19. Chapter 19
Emma
When you’re happy and in love, even the way the sun rises and sets feels different. The golden hues seem warmer and the sky is more vibrant, as if the world itself is reflecting the joy in your heart. You begin to see colors differently—like the golden glow of sunrise feeling richer, the deep blues of twilight more enchanting. Every experience takes on a new depth, as if the world itself has become more alive. I don’t know how else to explain it.
And when you’re sad and in love, it’s a different kind of depression that you don’t even notice until you’re out of it. When I saw Jonathan with Jessica the first time, I didn’t know anything except the hurt that I felt. And I held onto that hurt.
Now that Jonathan and I have gotten closer after he saved me, things are really starting to look up for me. Except there’s one problem with being happy: I lose my inspiration to write.
I don’t know why anger and sadness fuel my writing so much, but when I’m happy, I feel too sappy to string words together properly. I glare at my laptop screen, the blinking cursor taunting me with its relentless rhythm.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan, eyes still on the screen, willing it to type, but of course nothing happens. Unfortunately, I have to do the typing myself.
“What’s going on?” Jonathan asks as he walks into the living room. He hands me a mug filled with hot cocoa, and I accept it.
“You.” I glare at him.
“Me?” he asks, seemingly confused.
I nod. “I’m so ridiculously happy when you’re around that it’s hindering my progress! I can’t be happy and write at the same time. Why can’t you make me mad or sad?”
That makes him chuckle. “You want me to make you mad or sad?”
I nod, happy that he understands exactly what I’m talking about.
“I only have two chapters to finish, and I seriously need you to do this for me. The ending of the book means just as much as the start or the middle,” I explain. “So please, I’m begging you to make me cry or rage.”
Jonathan starts laughing. “You’re joking, Emma. I don’t want to make you sad. How can I when you mean everything to me?”
My heart skips at his words, but I fold my arms across my chest and give him a hard stare.
“Just think of something, anything, to make me cry,” I say. “Or something that would make me angry.”
“But you look angry right now,” Jonathan points out.
I roll my eyes. “I’m annoyed, not angry. There’s a bit of a difference between the two emotions.”
Jonathan stays quiet for a while. “What if we watch a movie?”
“A movie,” I repeat.
Jonathan nods. “A really sad movie, tragic enough to change your mood.”
I think about it for a while, and then I grin, nodding. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I’d like that.”
So Jonathan picks a movie and we settle down to watch it with some popcorn, a box of tissues, and my laptop, ready to cry and write if need be.
It was only yesterday when the incident with Jessica happened at the banquet, and we haven’t spoken about it after our return, or mentioned our changed dynamic. I want to bring it up, to ask what it all meant, but every time I try, uncertainty knots in my stomach, and the words die in my throat.
The movie starts and we watch it in silence, my head resting on his shoulder. True to his words, the movie does make me sad enough to write the ending of my manuscript. He watches me do it, and he keeps reminding me of sad moments in the movie that should make me be able to control the emotion and write it down.
“And…done!” I yell the second I type “the end.” “We’ve come to the end of my first draft, oh wow! I mean, it definitely needs a lot of editing, but I hope Agnes likes the ending because she usually prefers to give books happy endings and—wait, why are you looking at me like that?”
He’s grinning, and his eyes are wide with adoration as he stares at me. “I’m just so proud of you, Emma. You did it. You didn’t give up, and now you have a fantastic manuscript to send over to your agent. That’s impressive.”
I feel myself blushing. “Well technically, you didn’t read all of it, so you don’t know it’s a masterpiece.”
“Everything you write is a masterpiece. I told you, I own all of your books, and I adore them.” He takes a very long pause. “And I adore you , Emma. You’re amazing and funny and witty, and I adore your very presence.”
My eyes tear up at his words, except this time they’re not sad tears. “Jonathan, where is this coming from?” I ask him.
Jonathan takes my hands in his, interlocking our fingers as he holds me tight.
“Like I said, I adore you. I…” A pause, then: “I love you, Emma. I’ve loved you for longer than I was willing to admit how I felt, and I love you so deeply that sometimes it hurts to think about it. And when you didn’t talk to me for weeks, I thought I’d lost you forever. It was the most devastating two weeks of my entire life.”
“Jonathan,” I say, “are you sure?”
I ask him because I want to make sure, because I don’t want him to be confused by how well we seem to be fooling everyone else. If this is an elaborate lie that he’s begun to believe, then I don’t want it.
“I’ve never been so sure in my life, Emma. Never. I love you from the depths of my heart. I love you so much it hurts. I mean it.”
He brings our interlocked hands to his chest and spreads my hand there. “You feel this? The beating of my heart? It beats just for you, and it beats really loudly.”
I laugh at his words. “That sounds very cheesy, but I love it.”
“You do?” he asks, and I nod.
“It’s because my heart beats for you, too,” I say, making him smile really wide. “I love you, too, Jonathan. I love you so much that it almost hurts to think about it.”
Jonathan doesn’t hesitate. He leans in, his lips brushing against mine with a mix of urgency and tenderness, stealing my breath before I can even think. Warmth spreads through my chest, my heart hammering as I melt into the kiss, losing myself in the moment. I moan at the feel of his mouth against mine as I pull him to me, kissing him back as hard as I can. My hand weaves into his hair and he wraps his arms around my waist, closing the gap between us.
He pulls away and places his forehead against mine, and I’m so giddy and in love that I can’t fathom how this came to be. When did I start catching feelings for him? Was it after our first kiss? It feels like it was much earlier than that, but I can’t put my finger on when this started. It just happened, and I choose to accept that.
Jonathan mirrors my smile as he asks, “Can I kiss you again? I want to make sure I’m not dreaming.”
I laugh at that, but I kiss him again and again. I’m still kissing him when we hear a noise behind us.
“Geez, guys, get a room!” Reed walks in, cringing at us.
I pull away and roll my eyes at him. “We’re in our own home, Reed, and you decide to butt in.”
He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Can’t I miss my sister? Or my friend?” His smirk suggests he’s enjoying our reaction a little too much. “I just came to see you guys.”
Jonathan says, “So you can’t complain at whatever you end up seeing at our home.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him. I sink into him, feeling his warm body pressed against mine.
Reed sighs and turns around, leaving without a single word. He seemingly has decided to give up and leave us to our own devices. I laugh and pull away from Jonathan before walking to where I left my laptop on the couch.
“I need to send this to Agnes and see what she thinks of it,” I say while typing away. Jonathan begins cleaning up the popcorn.
“Can I read it?” he asks, and my heart thuds. I want to show him, I really do. But what if he doesn’t like it? He read the first chapter, but this is the finished product and naturally, I’m scared of what he’ll think.
“Will you be nice when you read it?” I ask, nervously biting my bottom lip.
Jonathan nods. “I promise.”
I pull up the file for him and hand over the laptop.
“You don’t have to read everything now,” I say, feeling very nervous. He nods, but he doesn’t move, his eyes trained on the screen. And that’s how he sits for hours, reading without a moment’s rest while I pace the living room, the kitchen, and every other inch of the house.
He takes his time reading every chapter, and I only hear low grunts every once in a while. I keep asking him every few minutes if it’s good, but he seems to have lost the ability to speak.
The second he’s done, he closes the laptop and turns to me. “Have you submitted this to Agnes already?”
I nod. “I did just before you read it, remember?”
He nods, and my heart drops.
“Why? Should I tell her to not read it yet?”
He shakes his head. “Far from it. Emma, I’m not lying when I say this is genuinely the best book I’ve read in my entire life—and I don’t mean just your work, but all of the books in the world that I’ve read.”
I gasp. “You can’t possibly mean that!”
“I do,” he says. “I mean every word. This is the book that will make you a staple author, and I can’t wait to see your success after this. And I believe that this isn’t even your peak.”
I know that. I believe it because he believes in me, and I want to be the person he’s picturing.
I pull him into a tight hug. “Thank you so much! You have no idea how much help you’ve been. If not because of you—”
“You still would’ve figured it out, Emma. You’re a brilliant writer, and you deserve all the accolades and the happy ending. All of it,” he says.
My heart is full. “You know, Agnes told me that there’s been an uptick in sales for my books. I wonder if that had anything to do with the fact that we were photographed together and Reed just happened to tell the press I’m a writer?”
“Maybe? What can I say, I’m just the writer’s husband.” He wiggles his brows suggestively, and I swat at his arm and laugh.
“Sure, if you say so,” I say, grinning. I know he had something to do with it. Maybe he encouraged a few extra people to buy my books? I have no idea what he did, but I can only hope they didn’t end up in Ralph’s collection--where books go to collect dust.
“I hope Ralph didn’t get his hands on any,” I mutter, earning a puzzled look from Jonathan.
“What?” he asks.
"Ralph and his books. I don’t want mine wasting away on his shelves."
Jonathan chuckles and pulls me into him. We sink into the couch, wrapped in each other’s warmth.
"If you want me to, I’ll confiscate them all!" he declares dramatically.
I smile, resting my head against his chest. "It’s nice to know you’ve got my back."
***
The thing I said about the sunrise being different when you’re in love? It’s true. It extends to every bit of the sunlight that comes through the window. Jonathan is still sleeping next to me, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist.
We forgot to close the window the day before, and the result is being woken up by the beautiful morning sunshine. I close my eyes and bask in it, sighing at the feeling of the light on my face and the man lying next to me. Nothing beats waking up to the love of your life.
I lean down to kiss his forehead, and he starts to stir. Jonathan slowly opens his eyes and smiles at me.
“Good morning,” he mutters in a deep, raspy voice as he turns over, fully watching me. “You look exceptionally beautiful this morning.”
I blush despite knowing my hair is probably a mess and there’s likely some drool on my face. But I like that he still likes me this way, drool and all. And he thinks I’m exceptionally beautiful.
“Do you know you experience things differently when you’re in love?” I say randomly. “Smell, texture, and sight…it all changes. And it gets better the happier you get.”
Jonathan smiles. “I guess that does explain a lot of things. I love that theory.”
“Me too,” I say. We lie there like a couple of lovesick puppies just staring into each other’s eyes, not moving. We stay like that until finally, my stomach grumbles in protest.
My cheeks flare with heat and Jonathan laughs. “My tummy says you need to feed me.”
Jonathan nods. “I would be happy to, whatever you want.”
“Whatever?” I ask, and he nods. “Anything is fine as long as there’s coffee. And I want it in bed.”
Jonathan instantly gets up. “One princess breakfast, coming right up.” I giggle, shaking my head as he marches off with exaggerated determination, clearly enjoying his new role as my personal chef.
I laugh and fall back into bed as I watch him leave, wondering how I got this lucky. The funny thing is, if someone told teenage me that one day I’d fall in love with Jonathan, it would have made sense somehow, even if the idea would’ve also horrified me. I’ve always felt a certain level of familiarity with him that I didn’t feel with anyone else—familiarity and safety, and just overall comfort that no other man I dated before could make me feel.
He brings the breakfast of toast, eggs, and avocados to bed, with the coffee just the way I like it. He kisses me and we both settle on the bed. Eating breakfast together feels like a new experience that fills me to the brim. Even the eggs taste different, and I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of something like that happening.
“Emma.” Jonathan’s voice is soft, almost hesitant, as he sets his coffee cup down. I look up, my heart skipping a beat, waiting to hear what he has to say. “It wasn’t terribly awful waking up with you next to me in bed and making you breakfast—ow! What was that for?”
I nudge him in the side with a playful shove. “That’s for calling me ‘not terribly awful.’ I am a delight to be around, Jonathan, and if you don’t think that, then perhaps I should find someplace else to be.”
Jonathan shakes his head. “If you’re such a delight to be around, why would you shove me?”
I shove him again for good measure and watch him wince, even though I know he’s exaggerating.
“Every time you insult me or say something mean, I’ll likely shove you,” I say, grinning like an angel.
He shoots me a look as he rubs at the spot I shoved. “It’s going to bruise.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t push you that hard. By the way, what were you saying?”
He stops wincing and turns to look at me. “I know we started this off as fake. And I know it’s going to be hard moving on from that.”
“It was never fake, Jonathan,” I say. “We were lying to each other and ourselves. We had feelings for each other that we mistook for something else, which started this whole catastrophe to begin with.”
He smiles. “You’re right. We found out much later than we should’ve just how much we mean to each other. But I’m glad that we cleared that up, because I want to tell you how much I love you every second of every hour.”
My eyes go misty. “Don’t make me cry this early in the day.”
Jonathan continues talking, his voice softer now. “Anyway, I want us to make this official between us. This marriage started as a lie, but I don’t want it to be anymore. I want to build something real with you, Emma. Let’s really try to make this work.”
I nod. “I never thought I would end up being in love with my fake husband, but here we are!”
Jonathan’s smile is infectious, lighting up his entire face in a way that makes my heart stutter. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like this before—so open, so unguarded. Has he always smiled this way, or is this something only I get to see? It must be the latter, because if he’d always smiled like this, he would’ve won me over ages ago.
I wrap my arms around him, feeling the steady warmth of his body against mine, and lean close to his ear to whisper, “Well, I do. I will be your lawfully wedded wife, and I’ll love you for every moment from now until forever.” My voice trembles slightly, thick with emotion, but I mean every word.
“And no more shoving?” he asks hopefully.
I laugh. “Don’t ask for the impossible, Jonathan. That’s not how this works.”
He groans, and being in his arms like this feels perfect in a way I can’t explain.
THE END
Thank you for reading The Bad Boy's Fake Wife .