Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Heat pooled in my stomach. “There’s a guest room. You can have your privacy.”
“But if we’re supposed to be married . . .”
“We’ll figure it out. Make it look convincing when it matters, keep things separate when it doesn’t.”
She nodded, but something flickered across her face too quickly for me to read. Disappointment? Relief? I couldn’t tell.
“What about Luca? What do we tell him?”
This was the part that made my chest ache. “Well tell him the same we’ll tell everyone else. We’re married.”
“And after when we’re not?”
After. The word hung between us like a sword waiting to fall. After we’d convinced everyone we were the perfect couple, after we’d built a life together that would have to be carefully dismantled.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said.
It was a cop-out, and we both knew it. But the alternative—planning the end of something that hadn’t even begun—felt impossible in that moment.
Gianna picked up her purse and keys from the counter. “I should go. It’s getting late.”
“Stay.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. “I mean, if you want. The guest room bed is already made up.”
She hesitated, keys dangling from her fingers. “Colby . . .”
“It would be good practice. For when we’re living together officially.”
A weak excuse, but she seemed to consider it. Finally, she set her keys back down. “Okay. But I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
“I’ll find you something.”
Ten minutes later, she emerged from the guest bathroom wearing one of my old college t-shirts and a pair of my pajama pants rolled up at the ankles. The shirt hung loose on her smaller frame, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked young and soft and beautiful in a way that made my chest tight.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For letting me stay. This is all going to take some getting used to.”
“Yeah, it is.”
We stood there in the hallway, suddenly awkward with each other in a way we’d never been before. Three years of easy friendship, and now we couldn’t seem to find our footing.
“Goodnight, Colby.”
“Goodnight.”
I watched her disappear into the guest room before heading to my own bedroom. But sleep was impossible. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the woman sleeping twenty feet away. My soon-to-be wife. The mother Luca had been wishing for without even knowing it.
In three days, we’d go to the courthouse and make it official. In three months, we’d stand before a judge and prove that we were the stable, loving family Luca deserved.
And somewhere in between, I’d have to figure out how to keep my own heart intact when this was all over.
CHAPTER 4
Gianna
Three boxes of my belongings sat in Colby’s living room like evidence of a crime I hadn’t yet committed. I stared at them from the kitchen doorway, coffee mug trembling in my hands as the reality of what I’d agreed to settled over me.
We’d been married for exactly four hours. A quick ceremony at the courthouse with Cory and Summer as witnesses, Luca bouncing on his toes in his best shirt, and Judge Morrison’s kind smile as he pronounced us husband and wife. Colby had kissed me afterward. It was a brief, soft press of lips that tasted like mint and promises we couldn’t keep.
Now I was officially Mrs. Marshall, and my stomach churned with terror and something dangerously close to joy.
“The movers said they’d bring the rest tomorrow,” Colby said, appearing beside me with his own cup of coffee. He’d changed from his courthouse clothes into worn jeans and a flannel shirt, looking more like the man I’d known for three years and less like the stranger who’d slipped a simple gold band onto my finger four hours ago.
“This is plenty for now.” I gestured at the boxes with my free hand. “Most of my furniture won’t fit anyway.”
His house was bigger than my apartment above the flower shop, but it was undeniably his space. Masculine furniture, neutral colors, everything practical and sturdy. The only touches of warmth came from Luca’s artwork covering the refrigerator and the family photos scattered throughout the rooms.
“We can rearrange things. Make room for whatever you want to bring.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The kindness in his tone made this harder somehow. If he’d been cold or businesslike about the arrangement, I could have treated it like any other contract. But he was being gentle with me, careful, like he understood what this was costing me emotionally.
“Miss G?” Luca’s voice carried from the living room, followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor.
We both turned toward the sound. I set my coffee down and hurried to find him kneeling beside a fallen lamp, looking mortified. The ceramic base had cracked but hadn’t shattered completely, and the shade sat askew but intact.