits I'd spent twelve years trying to escape had surfaced the moment I saw another man's arms around my wife.
My fake wife.
The woman who was here because I'd offered her a business arrangement, not because she wanted to be. The woman who had every right to have friends, to seek comfort from people who actually cared about her wellbeing rather than what she could provide for them.
I turned away from the window and caught sight of Sadie's tea mug on the counter, half empty, the ceramic still faintlywarm when I touched the side. She'd been in the middle of a conversation with her friend—a conversation where she'd apparently admitted she was struggling with our arrangement—and I'd walked in and ruined everything with my territorial behavior.
The memory of her voice echoing through the house made me wince. "Do you have something against my friends? Or is it because he's gay?" She'd been defending him, protecting him from what she assumed was my prejudice, when the truth was so much worse. I wasn't homophobic. I was jealous of anyone who could offer her the emotional support I couldn't.
I picked up her mug and carried it to the microwave, watching the liquid rotate as it heated. Ninety seconds to think about what I was going to say, how I was going to fix this without making it worse. The machine beeped, and I carried the tea down the hallway to her bedroom door.
I knocked twice, soft enough not to wake her if she'd fallen asleep crying.
"What?" Her voice was muffled, thick with tears.
"I brought your tea."
There was a long pause, then footsteps across the floor. The lock turned, and she opened the door just wide enough to see me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair falling loose from the bun she'd worn earlier. She looked fragile, and the sight of her tears made my chest tighten with regret.
"Thank you." She stepped aside to let me in, then closed the door behind us.
I set the mug on her nightstand and turned to face her, keeping my distance. "I owe you an apology."
She crossed her arms, not defensively but protective, holding herself together. "You do."
"What I should have said was that if you're going to have male friends around, I'd prefer to meet them first. To know whatsort of people they are before they spend time with Eloise." I kept my voice level and diplomatic. "It's not about controlling you or your friendships. It's about protecting my daughter."
Sadie's shoulders relaxed slightly. "I understand that. I should've introduced you properly when you got home instead of just assuming you'd be fine with it."
"You shouldn't have to assume anything. This is your home too, at least for the next five years." The words felt strange in my mouth, this acknowledgment of our temporary arrangement. "I handled it badly. I'm sorry."
She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I shouldn't have screamed at you. That wasn't fair either."
I found myself moving closer, drawn by the genuine regret in her voice. "May I sit?"
She nodded, and I settled on the edge of her bed, leaving space between us. From here I could see the careful way she'd arranged her few possessions—books stacked neatly on the dresser, a small framed photo of her and her mother, clothes in the closet. She'd made this temporary space her own without presuming to claim too much of it.
"The rumors aren't true," I said. "About me and another teacher."
Her eyes met mine, searching for deception. "I believe you."
