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“What if I were what?”
“My wife,” I said softly.
The words hung in the air between us like a challenge. Gianna’s mouth opened, then closed. She shook her head slowly.
“Colby, you can’t be serious.”
“Why not? Think about it, G. You’re already here all the time. You already help with Luca. You already know our routines, our lives. If we were married, Lyla couldn’t claim he doesn’t have a stable family structure.”
“You’re talking about a fake marriage.”
“I’m talking about survival.” I stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. “I can’t lose him, Gianna. I can’t lose my son.”
Her face softened, and for a moment, I thought she might actually consider it. Then she shook her head again, more firmly this time.
“This is crazy, Colby. Marriage isn’t something you just . . . fake. It’s a legal commitment. It’s?—”
“It’s a piece of paper that could save my family.”
Luca came into the kitchen, with his hands on his hips, looking between us with a of curiosity and annoyance. “Are you guys talking about grown-up stuff?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Gianna said, her voice gentle. “Very grown-up stuff.”
“Is it boring?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Very boring,” I confirmed, forcing a smile. “Let’s eat.”
Dinner passed in a blur of Luca’s chatter about his day at school and Gianna’s careful glances in my direction. He told us about recess and art class and how Tommy Morrison brought a lizard for show-and-tell. Normal six-year-old concerns that made the adult crisis swirling around him seem even more unfair.
Gianna helped clear the table while I loaded the dishwasher, our movements synchronized from years of shared evenings like this one. After Luca was tucked into bed with his favorite book, Gianna and I sat on the front porch swing I’d built last summer. The night was cool for October, and she pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
“You weren’t serious about the marriage thing,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
I was quiet for a long moment, listening to the creak of the swing chains and the distant sound of traffic on Main Street. “What if I was?”
“Colby . . .”
“I know it sounds insane. But think about it practically. We already act like a family half the time. Luca loves you. You love him. It wouldn’t be that different from what we’re doing now.”
“Except for the part where we’d be lying to everyone.”
“Would we be?” I turned to face her, searching her expression in the dim porch light. “You’re already the most important woman in Luca’s life. You’re already the person I turn to when everything falls apart. You’re already?—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Just stop. This isn’t fair, Colby. You’re asking me to turn my entire life upside down because your ex-wife is being vindictive.”
“I’m asking you to help me protect my son.”
The words came out sharper than I’d intended, and I saw her flinch. Immediately, I regretted the tone, but I couldn’t take it back. The desperation was bleeding through, raw and ugly.
Gianna stood and walked to the porch railing, her back to me. “What happens when the custody case is over? What happens when you don’t need a fake wife anymore?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “We’d figure it out.”
“And if you meet someone? If you want to get married for real?”
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. The truth was, I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but her. But I couldn’t say that. Not now, not when I was already asking too much.
“That’s not something I’m worried about right now.”