The Fake Husband (Steamy Shorts #34)

Chapter 1

NADINE

Idon't really hate my ex, but if there's only one thing I can say about him, it's that he lights up every room he leaves. Every day I don't see him is a good day.

Today is not one of those.

He has a cream-colored envelope in one hand, setting it on my desk with two fingers, and I already start thinking whether a swipe of wet wipes and some alcohol sprays are enough to disinfect his presence.

Priyanka, from two desks over, performs the most unconvincing fake-typing I have ever witnessed in my life.

Who types that quickly while casting us a sideways look?

She is not subtle. She is not trying to be subtle.

I can feel the attention radiating off her like heat, and it makes me want to laugh.

Alec, across the floor, doesn't even bother pretending. He even rests his chin over his interlaced fingers and cocks an eyebrow at me. He might as well be eating popcorn.

"Hey, Nadie."

God, he knows I hate being called that. "Hi."

"So, an invitation to the wedding. I'm inviting everyone, but I thought you deserved a personal invitation from me."

I almost roll my eyes so hard, I can see my brain. "Oh, really? Am I supposed to weep in gratitude at your feet?"

Derek can't be fazed, though. He pastes on that patronizing smile I know so well.

"This isn't going to break your heart, right?

Watching me marry someone else?" He pretends to say it quietly, but it's loud enough for both Priyanka and Alec to catch every word.

"I know you were hoping it would be you. "

The fury arrives clean and absolute even as I refuse to take the bait. Not sudden, not surprising, just the familiar weight of Derek being Derek, which is to say, he's his usual asshole self.

I do not show it. I've been not-showing things to Derek forever, even during the six months when we were together, and I am very, very good at it.

The smile never drops from his face because this is important to him. His cruelty is always delivered warm, so whatever happens, it's never on him. It's just me overreacting again. It's me reading too much into things.

See, when he's not being an asshole, Derek is a professional gaslighter.

An absolute jackpot, this guy.

"Congratulations," I say, and my voice comes out exactly the way I need it to—polite, professional, completely unaffected. Two can play this game.

"You're bringing someone?"

I don't stop to think for even two seconds. All I know is I want to smack that smug look on his face, and since physical assault is very much frowned upon by HR, I do the next best thing—give him a mental punch. "Of course. My husband."

The words land in the air between us—mine, in my voice, undeniably out of my mouth—and there's a beat while both of us process what just happened.

Oh God, did I just say…?

Derek's smile goes fractionally uncertain, just for a moment. It's microscopic, but I catch it, the tiny shift in his expression that says he's caught off guard. That right there is the best thing that's happened to me all week.

I hold onto it with both hands while the rest of me registers the scope of what I've done.

"Your ... husband," he says, testing the word like it might be defective.

"Hm-mm!"

"Well." The smile clicks back into place. "Congratulations on that too … even if this is the first time I'm hearing it."

"Maybe because it's none of your business?"

"Hmm. See you and your, ah, husband, at the wedding then."

I watch him walk to the elevator and sit with the envelope on my desk for exactly ten seconds.

Then I shut down my computer, pick up my bag, and leave, because I am going to Rachel's and I am going right now.

In my car, I open the envelope.

The invitation is white and gold. Serif font.

Derek Myers and Alice Allison. The resort name sits at the top—some Mexican beach property whose website I will absolutely not be looking at later tonight, except I probably will, at 2 AM when I can't sleep and my brain decides to run a highlight reel of every mistake I've made in the past year.

Alice Allison.

Yes, that is her name, and no, I do not want to comment on the alliteration.

She's the assistant head of marketing, working just outside Derek's office. The woman he told me not to worry about … even as they worked the whole night, just the two of them.

Oh God.

I told Derek I have a husband.

I do not have a husband.

I do not even have a boyfriend at the moment. For months now, but who's counting?

I have a job, an apartment with genuinely good light, and a succulent that has been alive for two years, which I consider a milestone achievement and have named Kevin.

Oh God. I pound the steering wheel and scream at the windshield. To no effect.

I'm so screwed, and the worst part is … I brought this upon myself.

Rachel shares an apartment with her twin, River. They're on the third floor, and the elevator never works. I've climbed these stairs more times than I can count.

I didn't knock then. I don't knock now. I have never knocked. I come here after work at least four times a week, so they already know to expect me.

The door swings open to Rachel's mismatched throw pillows, the gallery wall that got two-thirds finished and then stopped because Rachel bought a new couch and lost momentum, the plants that are thriving against all reasonable probability.

But, hey, that's Rachel. Probability functions differently inside her orbit.

I slump on the stool by the kitchen island and groan.

River's at the stove, wearing a gray shirt, and his back is to me.

Is it because of the tight-fitting shirt or has his back become broader?

I stare at the ink on his muscled, veiny forearms and run my eye again across the width of his shoulders and immediately dig my nails into my palms. I am not doing this today.

I still have things to figure out, and thinking about how hot River is will get me nowhere.

Rachel appears from the hallway, reads my face, and goes directly to the freezer. She's probably getting what we like to call our 'emergency stash'.

River turns from the stove. His gaze lands on me, and as always, I feel some tingling I should really ignore. The corner of his mouth lifts. "Ice cream situation or wine situation?"

"Ice cream."

A minute later, Rachel is beside me holding a big tub of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and two spoons. River isn't a fan of ice cream, which is why his body looks the way it does, and why I'm always out of breath coming up.

"Derek came to my desk and gave me his wedding invitation. He made this whole show of inviting me."

"He's always been like that," Rachel says. "Everything is the Derek Myers show."

"Right? He could've just given me the invitation along with the ones for Priyanka and Alec, but no, he had to be there himself."

"And he didn't just hand the invite, did he?"

I shove a scoop of ice cream into my mouth and moan before speaking. River whirls around, and his gaze narrows. Hmm, did I do something? "No, he absolutely did not. He asked if I was okay and if it wouldn't break my heart to see him marrying someone else because he knew I hoped it would be me."

Rachel's spoon clatters to the island. "He did not."

I nod and shrug, remembering the ring Derek gave me for my birthday. It was too big. He had never asked my size because he hadn't thought to, and I smiled and said it was beautiful because I'd been doing that, building things over the parts that didn't fit.

River turns back to the stove and says, "Exactly the thing I would expect from a guy who refused to carry that treasure chest you bought at an estate sale."

I smirk. "The one you carried four flights of stairs and claimed it was haunted?"

"Something in it rattled."

"That was a loose hinge, River."

"Spirits sound exactly like loose hinges, Nadine. That's how they get you."

"I had no idea you were scared of ghosts."

"I wasn't scared. No way! I hated them because I hate everything that lingers when they ought to be gone."

"Okay, sure. Whatever you say."

"And do not tell me it was coincidence Kevin almost died a day after you brought that blasted thing home."

Despite myself, I laugh. It really was one of the funniest things ever.

Derek refused to accompany me because the whole estate sale was not his vibe.

Rachel was busy, but River was not. Interestingly, River is never busy whenever I ask him.

It doesn't matter if it's a call at 1 AM when I have a flat tire or running to my favorite taco place early in the morning. He is always available to me.

Rachel flicks her eyes from River to me. "Are we telling the Derek story or the haunted chest story?"

Right. Derek.

We were together for six months. Then, he came home after a work trip abroad with Alice and broke up with me.

He said I was boring, that I played everything safe, that he couldn't imagine me doing something that scared me.

That I'd probably never get married because I'd never let anyone close enough.

One week later, I saw them having dinner at my favorite restaurant. Derek was and will always be a scumbag.

I sigh. "He basically wanted me to acknowledge I was going alone to his wretched wedding."

Rachel makes a noise that could charitably be called a sound of disgust. She was never a fan of Derek. Her and River. They hated him because Derek liked the sound of his own voice. He never noticed when everyone else was uncomfortably quiet and it was just him monopolizing the talk.

"And he said, 'you're bringing someone?' I snapped after that."

Rachel's eyes widen, and she rests a hand over mine. "What happened?"

"I told him I was bringing someone. My husband."