by Daisy May
Cole looked around, his gaze coming to a stop on the armchair. “You take the bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”
Of course. Of course! He was too much of a gentleman to sleep in the bed with me. Even on our wedding night.
I could still try to change his mind. “You sure you don’t want to sleep in the bed?” I asked coyly.
He blinked at me as he sank into the chair, his heavy eyes confirming his exhaustion. “I’m already here. No point in switching.”
“Oh.”
He thought I wanted to take the chair. My own husband couldn’t imagine sleeping in the same bed as me.
I got in the bed and pulled the blankets over me, settling in for a long, lonely night.
And for the long, lonely fake marriage ahead of me.
*
“Tell me exactly what he said,” I said to Mama C over Skype a few days later. “Don’t leave out a single word.”
“I didn’t think to memorize it,” she laughed.
“And you didn’t bring a recorder?”
“It was only a few minutes,” she said, smiling at me through the screen. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. He seems fond of you, that’s all I got out of it.”
“But how did he give you that impression?” I asked. “Tell me word for word.”
Mama C gave me a slow shrug. “You realize he’s your husband now, right? You should be able to talk to him.”
Over the course of our honeymoon, Cole and I had done a fair bit of talking. Enough for me to realize my feelings were deeper than ever. It wasn’t just lust anymore. He was intelligent, incredibly so. And sweet, and funny, and basically everything I’d ever looked for in a man. I couldn’t help but fall for him.
So it was only natural for me to interrogate Mama C about what they’d talked about at the wedding reception. And her resistance to telling me was only pissing me off.
“I can talk to him,” I said, “but not about… this.”
“You’re acting like a middle schooler,” she said, crossing her arms. “Are you going to ask me to pass him a note next?”
“It’s not like that,” I said petulantly.
It was totally like that.
“Tell me more about Jamaica.”
“It was great,” I said. “The food, the drinks, everything. Some days we hardly made it out of the pool. You can just swim up to the bar, and everything is free.”
“And if you need the bathroom, you still don’t have to leave the pool?”
“Gross!” I said, wrinkling my nose. “When I was little, you told me the water would turn green if I did that.”
Her laugh now was uproarious. “It worked, didn’t it? You’d still never think of peeing in a pool.”
“Stop trying to change the topic. You were supposed to tell me what you know about my husband.”
“That’s really all I have,” she said. “He promised not to break your heart, and he seemed surprised that we were even asking about it.”
“But he didn’t say he was secretly in love with me or anything.”
“No,” Mama C said. “Nothing like that.”
I bit my lip. We’d just been on a romantic getaway. If Cole felt the way I did, the two of us would never have made it out of the bedroom and to the pool.
Mama C’s message was hard to hear, but maybe she was right. Cole didn’t feel anything for me. If he did, he would’ve had plenty of opportunity to make his move.
We’d held hands on the beach and around the resort. Everybody knew us as the happy newlywed couple. We touched a lot, actually. Especially when we were drinking. But it never went further than an arm around the shoulder or a brief peck on the lips.
There was one time when Cole leaned into me late at night, and I had almost believed he was going to kiss me—in private. But in the end, he only brushed an eyelash off my cheek. He pulled away without giving me another sweet taste.
Even though the universe had let me get married to the man I wanted, I had nothing that would last beyond the end of this sham.
“Well, your other mother’s calling me,” Mama C said. “I think those chickens need to be fed.”
The two of them kept a bunch of egg-laying chickens in their back yard. It wasn’t exactly legal, which kind of made them hypocrites for yelling at me for my marriage. But I did get to have some really delicious omelettes every time I was home.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said. “Give Mama G my love.”
“All right,” Mama C said. “And talk to that man of yours.”
When we hung up, I was more determined than ever to figure out if I had any chance with my husband. I knew it wasn’t likely, especially now that the romantic honeymoon was over. But we still hadn’t figured out what to do about our rooming situation. And when Kerry was in bed that night, I brought it up.
“Hey,” I said, keeping a few inches between me and Cole as we stood at the door to the master bedroom. It was painful to have to stay that far, but since we were in private, I didn’t have an excuse to get any closer. “You know, we should really be sharing a room.”
“Do you think so?” He looked a little freaked out. “I don’t know if it matters.”
“What if the government were to drive by and see my lights on in my room at night?”
He laughed. “The government will just drive by like that?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, fine. You have a point.” He glanced into his room, and I imagined he was thinking longingly about the freedom and the privacy he’d be giving up. “You should move in here. It’ll seem more normal to Kerry.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll just grab a few things for now.” I went back for what I needed, including a change of clothes for the next day. I could think about all my other stuff later. After setting my toothbrush in the en-suite bathroom, I glanced around. No armchair in here.
“We’re going to have to share the bed,” Cole said. “I’m a pretty heavy sleeper, so it should be fine—although I’ve been told I tend to steal the blankets.” His tone contradicted his words, and I guessed he wasn’t too happy about having company.
“Fine by me,” I said. “I usually sleep naked, but…”
Cole’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
I got the message. He would not be a fan of that. “I’ll go grab some pajamas.”
I changed in the bathroom and slipped into bed, closing my eyes and pretending I wasn’t really here. I wondered what I’d been thinking when I suggested this. Of course Cole had said yes, and of course sleeping together didn’t mean we’d sleep together. I’d just let myself in for even more frustration than originally planned.
I caught a glimpse of him coming into the bed, enough to know he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I’d seen his body on our honeymoon, but every time made me weak. He had a nice form, stocky yet fit. I would’ve liked to slide my hands all over it.
I took deep breaths, willing myself to sleep. But I could feel Cole on the other side of the bed, and though my back was turned to him, I could feel every little movement he made. The thought alone send me into a tailspin of desire.
He was only inches away, and if I just rolled over and reached out, I could touch him. I was sure he didn’t want me to do that, but that didn’t stop my cock from growing achingly, throbbingly hard. I was dying to touch it, but how could I when he was lying right there? Maybe once he went to sleep, but that seemed awfully disrespectful. I couldn’t jerk off in the bed of the man who’d married me for such unselfish reasons.
I had to will this boner to go away. I lay there, thinking about the least sexy things I could imagine. Times tables, calculus, old people in downward dog… None of it worked. I was as hard as ever, and with every second that passed, the urge to do something about it grew.
When I couldn’t take it any longer, I jumped out of bed and locked myself in the bathroom. If Cole was still awake, he could assume I was using the facilities. In reality, I sat on the edge of the toilet seat and pu
t my hand down my pajama pants.
My cock responded eagerly from the first few strokes. A bead of precum leaked from the tip, and I groaned softly as I watched it drip over my cockhead. I reminded myself to keep quiet. If my husband knew what I was doing in here, he’d be disgusted.
I wondered if it was going to be like this from now on—me satisfying myself in here whenever he was around. I knew his presence was going to turn me on enough for that to happen. Hello, I said to the sink. Hello, shower curtain. They were going to be my new best friends if this kept up.
What about him, though? What would he do? Surely he had to get horny sometimes, and like everybody else, he had to take care of those needs. My heart rate crept up as I pictured him in here, doing what I was doing. He wouldn’t be thinking of me, of course, but the mental image could still drive me into a frenzy.
I jerked myself harder, willing myself to finish. I really wasn’t supposed to be doing this, especially not with Cole in mind. I was way too far gone to stop myself, though. And I didn’t really want to. In a way, it was only right for me to fantasize about my husband. The only problem was that I was going to get hurt.
When I came, the climax was an unsatisfying one. And as I got back in bed beside him, I already wanted more.
Eight—Cole
According to the terms of our agreement, Gordon and I had to go on a date night once a week, just the two of us. So far we’d been to three of the top restaurants in town, after which we’d head to a jazz bar or see a movie.
Kerry was happy with the unexpected boost to her social life, especially since Francesca’s parents were fine with her coming over. For me, the weekly event came closer to torture.
Two hours or more of staring at a gorgeous man over a candlelight dinner. Interlinking our fingers over the table, eating delicious food, and having the sense that he wanted to know and understand every last detail of my life. Time after time, I had to remind myself that if he did want to, it was to seem more realistic to the immigration agency.
That word never left the back of our minds. Realistic, realistic, realistic—we only whispered it when we were in public, but we talked about it a whole lot in private. And wherever I was, it was never far from my mind. The whole world had to believe our marriage was for real. Sadly, I was also falling for the illusion.
So those weekly dinners weren’t exactly the pleasant, fun nights they should’ve been. They did the job of putting a spark back into a relationship that had never lost it in the first place—at least not on my side.
I wished I could say Gordon felt the same, but he never seemed to react to the touch of my hand or the soft kisses we occasionally exchanged—in public only, of course. I seemed to have no effect on him. As far as I could tell, he saw our whole marriage as an unpleasant but necessary evil.
The day after the third date night, Talbot invited himself over to have coffee with us.
The first thing he did was shake his head. “You’re already failing at this couple thing. The two of you should be all over each other. Why don’t I see a hand on a thigh or something? You’re newlyweds. You should be resenting me for even being here.”
“Oh, I do,” I muttered. “But we’re in private.”
If he ever suggested we should keep up the act behind closed doors, I’d be completely fucked. I was more than willing to put my hands all over Gordon if that was what the situation required. The only problem was, I was never going to want to stop.
“I came here to give you some professional advice,” Talbot said. “You said you’re supposed to be out of the country in ninety days, right, Gordon? Have you started the paperwork about leaving?”
“Yes,” Gordon said. “I sent them notice that I married a citizen and that I’m filing for a green card.”
“Okay, so they might already be observing you. You definitely need to step up your game.”
The two of us exchanged an uneasy glance.
“The immigration interview can get pretty intense,” Talbot said. “They’re going to want to see that you have a healthy relationship. The good news is you’re in the same age range and speak the same language, plus you live at the same address. You’re already ahead of a lot of fake couples.”
We both nodded.
“But they’re also going to want to hear about stories, like how you got together and the kind of quirks each of you has.”
“I can definitely talk about his quirks,” Gordon said immediately. “Did you know this guy steals the blankets every single night? Doesn’t matter if it’s fifteen degrees in the room, he thinks about nobody but himself.”
Talbot looked confused, and I gave Gordon a nudge in the ribs. “He’s talking about Celsius,” I explained to Talbot.
“I see,” he said. “I don’t think the government will penalize you for that, but you never know.”
Now it was Gordon who needed an explanation. “He’s making a little joke,” I told him. “Lawyers have a strange sense of humor.”
I went quiet and listened as Talbot continued to speak. This was a serious situation, I reminded myself. Gordon’s ability to stay in the country was at stake, not to mention that quarter-million-dollar fine.
“Get some more ideas going,” Talbot said. “Tell me some things that annoy you about the other person.”
I racked my brain, but I couldn’t come up with anything. “He complains about me stealing the blankets,” was the best I could manage.
Gordon shrugged, too. “I really can’t complain about much.”
Talbot raised his eyebrows at us. “You’re going to have to work on that. Every couple has things that annoy them about the other. I could write a damn essay about my wife. But just think about it when you have time. Now, what about the things you really like about each other?”
“That’s easy,” Gordon said. “He’s such an amazing father, so caring and devoted. And his heart’s so big. He’s got to be one of the most loving people I’ve ever met.”
I stared at him. Did he honestly feel that way? Or was he just acting?
Talbot nodded, pleased with the answer. “And what about you, Cole?”
“Couldn’t I tell you when he’s not here?” I asked.
Talbot wrinkled his nose at me. “What, you want to lean over the table so you can whisper in my ear? Spit it out.”
My cheeks went hot. “Well, I love how great he is with Kerry. He has this whole other personality that’s so playful and fun, but it’s not fake at all. He really respects her, never talking down to her like so many adults do with kids. But I like him as an adult, too—as an equal. I like how sweet and gentle and caring he is.”
“Good, good.” Talbot nodded.
“As for quirks,” I said, “I like how a little dimple appears on his right cheek when he smiles, and how he scratches the back of his neck when he’s thinking. I like how nothing ever seems to get under his skin, and how even when he thought he was going to get sent away from here, he only accepted it calmly instead of getting angry or upset. He’s zen, or something.”
I’d avoided looking at Gordon during my recitation, knowing I was going way overboard but unable to stop myself. Now that I did look, his face was as red as mine felt.
“Must be the yoga,” he mumbled.
Talbot applauded quietly. “That’s the kind of thing I hope you’ll say in the immigration interview. If you want to make something else up, that’s fine, but that kind of emotion is what we’re going for. That counts for a lot.”
I coughed. “Right, make something else up.”
I barely listened as Talbot went on to our next subject. Apparently we needed to know every little detail of each other’s history, from the streets we’d grown up on to the members of each other’s extended family.
I gave Gordon my information on autopilot, although I was keenly conscious of the way he memorized everything immediately as if he really cared.
For my part, I tried my best to remember everything. But I asked Talbot for a piece of paper and wrote
it all down just in case. I was so distracted by those green eyes, I knew I wouldn’t remember much.
Before we left, Talbot give us one last thing think about. “They’re going to want to see some examples of communication between the two of you,” he said. “They’re not going to hack into your email inboxes or anything, but it would help if you could print some things out for them. You can write them up now and forge the dates they were sent.”
“Emails we’ve sent to each other? But we live in the same house.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Talbot said. “Couples always have things to write each other about. You could do text messages, too. Either way, think about the kind of things to people in love would send each other over the course of the day.”
My eyes widened, and I stared at Talbot. “What are you saying?”
Gordon put his hand on my knee, his eyes crinkled with mirth. “Babe, I think he’s saying we should sext each other.”
Nine—Gordon
“The immigration office is going to want to know that this is a real relationship in every way,” Talbot told us, looking sternly from Cole to myself. “If they ever get the slightest hint that you haven’t consummated your marriage, you’ll be back on a plane to the Great White North faster than you can say hockey stick.”
“That’s actually a three-syllable phrase,” I said, shifting in my seat and willing the twitch in my eye to go away. “I’m sure you could’ve come up with a shorter Canadian expression.”
“Don’t nitpick him, Gordon—I mean, honey.” Cole turned to Talbot. “Do we seriously have to do this?”
I bit my lip and looked down, my half-erection fading away. Sometimes I could almost convince myself Cole did see me in a romantic way. Like during that monologue he’d delivered about my better qualities.
But all it said was that he liked me as a friend, and as a nanny. I was good for his daughter, but that didn’t mean he wanted to tear my clothes off and have his way with me the way I did with him. He probably just saw me as a kid he was helping out. And I couldn’t blame him for that. Our situations in life were so different. He was giving me more than enough, and there was no way I could ever ask him for more.
