Page 33 of The Mountain Man's Fake Christmas Bride
"Didn't mean to wake you," she says without turning around.
"Wasn't asleep." I stand, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders against the chill. "Trouble sleeping?"
"Old age." She measures tea into a pot with practiced movements. "The body rests poorly when it knows its time is limited."
The casual reference to her mortality tightens something in my chest. I join her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.
"Why are you down here?" she asks, finally turning to look at me. "Trouble in paradise already?"
I consider denying it, maintaining the happy couple facade, but find I don't have the energy for more lies. "Something like that."
"Hmm." She pours the boiling water into the teapot. "Your mother and father fought like cats and dogs the first year they were married. Your grandfather wanted to annul the whole thing."
This is news to me. My parents' marriage always seemed perfect in my childhood memories. "They did?"
"Oh yes. Your father was stubborn as a mule. Just like you." She fixes me with a knowing look. "And your mother was proud. Wouldn't back down when she thought she was right. I suspect your Jennifer has similar qualities."
"She's not really mine." The words slip out before I can stop them.
Aunt Mildred snorts. "Please. I may be old, but I'm not blind. That girl looks at you like you hung the moon. And you watch her every move like she might disappear if you blink."
Heat creeps up my neck. "It's complicated."
"Love usually is." She pours tea into two mugs, sliding one toward me. "What I can't figure out is why you're pretending to be married when you're so clearly in love with each other."
I nearly drop my mug. "What?"
"Oh, come now. Did you really think I wouldn't notice? No wedding photos. No rings. The way you both tense up whenever I ask specific questions about your 'wedding day.' The fact that she supposedly just moved here a week ago after being married to you for a full year?" She sips her tea calmly. "I may be dying, but my mind is still sharp."
I sink onto a bar stool, stunned by her perception. "How long have you known?"
"Since about five minutes after I arrived." Her eyes are shrewd over the rim of her mug. "The question is why the charade? Beverly mentioned something about you being married in her Christmas letter last year, but that doesn't explain why you're continuing the lie."
The jig is up. No point in further deception. "Aunt Beverly lied to make you happy. She thought it would comfort you to believe I'd settled down." I stare into my tea. "When she told me you were coming to visit, that you were ill, I panicked. Hired Jennifer to pretend to be my wife so you wouldn't be disappointed."
"Hired her?" Aunt Mildred's eyebrows shoot up. "Like a prostitute?"
"What? No!" I sputter. "An arrangement. Financial compensation for two weeks of her time. It was strictly professional."
"Until it wasn't," she observes.
I nod, unable to deny it. "Until it wasn't."
She studies me for a long moment. "You love her."
"Yes."
"And she loves you."
"I thought so." I run a hand through my hair. "But she's worried we're moving too fast. That this is just holiday magic, not something real or lasting."
"And instead of discussing her concerns like a rational adult, you shut down and retreated to the couch." Her tone is dry. "The Calloway men and their emotional constipation. Some things never change."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "It's not that simple."
"It never is. But it's also not as complicated as you're making it." She reaches across the counter to pat my hand. "Do you want to know what I think?"
"Do I have a choice?"
