The Perfect Illusion

by Winter Renshaw

  Padding back to my suite, I close the door behind me and change into a set of matching silk pajamas—navy with white piping—and wash up for bed. When I’m almost finished, my phone buzzes on the dresser.

  My best friend.

  “Hey, Isabelle,” I answer. “What’s up?”

  “Are you okay? You never cancel on me.”

  “Everything’s fine.” I purse my lips together. She’s never going to believe this.

  “Is it the baby?” she asks.

  I place my hand on my belly. I’ve been so caught up in everything today that I almost forgot …

  “The baby’s fine,” I whisper.

  “Why’d you cancel?”

  “I’ve accepted a new assignment from my boss.” I bite my lower lip and squeeze my eyes, waiting for her lecture. “It’s kept me a little … occupied.”

  “You said you were going to quit.” Isabelle sighs into the receiver. “That asshole doesn’t deserve you. You do way too much for him and for what? A laughable salary? Underhanded insults? And you said you caught him staring at your ass once. What a fucking unprofessional douche. Never even met the guy and I hate him.”

  “He wants me to marry him,” I whisper.

  Isabelle is quiet on the other end. That’s never a good sign.

  “It’s a business arrangement,” I say. “He’s basically paying me to take him off the market.”

  “Um, why?” Her voice is laced with irritation. She’s not going to understand, so I’m going to have to make this crystal clear.

  “His parents are pressuring him to marry some girl and he doesn’t want to. So he’s marrying me instead. I’m spending the summer with him and his family and then we’re going our separate ways. At least physically. Legally we’ll be married for a while. Not sure how long. It’s all kind of complicated and it’s all happening so fast.”

  “Mari, you can’t do this.”

  “I thought so too, but he sweetened the pot pretty damn good, and I’m not exactly in a position to walk away from what he was offering.”

  “Fine. Sell your soul.”

  “Izzy.” My heart sinks. This isn’t like her. I know she means well, and I know I’ve filled her head with hundreds of Hudson Rutherford horror stories, but I need her support now more than ever. “Please understand. I’m doing this for my future—for the baby’s future. I’m not selling my soul. He’s not forcing me to do this. It’s really not that big of a deal at the end of the day. It’s just acting. I’m playing a part. Everything’s going to work out.”

  “And what if it doesn’t?” she asks.

  “I … I don’t know?”

  “What are you going to do if someone discovers that you’re not really in love, that you’re faking this relationship? What if it blows up in your faces? And oh, my God, Mari. Does he know you’re pregnant?!”

  I exhale. “No.”

  “Mari! Why didn’t you tell him? Holy shit. This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

  “Izzy, stop. It’ll be fine. I’m five-foot-nine. I doubt I’ll be showing much by the end of the summer, and I’ll just wear billowy tops and flowy dresses. It’s not like he’s going to see me naked. We’re not taking it that far.”

  “You’re being wayyyy too optimistic about this.”

  “For five million dollars, wouldn’t you be optimistic about this?!” I ask, my voice quick and hushed.

  She’s quiet once more.

  “He’s paying you five million dollars to be his fake wife?” Isabelle asks.

  “Yep.”

  “There’s got to be a catch,” she says.

  “Nope. No catch. He’s just a desperate man with deep pockets.”

  “Well. Shit. Um. Okay. Yeah. Do your thing. I hope it all works out for you. And if you need me, I’ll be here.”

  “Really? I have your support?” I ask.

  “Do you even have to ask that, Mar? You’re my best friend. You could do a lot worse than fake-marrying your asshole boss and I’d still have your back.”

  “For a minute it sounded like you were trying to talk me out of this.”

  “Of course I was trying to talk you out of this. I think it’s insane. I think it’s a terrible idea. And I think it could potentially end very badly for you. But for five million dollars, I guess you have to do what you have to do.”

  “It’s definitely a gamble,” I say. “But we’re doing it. I’ve signed the contract. It’s happening.”

  “There’s a contract?”

  “Of course.” I pull my phone from my ear and check the time. “Anyway, he’s expecting me in his room right now, so I’m going to let you go. Call me tomorrow?”

  “In his room?” She ignores me. “I thought you said you weren’t going to have sex with him?”

  “I’m not. We’re going to watch Netflix,” I say.

  “A week ago you hated this guy. Hated him. And now you’re going to chill in his bed and watch TV.” Isabelle exhales. “This is just … weird.”

  “Wait ‘til you see the engagement ring. I’ll send you a picture later,” I laugh. “It’s so over the top and so not me and you’re going to die.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  Chapter 6

  Hudson

  “You look uncomfortable.” Mari pulls her legs up to her chest, her body covered in satin pajamas with white trim. “Can you do me a favor and not make this any more awkward than it already is?”

  I scoff. “I’m not making it awkward.”

  I’ve managed to find the remote, and the TV quietly rises from the foot of the bed. Good to see it still works.

  “You are. You’re all the way over on that side of the bed.” She points. “And I’m over here. Not that I want to, but maybe I should be lying in your arms?”

  Her forehead wrinkles, but she seems to be waiting for me to make the next move.

  “All right. Fine,” I say, pulling up the covers. I place my arm out and motion for her to scoot closer.

  Mari doesn’t hesitate making herself right at home, nuzzling against me, her head resting on my shoulder as we sink into the pillows behind us. I don’t think I’ve ever held a woman like this—at least not in a non-sexual way and not since college.

  “Where’s your remote?” she asks.

  I hand it over, watching as she maneuvers the guide like a pro and manages to pull up Netflix and log in. Within a minute, some opening credits are playing and a bunch of women’s faces are flashing on the screen. The lighting is garish and the music is high-tempo and obnoxious, but I keep my opinion to myself. Something tells me it wouldn’t matter with her anyway.

  “You smell good,” Mari says quietly, turning to me.

  “What?”

  “I like your cologne. I’ve always liked it. Just never had the chance to tell you.”

  “Thanks.” I offer a half-smile. “I’ve worn it for years. It’s my signature scent.”

  “I’ve never known a man who had a signature scent before,” she says, though I think she’s teasing. “Does it help with your energy?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m messing with you.” She shoves me gently. “You’re always talking about how things mess with your creative energy.” Mari swats her hand. “Never mind. It was funnier in my head.”

  “I’m sure it was.” I roll my eyes. “Why don’t we watch this show that you insisted was so addictive?”

  “Do you think we should hold hands?” she asks a few minutes later, just as I was actually becoming slightly invested in what’s happening on the screen.

  “My arm is around you.”

  “Obviously,” she says, exhaling. “But maybe we should hold hands? After a while, maybe it’ll actually start to feel natural? You know, every boyfriend I’ve ever had couldn’t keep his hands off me, and here I have to basically remind you that you should be touching me.”

  “I’m not like those other men.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I’m not the touchy-feely type,” I
say. “Never have been.”

  “That’s too bad.” I feel her eyes on me. “You know, studies have shown that when you touch someone, it stimulates these feel-good hormones or endorphins or something like that. Human touch is powerful. Sometimes it can even trick your brain into thinking you’re in love.”

  My gaze snaps to hers. “The last thing I need is my brain insisting I’m in love with my fake wife.”

  “Trust me, Hudson,” she says, half-smiling. “You’re not going to fall in love with me. I won’t allow it.”

  Chapter 7

  Mari

  “Heartbeat is strong. Measurements look good. I’d say you’re about six weeks and two days.” The strawberry-blonde nurse replaces the sonogram Doppler and snaps off her latex gloves before rising. “Congratulations. The doctor will be in shortly to answer any questions you may have.”

  She leaves, flicking the light back on before closing the door, and Isabelle glances across the room at me. She didn’t have to come, but she insisted that I not be alone.

  “So have you decided what you’re going to do?” she asks.

  “I’m keeping it.”

  “I know that. I mean, like, are you going to stick around the city? I hear Brooklyn’s pretty family friendly,” she says.

  “No.” I climb off the exam table and move toward the sink, grabbing a paper towel to clean the gunk from my belly. “I can’t afford to raise a baby in the city. I’ll have to go back home, maybe live with my parents until I can get on my feet. Maybe move to Omaha and find a job in the city? You know what they say, Omaha is the new Manhattan.”

  “Nobody says that,” Isabelle chuckles, brushing her shiny onyx hair away from her face. “Speaking of your parents, have you told them yet?”

  I shake my head, biting my lip. “Not yet.”

  “When are you going to tell them?”

  “Soon.”

  “You kill me with your fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants existence. I’ve never met anyone who lives in the moment as much as you do.” Isabelle grabs her phone from her purse and checks the time.

  “I like to think that’s a good thing.” I shrug. “I find life’s a whole lot easier when you take it one day at a time.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  Dr. Gupta raps three times on the door before padding in, a tablet in hand and a stethoscope around her neck. Her eyes dance between the two of us before I head back to the exam table.

  “How are you feeling, Maribel?” she asks.

  “A little nauseous, a little tired. But otherwise good,” I answer.

  “Are you taking your prenatals? Prenatal vitamins?”

  “Just started last week.”

  “Good, good,” she says, nails clicking on her tablet. “So you’re six weeks and two days, which would put your due date at January sixth of next year.”

  “Oh, wow.” It seems so close, yet so far away. And slapping an actual due date on it makes it all the more real.

  “Did the nurse talk to you about our classes? We have everything from childbirth techniques to caring for newborns to parenting.”

  “She gave me some pamphlets,” I say.

  “I highly recommend them. You can bring your partner too.” She glances at Isabelle.

  “Oh, she’s not my—”

  “I’ll be there,” Isabelle says with a smile, giving me an emerald-eyed wink. I love her.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Gupta asks, eyeing the door. For some reason, I expected this to take longer. I guess it never dawned on me that people get pregnant every day, and I’m not some special snowflake pregnant lady who needs to hoard all of the good doctor’s time.

  I shake my head. “None that I can think of.”

  “Well, everything looks great on the ultrasound. Why don’t you stop by the lab on your way out so we can get a quick draw on you, okay? We’ll check a few levels and give you a call if anything looks amiss. Just some standard tests we run on all of our pregnant patients.”

  “Sure.”

  “Great, Maribel.” She places her hand on my shoulder on her way to the door. “We’ll see you back in late June for your twelve-week ultrasound.”

  With that, Dr. Gupta leaves.

  “You hungry?” Isabelle asks, rising and gathering her things.

  “Always.”

  “The usual place?”

  I nod.

  “You okay?” she asks. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

  Smiling, I say, “Just letting it all sink in. Doesn’t feel real. Not even with the heartbeat and the due date.”

  “Once you start showing, maybe it’ll feel real? Or maybe once you feel it kick?” Isabelle puts her arm around me as we head to the door.

  “Maybe?”

  “Are you going to find out what it is?” she asks. “Wait, what the hell kind of question is that. Of course you aren’t.”

  I laugh. “You know me well.”

  Chapter 8

  Hudson

  “I’d like to meet your parents, Mari.” I pour her a glass of red wine over a candlelit dinner Friday evening at a romantic Michelin star restaurant on the Upper East Side, Villa Moreno’s. We haven’t seen much of each other this week as I’ve been working longer hours than usual finishing up plans for a public library in Still Creek Township, New Jersey, but it’s time to get back on track.

  Reaching for the nearest glass of water, she tosses back a couple gulps in an attempt to disguise a startled choke.

  “You never said anything about meeting my parents,” she says when she comes up for air. “I really don’t want to involve them in any of this. I can’t do that to them.”

  I take a sip of my wine, swirling it first, then flashing a million-dollar smile. “Why wouldn’t they be a part of this? I’m marrying their daughter.”

  “You’re fake-marrying their daughter, which means you’re going to be my fake husband and they’re going to be your fake in-laws. It’s probably better off that they don’t even meet you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She sighs. “Honestly, you’re probably not what they had in mind for me. And I don’t even know if they’ll like you. And if they think I’m marrying someone who doesn’t deserve me, it’ll break their hearts.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m just being honest, Hudson.” She takes another sip of water, completely ignoring the hundred-dollar glass of pinot placed before her. “You’re not personable or friendly. You’re not small town. You’re cold and distant and self-important. You’re all business and no fun. They’ve got pretty high hopes, and I don’t think they’d be crazy about their only child growing up to become some fancy-pants architect’s trophy wife.”

  “A fancy-pants architect’s trophy wife?” I chuckle. “Is that all you think you’re going to be to me?”

  She nods. “Basically.”

  “Just as your parents have expectations for your future partner, mine do too. My mother would choke on her pearls if she believed all I wanted for a life partner was some vapid trophy wife. I’m looking for an equal, Mari. Someone intelligent. Respectable. Strong. A force to be reckoned with.” My eyes lock on hers. “And that’s you. All you have to do is be yourself, and my parents will love you and think you’re absolutely perfect for me.”

  Mari clears her throat, glancing down at the napkin folded in her lap. “Wow. Um. That’s … that’s really nice of you to say … I kind of feel bad now.”

  “Don’t. You were only being honest. I respect an honest woman.” I take another sip of wine.

  Our server approaches the table, taking our orders, and my gaze falls on Mari’s still untouched wine goblet.

  “Not feeling wine tonight?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not really a drinker. Sorry.”

  “I never knew that about you.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” She flashes a smile that, for a split second, makes me feel like I’ve known her a lot longer than two months. “A
t least not yet.”

  I lift my wine, nodding toward her water glass. “A toast?”

  She clinks her drink against mine.

  “To getting to know one another,” I say.

  “To getting to know one another,” she mimics.

  I take another sip, unable to remove my gaze from her. Under the flickering candlelight, she’s radiant, glowing from within. Her blonde hair is swept back, just off her neck, and subtle diamond studs adorn her ears. Her lips are shaded in soft pink and her lashes are dark and curled. She’s the image of whispered grace and emerging refinement wrapped in a tight little black dress and heels that make her almost as tall as me.

  She’s going to fit in just fine as the newest member of the Rutherford family.

  Not a doubt in my mind.

  Placing my hand across the table, I bring it over hers. Our eyes meet once more.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Mari,” I say. “I meant to tell you that earlier when I picked you up.”

  “Thank you.” Her full lips press together, stifling a humbled smile.

  Suddenly and without warning, I find myself desperately curious to know what they taste like, what they feel like. And when Mari readjusts her posture, bending forward, the pillow-soft tops of her breasts nearly spill out of her dress, sending my cock straining against the inside of my slacks.

  Thank God for table cloths.

  “Anyway, how was your day?” she asks, head tilted to the side.

  But I can’t think about my day, and mind-numbing small talk doesn’t interest me. All I can do is stare at the sexy little thing in front of me. And knowing sex is completely off the table and that I’m literally the last person on earth Mari would ever want to fuck only makes me want her more.

  Chapter 9

  Mari

  “My mom hugs,” I say as he stretches next to the kitchen island early Saturday morning. Last night we shared a candlelit dinner uptown, and in the car on the way home, he reached for my hand, taking it in his. I didn’t even have to remind him to touch me, he just did it on his own. “Like, a lot. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”