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“How do you think we did tonight?” Gianna asked later, when we were alone in our bedroom getting ready for bed.
“With Lyla, you mean?”
“With everything. The whole performance.”
I thought about the evening and the way we’d moved together naturally, the easy conversation at the ice cream shop, the looks other parents had given us like we were just another happy family. “I think we did fine. Better than fine, actually.”
“It didn’t feel like performing,” she said quietly, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “Not all of it, anyway.”
“No. It didn’t.”
She was quiet for a moment, brushing her teeth at the bathroom sink while I changed into pajama pants. The routine was becoming familiar, comfortable in a way that probably should have worried me more than it did.
“Colby?” Her voice was muffled by toothpaste.
“Yeah?”
“What happens if this gets too real? If we forget it’s supposed to be temporary?”
The question I’d been avoiding all evening hung in the air between us. I could give her the practical answer, that we’d stick to our agreement, maintain our boundaries, remember why we were doing this. But standing there in our shared bedroom, watching her get ready for bed like she’d been doing it for years instead of days, the practical answer felt hollow.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
She nodded like she’d expected that response. “Me neither.”
We got into bed on our respective sides, maintaining the careful distance we’d established. But tonight the space between us felt smaller somehow, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure.
“Goodnight, Colby.”
“Goodnight.”
I lay there in the dark listening to her breathe, thinking about Lyla’s calculating stare and Luca’s innocent joy and the way Gianna had fit so perfectly against my side all evening. Somewhere in the space between sleep and consciousness, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if this was real. If the woman beside me was truly my wife, if the child down the hall was truly ours, if the life we were building was something we could keep.
But morning would come, and with it the reminder of what this really was. A performance. A temporary arrangement. A means to an end that had nothing to do with the feelings growing stronger between us every day.
I just hoped we could both remember that when the time came to walk away.
CHAPTER 6
Gianna
The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and glue stick as Luca and I worked on his solar system project at the breakfast table. He’d been assigned to create a model of the planets, and we’d spent the past hour painting Styrofoam balls in various shades of blue, red, and yellow. His tongue stuck out slightly in concentration as he carefully applied orange paint to what would become Jupiter.
“Mom, does Jupiter really have that big red spot?” he asked, holding up the ball to examine his work.
“It does. It’s called the Great Red Spot, and it’s actually a giant storm that’s been going on for hundreds of years.”
His eyes widened. “Hundreds of years? That’s longer than you and Dad have been alive.”
“Much longer,” I agreed, smiling at his amazement. “Space is full of incredible things.”
From the garage came the faint sound of Colby’s power tools as he worked on a custom bookshelf for a client. The familiar noise had become part of the soundtrack of our evenings, along with Luca’s chatter and the low hum of domestic life that I’d never experienced before moving in here.
Two weeks. That’s how long I’d been Mrs. Marshall, and already the rhythms of this house felt more natural than my old apartment ever had. I woke up to the smell of Colby’s coffee and fell asleep to the sound of his breathing. I packed Luca’s lunch every morning and helped him with homework every afternoon. I’d become part of their routine so seamlessly that sometimes I forgot this was supposed to be temporary.
“Can you help me with the rings around Saturn?” Luca asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Of course.” I reached for the thin wire we’d brought home from the craft store. “We’ll need to be really careful with this part.”