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“So what do we do about it?”
Before I could answer, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen, and his expression immediately darkened.
“Lyla,” he said, showing me the caller ID.
My stomach clenched. “Answer it.”
He accepted the call, putting it on speaker so I could hear. “Hello, Lyla.”
“Colby.” Her voice was crisp, businesslike. “I need to talk to you about this weekend.”
“What about it?”
“I won’t be able to make Luca’s soccer game. Something came up at work.”
Something came up. The same excuse she’d used for the past month. I saw Colby’s jaw tighten, but his voice remained steady.
“Luca will be disappointed.”
“I’m sure Gianna can cheer extra loud to make up for it,” Lyla said, and I caught the edge in her tone. “You two seem to have the happy family routine down perfectly.”
“We’re not putting on a routine,” Colby said carefully. “We’re just living our lives.”
“How convenient that your life suddenly includes a ready-made mother figure right when you need one.”
The accusation hung in the air like poison. I wanted to defend us, to tell her that my feelings for Luca were real regardless of circumstances. But anything I said would only make things worse.
“Is there something specific you need, Lyla?” Colby asked.
“Just calling to let you know about Saturday. Give Luca my love.”
The line went dead, leaving us standing in the sudden silence of the kitchen. I could see the tension in Colby’s shoulders, the way his hands had clenched into fists at his sides.
“She knows,” I said quietly.
“She suspects. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is all too convenient, too perfectly timed.”
“Don’t.” Colby stepped closer, his gray eyes intense. “Don’t let her get in your head. What we have here, what you and Luca have that’s real. It doesn’t matter how it started.”
“But what if the judge sees it the same way she does? What if our marriage looks like exactly what it is, a desperate attempt to create stability that doesn’t actually exist?”
“It does exist.” His voice was fierce now, almost angry. “You think the way you help him with homework is fake? The way you make sure he eats his vegetables and pack his lunch every morning? The way you worried when he had that fever last week and stayed up half the night checking his temperature?”
I stared at him, surprised by the vehemence in his voice.
“You love him,” Colby continued, his voice softer now. “And he loves you. That’s not fake, Gianna. That’s the realest thing in this whole mess.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. He was right. My love for Luca was completely genuine. But that only made this more complicated, not less.
“What happens when this is over?” I asked. “When you don’t need a wife anymore and I go back to my apartment? How do I explain to Luca that I was only temporary?”
The question seemed to hit him like a physical blow. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than before.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I try not to think that far ahead.”
“Maybe you should. Maybe we both should.”