Chapter 5
DUKE
Mr. and Mrs. Coleman, welcome to the spa.”
My stomach somersaults hearing Riley referred to as my wife. Riley’s fingers twitch against mine, and I can tell it catches her by surprise, too.
The hotel spa has soft music and fragrant air, which I assume is meant to be calming. I’ve never been less calm in my life. I suggested this because Riley deserves to be pampered, but sitting here in a plush robe and slippers, I feel more exposed than I ever have in combat.
Our massage therapist leads us to side-by-side chairs near a window overlooking the city. She’s got that bubbly energy of someone who genuinely loves her job, and her eyes keep darting between us with barely contained delight.
“Newlyweds,” she sighs, clasping her hands together. “I can always tell. There’s this glow about you two.”
Riley makes a sound that might be agreement or might be choking, and I chuckle.
“So.” Theresa settles onto a stool between us, reaching for Riley’s hand to begin the manicure portion of our “couples package.” Another thing I’m regretting. “How did you two meet? I love hearing love stories.”
“High school,” I say.
“A party,” Riley says at the same moment.
We look at each other and laugh.
“Oh, that’s adorable! You remember it differently.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “That happens with my husband and me too. He swears we met at a coffee shop. I know for a fact it was a bookstore.” She waves a hand. “Tell me more. Who noticed who first?”
Riley’s cheeks flush pink. “Um. He did. I think.”
Theresa turns to me expectantly. My throat tightens.
“She was the only person in the room I wanted to talk to.”
The words come out before I can stop them. True. Completely true. Riley’s eyes snap to mine.
“And?” Theresa prompts, practically bouncing. “What happened?”
Riley swallows. “He made me laugh. He did this impression of Napoleon in history class—” She cuts herself off, but she’s smiling now, and I get another glimpse at the real Riley. “It was terrible. But I couldn’t stop laughing.”
“So you knew right away? That he was the one?”
A beat of silence. Riley’s voice goes soft. “I knew that day he was going to be important to me.”
Tension ripples through me. This is supposed to be a performance. We’re supposed to be making up a story for our fake marriage. It feels like we’re sharing truths with a stranger when we’ve never said these things to each other.
But nothing she’s saying is fake. Nothing I’m saying is fake.
“What about you?” Theresa turns to me, dabbing something onto Riley’s nails. “When did you know she was special?”
I should spin some romantic tale about our fictional first date. Instead, I say, “The first time she smiled at me. I was done for.”
Riley’s breath catches, but I can’t look at her.
“Oh, you two.” Theresa dabs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “This is why I love this job. True love—you can’t fake it.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. Do we love each other as more than friends? I’ve never considered that it could truly be a possibility.
We survive the rest of the appointment. Theresa chatters as she works through our treatments, and we keep building on each other’s answers, like we’ve been doing this forever. Every response is true, even when we’re telling stories about our friendship, not romance.
When did you know you wanted to marry her?
“I think I always knew. Just took me a while to admit it.”
What’s your favorite thing about him?
“He makes me feel safe. Like nothing bad can touch me when he’s around.”
By the end, my shoulders are so tense that Theresa actually comments on it. “Honey, you need to relax. You’re on your honeymoon!”
I manage a tight smile. If she only knew.
As we leave the spa, Riley is quiet. I wonder if she noticed how easy it was to tell the truth when a stranger asked the questions. How every word I said in that room came from somewhere real.
I’ve been telling myself this is pretend. Playing a role. Going through the motions until we can get the annulment and go back to normal.
But nothing I said in there was a lie.
The Venetian restaurant is candlelit and elegant, with white tablecloths, soft jazz, and a view of the faux canals below. Riley looks like a goddamn dream girl, and I can’t stop looking at her.
“This is incredible.” Riley takes a bite of her lobster, eyes closing in appreciation. “I think this might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
I should be focused on my steak instead of the way the candlelight catches the curve of her cheekbone, the soft swell of her lips as she chews. I shouldn’t want to wrap my arms around her and never let go.
“Duke.”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
“Sorry.” I’m not sorry. I drag my gaze back to my plate anyway.
“We’re living a lie,” she says quietly.
She’s smiling, but doubt shadows her eyes in the flicker of the candlelight dancing across her face. The ring glints on her finger. She fits so perfectly into this fantasy I never let myself imagine.
“Are we?” The question escapes before I can stop it. I mean it. Every word.
Riley’s smile falters. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. The silence stretches between us, and the sound of my heartbeat pounding rushes in my ears.
What if I let myself choose her? The thought surfaces unbidden.
Then reality crashes back. Six weeks. Deployment.
The possibility of coming home broken or not coming home at all.
I’ve watched too many marriages crumble under that weight.
I won’t do that to her. If I’m honest, I don’t want to do it to myself.
I’ve always told myself I can take care of myself if I come home wounded.
But my hand finds hers under the table. It happens without me consciously realizing what I’m doing. All I know is that I want to touch her, and reaching for her hand was pure instinct.
She doesn’t pull away.
I flag down the server for the check. What would it be like to spend a lifetime with Riley?
I’ve never let myself imagine that kind of future. Especially not with the risks of my job.
But sitting here with Riley, pretending to be her husband, I can see it. Mornings with her hair spread across my pillow. Evenings on the couch, her feet in my lap while she reads her romance novels. Coming home to her smile after months of sand and silence.
The vision terrifies me more than any combat zone ever has.
Because wanting this so desperately means losing it would destroy me.
Riley squeezes my hand, pulling me back to the present. “Hey. Where’d you go?”
I look at Riley and realize I’ve loved her since the day we met. This woman, who is now my wife, despite us both being blackout drunk when we said “I do.” No fucking way do I want an annulment, but I don’t know how to make this work without risking Riley getting devastated.
“Nowhere,” I manage. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“About how good dinner was,” I lie.
She laughs. “Liar.”
Yeah. I am.
But as we leave the restaurant, her hand still in mine, I can’t bring myself to let go. The lie doesn’t feel like a lie anymore. It feels like getting everything I’ve ever wanted, without realizing I wanted it.
Could this really work?