Chapter Twenty-Three
Cate
Forty-seven hours.
That was how long it had been since Gabriel told his ex-wife I was his wife.
Forty-seven hours since I agreed to actually marry him.
And now I was standing in his driveway.
Our driveway, oh my God—watching my dad haul boxes across the yard while Fitz made inappropriate jokes about “consummating the marriage” and my mother kept asking if I was “absolutely sure about this, darling.”
Sure?
SURE?
Mom, I haven’t been sure about anything since I woke up yesterday morning as Cate Brennan and went to sleep as Cate Lyon.
Mrs. Gabriel Lyon.
Mrs. Dr. Gabriel Lyon.
“Cate?” My mom’s voice cut through my spiral. “Sweetheart, where do you want these kitchen boxes?”
I blinked. Stared at the box in her hands labeled “KITCHEN - RANDOM UTENSILS & ANXIETY.”
Right. Because I’d labeled my boxes while having a panic attack at 2 AM.
Very professional. Very ‘stable person who should definitely get married in less than two days.’
“Um,” I said intelligently. “Kitchen?”
My mom’s expression suggested she was reconsidering her entire approach to parenting.
“The kitchen,” she repeated slowly. “Where in the kitchen?”
How should I know? This isn’t my house. This is Gabriel’s house. I’m just... living here now. Because we got MARRIED!
“Wherever there’s space?” I tried.
“Cate.” My dad appeared beside me, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You’re going to need to make some decisions here. We can’t just pile everything in the garage.”
Why not? That’s where I’ve been mentally piling all my feelings about this situation.
“Right,” I said. “Decisions. I’m great at decisions. I definitely didn’t just marry my boss in a panic to help with a custody battle.”
My dad’s expression softened. “Sweetheart.”
“I’m fine!” My voice came out too high. Too bright. “Totally fine. Just... processing. You know. The normal amount of processing for someone who got married at city hall yesterday with a five-year-old as a witness and a marriage certificate that still smells like printer ink.”
“Cate.”
“I’m FINE!”
I was not fine. I was the opposite of fine. I was whatever word exists beyond ‘catastrophic meltdown’ in the anxiety dictionary.
“Mrs. Lyon!” Fitz’s voice boomed across the driveway. “Where do you want the bedroom stuff?”
Mrs. Lyon.
He just called me Mrs. Lyon.
I’m going to throw up.
“I—” I started, but Gabriel appeared in the doorway, and my brain short-circuited.
He was wearing jeans. Just jeans and a T-shirt, nothing special, but somehow he made “helping move boxes” look like a photo shoot for “Doctors Who Are Unfairly Attractive Monthly.”
Focus, Cate. You’re married to him now. You’re allowed to think he’s hot. You’re married.
Oh my God, I’m MARRIED!
“Upstairs,” Gabriel said, his eyes finding mine across the driveway. “Second door on the left.”
His bedroom.
He means our bedroom because we’re married and we share a bedroom now.
Fitz waggled his eyebrows. “Second door on the left. Got it, boss.”
“Don’t call me boss,” Gabriel said mildly.
“Right, right. Sorry, Mr. Cate Lyon.” Fitz grinned.
“Fitz,” Nathan warned, hauling another box past him. “Stop being an ass.”
“I’m not being an arse! I’m being supportive! This is me being supportive!”
“Your version of supportive is everyone else’s version of ‘please shut up,’” Julien said, appearing with a lamp. “Cate, where does this go?”
I don’t know.
I don’t know where anything goes.
I don’t even know where I go.
Do I go in the bedroom? Do I go in the kitchen? Do I just stand here and have an existential crisis while everyone moves my entire life into a house I’ve only been inside for three weeks?
“Living room,” Gabriel said, and I realized he’d crossed the driveway and was now standing beside me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Close enough that my body immediately remembered what we’d done in the kitchen at 3 AM two days ago.
Not helpful, body.
We’re in public.
With my PARENTS.
His hand found the small of my back, warm and steady, and he leaned down to murmur in my ear. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing,” I whispered back. “This is me breathing. Very normal breathing. Not at all like I’m about to pass out.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re doing fine.”
“I labeled a box ‘ANXIETY.’”
“I saw.”
“That’s not fine. That’s the opposite of fine.”
“Cate.” His voice was low, meant only for me. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”
Together.
There’s that word again.
The word that makes my chest do weird things.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple, casual, easy, like we’d been married for years instead of hours, and I felt something in my chest crack open.
Oh no.
Oh no, this is bad. This is worse than the fake marriage.
This is... “Cate!” Megan’s voice rang out from inside the house. “Can I help unpack your clothes?”
Right. Megan. The five-year-old who now thinks I’m her stepmother. Because we told her—carefully, age-appropriately—that Daddy and Cate got married because we care about each other very much and want to be a family.
Which is technically true, right?
Sort of.
If you ignore the part where we’re doing this to win a custody battle and we’ve only been sleeping together for a week.
“Coming, baby!” I called back and headed inside.
By noon, most of my stuff was inside.
By one PM, I’d had three separate panic attacks in the bathroom.
By two PM, Gabriel had pulled me into the hallway closet and kissed me until I forgot my name.
“We can’t,” I gasped against his mouth. “Everyone’s here. My parents are downstairs. Fitz is...”
“Fitz is helping Hayden with the bookshelf,” Gabriel murmured, his hands sliding under my shirt. “And your parents are in the kitchen with Megan.”
“Gabriel.”
“I need you.” His voice was rough, urgent. “I’ve needed you all morning, watching you walk around our house, and I can’t—”
Our house.
He said, our house.
I kissed him.
Hard.
Desperate.
Because apparently, I’d lost my mind somewhere between “I do” and “where do these boxes go,” and now I was making out with my husband in a closet while my parents unpacked my kitchen supplies downstairs.
Husband.
Gabriel is my husband.
I have a husband.
Holy Crap! I have a husband!
His hand slid between my thighs, and I bit back a moan.
“Tonight,” he said against my mouth. “After everyone leaves. I’m going to take my time with you.”
Oh my God.
He’s going to kill me.
I’m going to die in this closet from sexual frustration and anxiety.
“Promise?” I whispered.
“Promise.”
He kissed me once more, slow, deep, and devastating, then stepped back, adjusting his shirt like he hadn’t just made me forget how to form coherent thoughts.
“Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “Let’s go be normal.”
Normal.
Right.
Because this is totally normal.
By four PM, most of the boxes were unpacked.
By five PM, my parents had left with promises to “check in soon” and my mother’s pointed look that said, “we’re going to have a serious conversation about this later.”
By six PM, Gabriel suggested we take Megan to the clinic to pick up some paperwork he’d forgotten.
The clinic.
Where he works.
Where everyone knows him.
Where I’m now going to show up as his wife.
“Is that a good idea?” I asked carefully.
“It’s fine,” Gabriel said. “It’ll be quick. And Megan loves visiting the clinic.”
Right.
Totally fine.
Nothing weird about showing up at your husband’s workplace less than forty-eight hours after getting married.
The clinic was quiet when we arrived—just Winnie at the front desk and a couple of patients in the waiting room.
“Dr. Lyon!” Winnie’s face lit up. Then she saw me. “Oh! Cate! I heard the good news. Congratulations!”
She heard. Of course she heard.
Everyone’s heard.
I’m the nanny who married her boss in less than two days.
“Thanks,” I managed, my smile feeling plastic.
“And Megan!” Winnie came around the desk. “How’s my favorite patient?”
“Cate’s my mommy now!” Megan announced proudly.
Mommy.
I’m a MOMMY
How could I be a mommy? I still had a mommy!
“I know!” Winnie grinned. “That’s so exciting!”
“We’re a family now,” Megan continued, oblivious to my internal crisis. “Daddy says families stick together.”
Oh my God.
She’s so happy.
She’s so happy, and this is all fake, and what happens when the custody battle is over, and we— “Cate.” Gabriel’s hand found mine, squeezing gently. “Come with me. I need to grab those files from my office.”
His office.
Right.
Files.
We left Megan with Winnie, who immediately started showing her the new stickers they’d gotten in, and headed down the hallway.
Gabriel’s office was at the end. Private and quiet, with a door that locked.
I should have known. Because the moment we were inside, he locked the door and pulled me against him.
“Gabriel,” I started, but he was already kissing me, his hands sliding into my hair.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmured against my mouth. “Watching you in our house. Watching you with Megan. Watching you be my wife.”
Wife.
There’s that word again. The word that makes everything feel real and terrifying and impossibly complicated.
“We can’t,” I gasped. “Megan’s right outside. Winnie’s—”
“Winnie knows not to disturb me when my door’s locked.” His mouth moved to my neck. “And Megan’s distracted.”
“This is insane.”
“Probably.”
“We’re in your office. At your workplace. Where you’re a respected pediatric surgeon.”
“I’m aware.” His hands slid under my shirt, and I shivered. “Does that bother you?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe?
I don’t know anymore.
I don’t know anything except that I want him, and this is crazy, and I’m definitely going to Hell.
“The patient room,” he said suddenly. “Down the hall. It’s empty.”
The patient room.
He wants to have sex in a patient’s room.
Where children get examined.
Where there are stirrups!
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“Cate—”
“No. Nope. Not happening. That’s... that’s a line. That’s definitely a line we shouldn’t cross.”
He pulled back, his eyes dark. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He kissed me softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”
“Room three,” I blurted out.
He blinked. “What?”
“Room three. It’s the one at the end, right? The one that’s furthest from the waiting room?”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Yes.”
“And it locks?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re absolutely sure Megan won’t...”
“She’s with Winnie. She’ll be fine.”
This is insane.
This is absolutely completely insane.
I’m going to have sex with my husband in a patient room at his clinic.
“Five minutes,” I said.
“Ten.”
“Gabriel.”
“Ten minutes, Cate. I need ten minutes with you.”
Oh my God.
He’s going to be the death of me.
“Fine. Ten minutes. But if anyone knocks…”
“No one will knock.”
He took my hand and led me down the hallway, checking quickly to make sure it was clear, and pulled me into room three.
The door locked with a soft click and then his mouth was on mine, urgent and demanding, and I stopped thinking about where we were or what we were doing or the fact that this was absolutely, definitely crossing about seventeen different professional boundaries.
His hands slid under my shirt, pulling it over my head, and I gasped as the cool air hit my skin.
“Gabriel.”
“I know.” His mouth moved to my neck, my collarbone, lower. “I know this is crazy. But I can’t—I can’t stop thinking about you. About this. About us.”
Us.
There’s an us now.
We’re an us.
He lifted me onto the exam table, and I should have felt weird about it, should have felt wrong about what we were doing, but all I could focus on was the way his hands felt on my skin, the way his mouth moved against mine, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
“I need you,” he murmured, his hands working at my jeans. “Right now. I need to be inside you.”
Oh my God.
He’s going to kill me.
Death by inappropriate workplace sex.
What a way to go.
I helped him with my jeans, and then his, and then he was pushing inside me and I forgot how to breathe.
“Fuck,” he groaned against my neck. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Don’t stop,” I gasped. “Please don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He set a hard, fast rhythm that had me gripping the edge of the exam table, biting my lip to keep from crying out as he pumped his dick inside me.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Take it. Take all of me.”
I’m going to die.
I’m actually going to die.
This is how I go—death by orgasm in a pediatric exam room.
His hand slid between us, finding that perfect spot, and I shattered. My orgasm hit me so hard I saw stars, and I had to bury my face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.
He followed seconds later, his grip on my hips bruising as he came inside me with a low groan.
For a moment, we just stayed there, breathing hard, tangled together, the reality of what we’d just done slowly sinking in.
“We just had sex in a patient room,” I said finally.
“Yes.”
“At your workplace.”
“Yes.”
“While your daughter is in the waiting room.”
“She’s fine. She’s with Winnie.”
“Gabriel.” I pulled back to look at him. “We can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“This! The... the sneaking around. The closets and the patient rooms and the...” I gestured helplessly.
Something flickered in his eyes. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“You are.” He helped me down from the table, his hands gentle. “No more sneaking. No more closets.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he kissed me softly. “From now on, I’m taking you to bed. Our bed. And I’m taking my time.”
Oh.
Oh my God.
He’s serious.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
He helped me get dressed, his touch lingering, and I realized something terrifying.
This wasn’t just about the custody battle anymore.
This wasn’t just about keeping up appearances or making things look real for Tonya’s lawyer.
This was real.
We were real.
And I had no idea what to do with that.
“Come on,” Gabriel said, offering his hand. “Let’s go get Megan.”
I took his hand, and we walked back down the hallway together.
Husband and wife.
For better or worse.