Page 15 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)

SADIE

I woke at five thirty with my heart already racing, the events of the previous evening crashing over me in waves. The taste of Harrison's kiss still lingered on my lips, and when I pressed my fingers to my mouth, I could almost feel the phantom pressure of his hands on my skin.

I made coffee with unsteady hands and checked the clock. Kramer would be here in twenty minutes. I'd texted him before I'd even made it home the night before, asking if he could come over early. He'd responded with three question marks and a promise to bring pastries.

When he knocked, I opened the door to find him holding a bag from the bakery downtown and wearing an expression of barely contained curiosity.

"You look terrible," he said, brushing past me into the kitchen. "And you never ask me to come over before seven unless someone's died or you've done someone spectacularly inappropriate."

Kramer Shropshire was the most beautiful man I'd ever met in person—all sharp cheekbones and perfect hair and the kind of effortless style that made other people feel underdressed.

He was also the only person in my life who'd never needed anything from me, which made him the only person I trusted completely.

"Sit down," I said, pouring coffee into two mugs, "and prepare yourself."

"Oh, good. I love drama with my morning caffeine." He settled into the chair across from me and pulled a croissant from the bag. "Start from the beginning."

I told him everything. The dinner invitation, the expensive wine, the way Harrison had held me when I cried. The kiss, the couch, the aftermath. The will, the marriage requirement, the unspoken proposal that hung in the air between us.

Kramer listened without interrupting, his expression shifting from amusement to shock to something approaching concern. And when he gasped at the arranged marriage part then covered his mouth, I told him Mom was still in detox. When I finished, he sat back in his chair and stared at me.

"Let me make sure I understand this correctly," he said finally.

"The father of one of your students—a man you've spoken to maybe three times—invited you to dinner, you ended up having sex with him, and then he showed you legal documents suggesting you should marry him to help him inherit a school. "

"That's a very clinical way to put it. And he technically asked me the other day. This dinner was supposed to be a time to discuss it further." I felt gut-sick and exhausted. I had no clue what I was doing with my life and I needed someone to tell me to wake up.

"I'm trying to process." He took a bite of croissant and chewed thoughtfully. "How was the sex?"

"Kramer."

"I'm serious. If you're going to marry someone for practical reasons, the physical compatibility needs to be part of the equation."

My cheeks burned. "It was… intense."

"Good intense or terrifying intense?"

"Both."

He nodded as if this made perfect sense. "And you're actually considering this."

"I don't know. Maybe. I can't stop thinking about it." I twirled a strand of hair around my finger and bit my lip. I really couldn't stop thinking about it now. Before, it was just a potential means to an end, but after last night—who knew?

"What does your gut tell you?"

"That I'm insane for even entertaining the idea."

"And what does your heart tell you?"

I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms. "That I've never felt more trapped in my life."

Kramer reached across the table and covered one of my hands with his. "Tell me what you want, Sadie. Not what you need, not what makes sense, not what would solve your problems. What do you actually want?"

His question laid my heart bare. When was the last time someone had asked me what I wanted? When was the last time I'd even considered it?

"I want my mother to be okay," I said finally. "I want to stop worrying about money every single day. I want to be able to buy groceries without calculating the cost of every item."

"Those are needs. What about wants?"

I closed my eyes and tried to reach deeper. "I want to matter to someone. I want to be chosen instead of needed. I want to stop feeling like I'm drowning."

"Do you think Harrison could give you those things?"

"I don't know him well enough to answer that."

"But you slept with him."

"That was…" I struggled for words. "That was different. That was chemistry and wine and bad timing, and raw emotion."

"Was it?" Kramer tilted his head. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you responded to something real."

I thought about the way Harrison had looked at me across the dinner table, the gentle way he'd pulled me into his arms when I started crying. There had been something real there, hadn't there? Or was I just desperate enough to imagine it?

"I have to give him an answer today," I said.

"What happens if you say no?"

"He finds someone else to marry, I go back to substitute teaching and hoping Mom doesn't drink herself to death, and life continues as it is."

"And if you say yes?"

"I marry a man I barely know, become a stepmother to a nine-year-old, and spend the next five years pretending to be someone I'm not."

Kramer finished his croissant and brushed crumbs from his fingers. "You know what I think?"

"Tell me."

"I think you've been taking care of other people for so long that you've forgotten how to let someone take care of you. And maybe that scares you more than the marriage contract."

He left twenty minutes later with a hug and a promise to check on me after school.

I stood in my shower, letting hot water run over my shoulders, and tried to imagine what my life would look like in six months.

Would I be living in Harrison's house, sharing his bed, helping Eloise with homework?

Would I be wearing expensive clothes and attending school functions as the headmaster's wife?

The thought made my stomach flutter with something that might have been excitement or terror.

I dressed for school with shaking hands, choosing a blue cardigan and applying makeup that I hoped would hide the fact that I'd barely slept. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked pale and uncertain, and I had to apply concealer under my eyes to hide the dark circles.

The drive to Hawthorne Academy passed in a blur.

I parked in the faculty lot and sat in my car for several minutes, watching other teachers arrive for the day.

They all looked so normal, so settled in their routines.

None of them were contemplating marriage to a stranger or wondering if they'd lost their minds.

When I finally walked into my classroom, Eloise was already there, sitting at her desk with a piece of paper in front of her. She looked up when I entered, her face brightening in the way that always made my chest tighten with affection.

"Miss Quinn! I made you something."

She held up a drawing of two stick figures standing in front of what appeared to be a house. One figure had long, dark hair, and the other was taller with lighter hair. They were holding hands.

"It's beautiful," I said, kneeling beside her desk to examine it more closely. "Tell me about it."

"That's you and that's my dad," she said, pointing to each figure in turn. "You're at our house having dinner."

My heart stopped. "How did you?—"

"I found this on the living room floor this morning." She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small silver earring. "It looks like one of those book ones you always wear. Did you come over or something?"

The earring was definitely mine—part of a pair I'd gotten at a craft fair, shaped like tiny open books. I must have lost it when Harrison and I… when we were on the couch.

"Oh," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I must have dropped it when I was talking to your dad about your progress report. Thank you for finding it."

Eloise handed me the earring, studying my face with the intensity that made her such a good student. "Dad seemed really happy this morning. He was humming while he made breakfast."

"That's nice, sweetie."

"He never hums. Usually, he just drinks coffee and checks his email." She tilted her head. "Do you think he likes you?"

The question was so direct, so innocent, that I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "I think your dad and I are… friends."

"Good. I like it when you're both happy."

Other students began filtering into the classroom, and I stood up on unsteady legs. "Why don't you put your backpack away and choose a book from the reading corner?"

"Okay!" Eloise bounced up from her seat and headed toward the bookshelves, her drawing still clutched in one hand.

I slipped the earring into my pocket and moved to my desk, my mind spinning. How had I been so careless? And what would I have said if Eloise had asked more pointed questions?

As I watched her settle into the reading corner with a chapter book, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be part of her daily life. To help her with homework, to tuck her in at night, to be the mother figure she'd never had. The thought was both terrifying and oddly appealing.

Would I be good at it? Could I love her the way she deserved to be loved, or would I always feel like I was playing a role?

The morning announcements crackled over the intercom, and I forced myself to focus on the day ahead. But as I called the class to attention and began the morning routine, one thought kept circling through my mind.

Maybe Harrison wasn't just offering me a solution to my problems. Maybe, in some impossible way, he was offering me a chance at the life I'd never dared to want.