by Lili Valente
I sigh. “I can imagine. He was awful to you. I’m sorry.”
Nash nods. “It was a long time ago. And…not your fault.”
Our eyes meet and hold, something passing between us that feels a little bit like forgiveness. I’m sure it’s not—forgiveness doesn’t come this easily in my experience—but the softening around Nash’s eyes makes me brave enough to say, “So yeah…if we were married and living together, my ex wouldn’t have a case, and your ex would never have to know that you were lying about being ready to commit to someone else.”
Nash’s lips lift on one side. “We’re not seriously considering this are we?”
“I am,” I say, folding my fingers into a single fist to keep my hands from shaking, only realizing after I’ve done it that it probably looks like I’m begging. But that’s okay, I’ll beg if that’s what it takes. My pride won’t keep me sane if Liam succeeds in taking Felicity away. “I know there’s less in it for you, but I can pitch in around your place to make up for it. I can clean, do laundry, whatever. And then, a few months from now, or however long it takes for Liam to get tired of trying to sue me and move on, we can amicably divorce.”
“Since when do we amicably do anything?” Nash asks, arching a brow. But he doesn’t flat out say no, a fact I decide to take as a positive sign.
“Since tonight,” I insist, forcing a smile. “Since we realized we can help each other out in a way no one else can. I’ll get to keep full custody of my daughter, you’ll get to rub your happiness in the face of this woman who betrayed you, everyone wins.”
“What about your father?” he asks. “What’s he going to think about you marrying the white trash he saved you from when you were fifteen?”
My throat goes tight. “He doesn’t really think like that. He was upset and saying things he didn’t mean.”
“Oh, I think he meant every word,” Nash says in a low, gravelly voice. “And I seriously doubt he’s going to be in any rush to welcome me to the family. Especially if we run off and get hitched without asking his permission first. Which I don’t intend to do, by the way. The only man’s opinion who matters when it comes to my life or marriage is mine.”
“Good,” I breathe. “Because I’m no one’s property to be given away. Not even my father’s. When I walk down the aisle, I’ll do it on my own two feet.”
He steps closer, until his body heat warms my chest and the sexy smell of him makes my nerve endings hum with something more dangerous than anxiety. “That’s…surprising.”
“I’m full of surprises.” I swallow hard. I’m playing with fire. Moving into Nash’s place, where I’ll be exposed to his five-alarm sex vibe and delicious smell for even a few months could land me in serious, emotional distress.
This man gets under my skin like no one else, always has and always will.
“But are all the surprises good surprises?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips, making my heart thud even faster.
“I hope so,” I say. “But if they’re not, I’m an adult capable of changing my behavior. And so is my father. I’ll make him understand why we need to fake this marriage and get him on board. Considering it’s partly his fault my case is weak in the first place, I—”
“No,” Nash cuts in, bringing his face closer to mine as he adds in a soft, husky voice. “If we do this, no one knows we’re pretending but you. And me.”
Chapter Eight
Aria
My brows shoot up, anxiety and hope dancing beneath my skin.
He’s talking terms, which means there’s a chance this crazy, but potentially life-saving thing is actually going to happen.
“Okay.” I nod, more than willing to work with him. “No one knows but us, not even my family.”
“And when we’re out in public, we act like this is real,” he adds. “Like we’re crazy about each other.”
“Instead of just crazy,” I quip, my heart skipping a beat when Nash grins in response.
“Right. Instead of just crazy.”
Shit. That grin, that warm, playful grin I used to bask in on a daily basis, back when Nash and I were falling for each other. It would be enough to make a girl weak in the knees even if she hadn’t had four beers.
Which I have.
My bones are wobbly even before he eases closer, his arm going around my waist, making my pulse spike.
“What are you doing?” I breathe, my heart racing as he draws me fully against him, until I’m in intimate contact with every muscled inch of the powerful, sexy-as-hell man he’s become.
“Acting like this is the real deal,” he murmurs in his panty-melting voice, making my nipples tighten inside my bra.
“So we’re doing this?” I brace my hands on his chest. “Starting now?”
“Starting right now,” he says, and then he kisses me.
For a moment, I’m frozen by the shock of it, of feeling lips against mine for the first time in nearly a year. And not just any lips, but Nash Geary’s lips, the best lips I’ve encountered in my entire life.
I’ve tried to rewrite history, to convince myself he wasn’t all that special—I was simply young and too inexperienced to know good from great—but as our mouths begin to move, my tower of lies crumbles to the ground at Nash’s feet.
Because holy moly, this man can kiss.
His tongue strokes against mine, laying claim to my mouth as his big hand cups the back of my head, pulling me closer. With a moan, I twine my arms around his neck, melting into him as he kisses me senseless, our lips making sweet, easy love like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
Like we made out just this morning, not years ago.
My tongue remembers exactly how to dance with his, while my fingers find the spot at the back of his neck that makes his breath catch when I drag my nails across his skin. Within seconds, my heart is slamming against my ribs like an animal desperate to escape a cage, longing to get closer to the thing it craves.
Closer to Nash.
By the time he pulls away, I’m breathing hard, tingling all over, and aching in places I’d almost forgotten were there.
Liam and I stopped sleeping together around the sixth month of my pregnancy. I’d assume he was worried about the baby, but then I’d found out about the affair. Not long after, the last of my lust for my ex had faded away.
Even after Felicity was born, when we were still trying to make it work, I couldn’t bring myself to be vulnerable with him. No matter how much I craved physical affection, sleeping with my ex didn’t feel safe anymore.
Which means it’s been over a year since I’ve been naked with anyone else in the room.
Over a year. The realization boggles my mind.
How could I have cut off that part of myself, so completely, for so long? At the moment—still pressed close to Nash, with my body purring and every beat of my heart begging for more—it’s unfathomable.
And utterly terrifying.
There’s no way I’m going to be able to live with Nash, day in and day out, while pretending to be in love with him when we’re in public, without wanting a heck of a lot more than kisses for someone else’s benefit. I already want more. I’m already imagining Nash guiding me back onto his bed, his comforting weight heavy on top of me as we take kissing to the next level, to those places we started to explore as kids, and beyond.
“That was…pretty incredible.” He watches me through hooded eyes, looking so damned fine it’s almost impossible to keep from pulling him into another kiss.
But if I do, then he’ll know.
He’ll know that this part isn’t an act for me. That I actually want him. Then the balance of power will tip in his direction, and he’ll have the upper hand for however many months we end up pretending to be married.
And I’m sick of the man in my life having the upper hand, of waiting and hoping and praying he’ll want me the same way I want him and being disappointed again and again. I’m tired of feeling like a weak, helpless fool. I can’t live like that ag
ain.
I refuse to end up under another man’s thumb, especially not Nash’s. He broke my heart once, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting him do it again.
So I say, “You were okay,” before brushing my hair from my face with what I hope is an easy sigh.
“Okay?” Nash’s eyes cool as he steps back.
“Yeah. Okay,” I say, grateful for the inches between us. “A little stiff, but I get it. You’re out of practice. We can work on it.”
He huffs. “Work on it?”
“Yeah, we want to make sure your ex buys the show, right?” I’m being mean, and a part of me regrets it, but the rest of me insists it’s what I have to do. I can’t show weakness, especially not straight out of the gate.
“There it is,” Nash says in a drawl so sweet it makes my teeth ache. “I was wondering when the bitch would come out. Glad you didn’t make me wait too long.”
Pain blossoms in my chest.
Where does he get off calling me a bitch? He’s the one who was a complete asshole when I tried to reach out to him years ago. He’s the one who made me feel like a fool for imagining he might be someone worth giving up my dreams of exotic places and mysterious men, for a boy who made me feel special and safe.
But I was never special to Nash. If I had been, it wouldn’t have been so easy for him to throw me away. Just like Liam threw me away, even after I’d bared my soul to him and loved him with every piece of my heart.
But all my love wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t enough.
So maybe I am a bitch. But I have reason to be. The world has taught me it’s safer to be a bitch, to keep my guard up and my heart under lock and key and never risk being torn apart from the inside ever again.
“You’re welcome.” I stare at his chest, refusing to let him see the hurt in my eyes. “So do you still want to do this? I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. I was just trying to keep it real. I think honesty is important in a relationship. Even a fake one.”
Nash is quiet for a long moment. I can feel his gaze boring into my forehead, but I refuse to look up. Finally, he breaks, reaches for his beer, and takes a drink.
A very long, very intense drink.
When he sets the cup back down on the wooden bar, it’s empty.
“Fine, we’ll do it,” he says, “and I’ll keep it real, too.”
“Good,” I say, even as anxiety lifts the hair at the back of my neck. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Good,” he echoes, holding out his hand. I take it, gripping his palm firmly as we shake on our Marriage of Insanity.
“I’ll meet you at the courthouse tomorrow at ten thirty,” he says, releasing my fingers. “That’ll give us time to get the license and sign up for a slot with the Justice of the Peace. He marries people at noon on Saturdays.”
I nod. “I’ll wear white.”
“I’ll wear a suit and bring you flowers and do my best to make this work,” he says, before adding in a low voice. “But the next time you look down your nose at me in public, you’re getting a spanking.”
Before I can respond, Nash spins on his heel and makes a beeline for the exit, leaving me alone with my still half full, now lukewarm beer.
Which is a good thing.
If he’d stayed, I might have felt compelled to pick another fight to hide how weirdly hot the idea of him turning me over his knee makes me and ruined everything.
If I want to maintain the upper hand I have to walk a careful line with Nash—friendly, but not too friendly.
Or you could drop the power play bullshit and focus on the big picture. Keeping Felicity is all that matters, no matter what it takes to make that happen.
The inner voice is right.
For Felicity, I can play nice with Nash Geary.
For that, I’d play nice with the devil himself.
Chapter Nine
Nash
For the first few minutes after I wake up, I’m certain last night was a dream.
Then I check my phone to see a text from Aria, reminding me I’ll need my birth certificate and two forms of I.D. to get the marriage license, and my insane new reality whips into sharp focus. Last night actually happened, I really agreed to marry the girl who broke my heart, just to keep from looking like a fool in front of my most recent relationship mistake.
In the cold light of day, it makes about as much sense as cutting off my head to show my dick who’s boss.
I mean, getting fake engaged is one thing, but why on earth had I agreed to escalate this to full-fledged marriage?
I certainly don’t owe Aria any favors.
“It’s for the baby,” I mumble as I shuffle into the bathroom to start the shower, wincing at the dark circles under my eyes. “Think about the baby.”
I’ve only met Felicity once, but she stole a piece of my heart that night at the March sisters’ BBQ. With a family the size of mine, I’ve spent a lot of time around a lot of babies, and been smitten with my share, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a kid as adorable as Felicity March.
Her name suits her perfectly. With her wild red curls, green eyes the same color as her mama’s, and a smile so big and happy you can’t help but smile along with her, she’s a really special kid. She made my heart lighter that night—in spite of the fact that I’d just been through a breakup and that her mother drives me crazy—and she’s obviously Aria’s world. The way Aria’s face lit up with love every time she glanced at her daughter got to me. It got to me enough that for a while I’d almost forgotten what a raving B-word she can be.
“You’re not going to call her a B-word again,” I tell my reflection as I reach for the shower door. “You were raised better than that.”
I’ve been talking to myself a lot since Rachael moved out. I’m going to have to stop that once Aria moves in, or she’ll think I’m crazy.
God. Aria is moving in. With me. This afternoon.
Clearly, I’m already a confirmed nutcase.
By the time I’ve showered, shaved, and located my best suit at the back of the closet, I’ve nearly talked myself into texting Aria to call it off. But then I remind myself of my third reason for marrying the enemy, and go looking for my birth certificate and two forms of I.D.
I need to see the look on Bob March’s face when he realizes Nash Geary, the white trash scum he got kicked out of art camp years ago, is married to his little princess. That a poor, pitiable Geary—the type who works at fast food restaurants instead of owning a small empire of them—is taking Bob’s daughter and granddaughter home with him, and that tonight Aria will be sleeping in my bed.
She will be sleeping in my bed. I’m not giving up my bliss-inducing new mattress to couch it. Besides, it’s a California King. We’ll never have to touch. The two sides practically have their own time zones.
And if she has any objections to that, she can take the couch.
The second bedroom is full of workout equipment, and the third, smallest bedroom is for Felicity.
Which reminds me…
I grab my phone and hit my sister’s contact button.
Raleigh answers in the middle of the first ring. “Where were you last night?” she demands by way of greeting. “I thought I saw you walking toward the rollercoaster, but then you disappeared.”
“Something unexpected came up,” I say, my mouth going dry as I remember I’ll have to lie to her. Aria and I made a deal to keep this just between us, and I didn’t ask for any exceptions, even for my closest sibling.
“Was it Rachael and Lee? I saw them making out by the cotton candy stand,” Raleigh says, the pity in her voice enough to shore up my resolve.
I’m sick of the people I love feeling sorry for me. Marrying a beautiful woman should help with that, even if she is the girl they all know I made a hobby out of hating in high school.
“No, it was something good. Great, actually,” I say, forcing an upbeat tone into my voice. “That’s why I’m calling. I was going to ask if I could swing by and p
ick up Jason’s old crib this morning.”
“Why?” Raleigh asks.
“You’re done with it, right?” I hedge, not ready to spill the beans. There’s still a chance Aria will back out at the last minute, and I don’t want to give Raleigh, or anyone else, another reason to pity me.
“Of course, I’m done with it,” Raleigh says. “I’m not Alex. I have no secret longing to have a brood the size of Mom’s. Two rowdy boys are plenty for me, thank you very much.”
“Great. I’ll swing by and grab it in a few minutes.”
“But I’m not home,” she protests. “We’re at soccer, and the game’s not over until—”
“That’s okay. I know where it is. I saw it in the garage a few weeks ago when Harry and I were putting the camping stuff away.”
“Okay, fine.” Raleigh huffs. “But you’re being weird. Don’t think that’s escaping my notice, because it isn’t.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ll explain everything tonight.” I smile, an unexpected flash of excitement zigzagging through my body. Aria living in my house is a reality I’m still not mentally prepared for, but Felicity asleep down the hall, snuggled in her crib, is another thing entirely.
I just turned thirty-one. I know it’s not “old” by anyone’s standards, but I always thought I’d be married with a family by now.
But the years—and the girlfriends—have come and gone and I’ve never felt moved to take the next step with a woman. Even in the early days with Rachael, when I’d been eager to spend as much time with her as possible, it still hadn’t felt one hundred percent right. That’s why I hedged when she issued her ultimatum.
I want to be married. I want a family and children of my own, but I don’t want to settle for anything less than the real deal. The dream.
I want what my parents had, the kind of love that keeps you going through the hard times and makes the good times all the sweeter. The kind that keeps the “happy accidents” coming because you just can’t keep your hands off of each other. (Mom swears none of us were accidents, but I have my suspicions, especially about Phoenix and Denver, my twin little brothers who came along twelve years after the sibling before them.)
