Page 3 of Fake Wife

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Page 3 of Fake Wife

“Yeah, maybe.”

William stands and presses a quick fatherly kiss to my cheek. “You’re a smart girl, Teagan. You’ll figure out what to do next, and if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

He gives me privacy to load up my personal items. Other than a handful of pens and two packages of ChapStick, I only have one picture frame to grab. It’s a three-piece frame and holds a photo of Drake and me in the middle in one of our rare vacations to Saint Lucia. The other holds my parents, and the final one is on Drake’s medical school graduation day. He’s still in his robe, diploma held high, his other arm curved around my waist. The grin he’s flashing me is how I always think of him.

We were so full of hope, so full of excitement, and the thrill of victory of him completing medical school.

With my chest burning, I say quick goodbyes to the rest of the library’s employees, granting brief hugs to the friends I’ve made, even if most of them are at least ten years older than me.

Out on the street with my picture frame tucked under my arm, I debate what to do. I only left the apartment an hour ago and Drake will still be sleeping.

Instead of going home and disturbing him, I head toward Powell’s bookstore, grab another cup of coffee, and lose myself in the endless floors and rows of books.

Perhaps buying a few new paperbacks will boost my spirits.


Armed with a sack holding three new paperbacks and the picture frame, I’m trudging up the stairs to our apartment building in the Pearl District of Portland. The trip to Powell’s boosted my spirits minimally.

I never thought I’d love living downtown in a city or on the West Coast until we moved to Portland. We spent Drake’s medical school years in a crummy studio apartment in the Wrigley Field area of Chicago, but that was way more intense—busier and louder than Portland. There’s always a sense of calmness in the Pearl District, despite the crowds and the mass transit. People move at a more relaxed pace, much more like Nashville than Chicago. I love the country, but I’ve also enjoyed getting to experience living in different areas over the last several years.

Still, there’s something about Portland that has soaked into my veins. Something I never want to dig out, either.

I reach my apartment and fumble through my purse for my key. It’s only noon, and Drake could still be sleeping, so I’m quiet as the latch catches and I push open our squeaky door.

I gently set my purse and bag down on our entry table, then put my travel mug on the counter.

A grunting sound hits my ears and I frown.

Then I grin. I know that sound. It’s the sound Drake makes when he’s close to coming.

Perhaps he’s awake after all, and if he’s taking care of himself, I at least want to watch.

I step around the corner and stop.

All the blood rushes from my face, my fingers begin tingling.

I’m frozen and have no idea what to do.

I have a full view of our bedroom and our bed, where Drake has a woman bent over the mattress and is pounding into her like a man who can’t get enough. The stranger’s blond hair flies and flips from the force of Drake’s thrusting behind her.

I hear another grunt and I’m flying down the short hallway to our bedroom before I can stop myself.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” As soon as I begin screaming, Drake pulls out of the woman, who scurries over the edge of the bed. He grabs a towel from the floor and wraps it around his waist.

This isn’t happening. This absolutely can’t be happening.

It’s totally happening. How long? When? Why? A thousand questions pound against my brain, making my head hurt.

“Teagan,” he says, stepping toward me. “Teagan, honey, please.”

“Don’t you dare come any closer,” I hiss at him.

Holy shit. This is actually real. He’s been cheating on me? I shake my head to dislodge the thought or the scene in front of me, but it’s no use. The blonde he was just fucking on our bed is crouched on his side of the bed, arms sliding into a shirt that is absolutely not hers.

It’s Drake’s dress shirt.

Oh my God. I’m going to explode, shatter into a gazillion furious pieces, and tear both of them to shreds with the fragments.