Page 39 of Play Fake
“I should call mine, too. My dad will demand to see the prenup and will probably yell at me for getting married without letting him see the documents first.” He shrugs.
“Parents,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“Tell me about it. The more I learn about my dad, the more I worry I’ll turn out like him.”
It feels like a deeper conversation for another day, and considering we just got married, I’m not sure how much more energy I have in me today to field conversations with depth.
“You’re a pretty headstrong kind of guy. If you don’t want to turn out like him, you won’t.” Mr. Bradley always struck me as a guy who puts business first, but Ivy always spoke very highly of him. She’s the youngest, though, and I can see how it’s possible she had a different experience as the seventh kid than the second had.
He stares out the windshield. “I’m already more like him than I care to admit.”
I wonder what he means by that, and I think he might even expand on it, but then he seems to change his mind.
“We should get inside and see how Jack’s doing. You know, now that we’re married,” he says, and his words lighten the mood in here.
I giggle. “I’m sure he’s just as fine as he was when we were still single.”
He chuckles, and I’m right—he’s just fine with Madison, who’s great with him. She turnedSesame Streeton, and the two of them are watching Elmo sing about his world when we walk in. Jack starts to squirm when he sees Dex, and Dex walks over to him and picks him up.
Hepicks the baby up. He swings him in the air, and then he sets him back down on the floor where he was sitting on a playmat.
I’ve never seen Dex so lighthearted and…dare I say…happy?
He’s nearlyjoyful. It’s not like him, but it’s a new side that’s decidedly sexy.
But, then, pretty much all the sides of him are, and that’s just something I’m going to have to try to get used to.
Yep…my husband is sexy as hell.
But he’s my husband in name only—despite that kiss after we were officially announced as husband and wife.
This feels complicated, and I can imagine it’s about to get even more complicated.
I decide to give my parents a call once Jack is down for the night.
“Hello? Ainsley, is that you?” my mom answers, and I swear she answers her phone upside down ninety percent of the time. She acts like she’s in her eighties, not in her forties.
“Put it on speaker!” I yell into the phone.
“Hello? Oh, shoot, did I hang up?”
“I’m right here, Mom,” I say.
“Honey! Hi! How was the show? Are you married?”
“Am I on speaker?” I ask rather than answering any of that.
“Yes,” she confirms.
“Who’s there with you?”
“Daddy and Henry,” she says, naming my twelve-year-old brother.
“Hi, Sissy!” Henry says at the same time my dad says, “Hey, Ains!”
“Sorry, Hen, but can I talk to Mom and Dad for a minute?” I ask.
He sputters an objection but must relent because my mom says a moment later, “Okay, hon, it’s just Dad and me. What’s going on?”
