More like I’m feeling way too much with him wrapped around me like this.
He smirks, barely lifting his head. “Guess I’m just that comfortable, huh?”
“More like you’re crushing me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I wriggle free.
He chuckles, finally rolling off and stretching lazily. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”
“In your dreams.” I fight a grin as I toss the blanket at him and head for my room. “You’re not as charming as you think.”
“Is that right?” he teases, catching the blanket. “Guess I’ll have to work on that, then.”
The next morning, I wake drenched in sweat and my heart pounding. I need a drink of water. The nightmares have come back, the same one as always. I’m a little kid again, watching my parents tear up my paintings, telling me how shitty they are and how nobody would ever want them.
There’s no way I can ignore it, so I get up and tiptoe down the stairs and through the hall to check the time. It’s five a.m. I make my way to the kitchen, but I falter at the sound of water running. He’s showering. The bathroom is filled with steam. My breath catches as I peek in—he’s naked. I swallow down the moan that wants to escape as I watch the water trail down his perfectly lean back, muscles tense, one hand pressed against the white tiles and the other between his thick thighs. He makes a sound, a soft grunt, and I bite my lip to stop a whimper from slipping, feeling the heat rise within me. His arm movements quicken and his ass muscles contract. I know I shouldn’t be here, but it’s like a scene out of my fantasies. He grunts something incoherent, and reality pulls me back. I retreat quietly, heading to the kitchen, my heart pounding in my ears. Grabbing a glass of water, I hurry to my room, pretending I never saw a thing.
The next time I come down, he’s already gone. But I walk to the counter, looking forward to my new favorite comfort food, along with my note. Today’s is:
If this doesn't win me 'Husband of the Year,' I’m filing a complaint.
It’s Saturday morning, which means we have golf with Dan Warne and his wife.
Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back and head down the stairs.
“Good morning,” I say, surprised to see him in the kitchen in sweats. He glances over his shoulder with a casual smile, something I don’t get to see very often. “What’s cooking?”
“Eggs,” he replies, flipping something in the pan. “No bagel today. I figured I'd poison you with my food.”
I roll my eyes at his joke. It’s lame, but it’s like his notes; it’s something that I’ve found myself bouncing out of bed for.
“Need any help?” I try to sound relaxed, even as my heart beats a little faster. I walk closer to him.
“Nope, I’ve got it. Just make yourself comfortable.”
It’s nice having someone cook for me. I turn and sit on the stool at the island. “So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. I’m nervous about meeting these important people in Oliver’s life, worried I’ll say something wrong and ruin his business relationship with Mr. Warne.
“We’re meeting the Warnes at the golf course at ten,” he says.
I lean my arms on the counter, watching him cook. The muscles in his back shift beneath his fitted t-shirt as he movesbetween the pan of eggs and a second pan, where bacon crisps perfectly. The kitchen smells amazing. “You realize I’ve never played golf, right?”
He turns to look at me with a smile. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry. As long as we pretend to be madly in love, we’ll be fine.”
“Alright.” I laugh, though my nerves haven’t entirely left. I wonder if we can pull this off, pretending to be in love when we’ve spent the days avoiding talking about the kiss. Will we need to hold hands? Will Mr. Warne expect to see affection between us? The strange part is, I don’t think it’ll be that hard to act like I’m falling for Oliver. That’s what scares me the most.
He turns back, finishing cooking, and soon, he places a plate in front of me. “Want some juice or coffee?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Coffee, please.” I watch him make it, waiting for him to join me before I start eating. He sits down beside me, and the silence is surprisingly comfortable.
“Do you want to do anything afterward?” he asks between bites. “Or did you have something planned already?”
I pause eating to answer, touched by the thoughtfulness of his offer. It’s a small thing, but it shows he’s considering my needs even after our “business” is done. “Actually, I need to fill in forms for my new house tonight.”
“Okay,” he says, setting down his utensils and leaning forward slightly. “I can help.” There's something unexpectedly eager in his tone, as if the prospect of mundane tasks with me appeals to him more than whatever glamorous alternative he might have planned.
Once we’re finished eating, I head upstairs to get dressed, wondering what exactly one wears to impress rich golf people. After searching online for ‘women's golf attire,’ I settle on a skirt and a light t-shirt, perfect for the warm day ahead. I’m nervous about meeting the Warne’s, but also curious. These people holdthe keys to Oliver’s future, and now, by extension, mine too. I wonder if I’ll be able to read their reactions to me…to us. Will they believe we actually married for love?
I’m dressed and walking down the stairs when I see him on the phone. The moment he notices me, his face lights up.
Is this okay?I mouth as I stand in front of him.
