Page 10 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)
Her mother's abandonment, my father's death, the constant awareness that her life existed at the intersection of two worlds that didn't quite fit together.
The board's letter had made clear what I already knew.
My time was running out.
But looking at Eloise now, peaceful and trusting in her bed, I felt the full weight of what failure would mean.
Not just losing the school or the inheritance, but watching her world shrink again, seeing her lose the stability I had worked so hard to build.
I closed her door quietly and went downstairs.
The bourbon I kept in the kitchen cabinet was a good one, a gift from a client who'd been pleased with a project I'd completed ahead of schedule.
I poured two fingers into a glass and carried it out back to the enclosed patio.
January evenings on Cape Cod reminded me why I'd chosen to stay here despite everything.
The air was crisp and the sound of waves reached us even from our distance inland.
I sat on the old wooden bench and dialed Juan's number.
"Harrison." His voice carried the warmth of genuine friendship. "How's the domestic life treating you?"
"Could be better." I took a sip of bourbon and felt it burn pleasantly down my throat. "The board made their move today."
"Legal action?"
"Full challenge to the will. They're claiming the marriage clause is unenforceable and I'm unfit to inherit."
I described the letter's contents while Juan listened without interruption.
"Timeline?" he asked when I finished.
"Next Friday. I have to present a viable marriage plan or they vote to strip my succession rights."
Juan was quiet for a moment.
In the background, I could hear the sounds of his own evening routine—his wife calling to one of their children, a television playing softly.
"Eight days?" he said finally.
"Eight days."
"Have you talked to Theodore about this?"
"Not yet. I wanted to see what the board's next move would be before involving counsel." I swirled the bourbon in my glass. "Now I know."
"And the substitute teacher?"
I found myself hesitating, which Juan would undoubtedly notice. "Her name is Sadie Quinn."
"That wasn't what I asked."
"I approached her yesterday."
"And?"
"She didn't say no…"
Another pause, longer this time.
Juan had known me since college, had been the best man for a wedding that never happened when Eloise's mother disappeared.
He understood my tendency toward understatement when it came to emotional complications.
"Harrison," he said carefully, "are we talking about a business arrangement or something else?"
I thought about Sadie curled in that hospital chair, exhausted and alone.
About the way she'd laughed when I told her she was hard to ignore.
About Eloise's immediate attachment to her and the genuine care I'd observed between them.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I kind of actually like her. But you don’t marry someone you like."
"That's honest, at least." Juan's voice carried a note of concern.
"But if you're going to make this work, you need to be sure about what you're asking and what you're offering."
"I know what I'm asking. Five years of her life, Juan. But who would give that up?"
"And what are you offering?" he continued, and I sighed.
The question should have been simple, but I found myself struggling to answer.
"Financial security and protection."
Right? That's what I wanted to give Miss Quinn.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
I did know it.
Juan was asking about the parts of the arrangement I hadn't quantified yet—the emotional complexity of sharing a home with someone who wasn't quite a stranger but wasn't quite a partner, either.
The reality of building something that looked real enough to fool a board of trustees while navigating whatever genuine feelings might develop along the way, because I wasn't foolish enough to believe nothing would or could develop.
I already found myself drawn to her.
Even if all we had was a strong friendship, I knew something would brew up between us.
"She's in the hospital right now," I said instead. "Her mother was admitted last night with alcohol-related complications."
"Christ, Harrison. And you're sitting here talking to me instead of?—"
"I was there earlier. She was asleep. I left food and a note."
Guilt stained my conscience, but he didn’t let it go.
"A note?"
"I didn't want to wake her."
Juan sighed, the sound carrying years of frustration with my tendency to maintain distance even when distance was the last thing a situation required.
"Listen to me," he said. "You've got eight days to convince a board of trustees that you're capable of making the kind of commitment they think the school requires. That means you need to stop thinking about this as a business transaction and start thinking about it as what it actually is."
"Which is?"
"A partnership. A real one, even if it started as something else."
Juan's voice became more serious.
"If you're going to ask this woman to marry you, you need to be prepared to show up for her. Not just financially, not just legally, but actually show up. You should have been there, told the sitter to take care of Eloise. You should've been there when she woke up, H."
I looked out at the darkening sky and thought about Sadie alone in that waiting room, refusing food and company while her mother fought for consciousness down the hall.
"The board meeting is Friday," I said.
"Then you'd better figure out what you're really offering," Juan replied. "And you'd better do it fast."
After we hung up, I remained on the patio with my empty glass and the weight of eight days pressing against my chest.
Somewhere across town, Sadie was probably still in that hospital chair, keeping vigil over a woman whose illness had shaped both their lives in ways I was only beginning to understand.
I would have to decide whether to maintain the careful distance that had protected me for thirty years or step into the kind of vulnerability that genuine partnership required.
Because if Miss Quinn was going to accept my offer, I had to prove to her that it would be worth it.