Page 22 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)
HARRISON
S adie arrived at seven-fifteen, and I watched from the living room window as she gathered her purse from the passenger seat before climbing out of her car.
The porch light did nothing to illuminate her face well, leaving long shadows across her face that made her look tired and worried.
Or maybe she was tired and worried like me.
I opened the door before she could knock.
"Hey," she said, and her voice was steady, even when I could see the tension in her shoulders.
"Come in." I stepped aside, noticing how she paused to look toward the stairs.
"Eloise is already asleep. Soccer practice wore her out.
" We hadn't told Eloise about the arrangement yet, though I doubted a child her age would understand what was really happening.
Which was another hurdle we'd have to cross.
Her backpack sat beside the entry bench where she'd dropped it after school, one small sneaker left lying as if she'd kicked it free while spinning toward the kitchen.
The other shoe lay on its side near the coat closet.
I found myself focusing on these details because I needed somewhere else to focus—anywhere other than the way Sadie's sweater draped over her curves or how her perfume tickled my nose, making my fingers itch to reach out and touch her.
This was an arrangement. A practical solution to a complicated problem.
Nothing more. Even the sex we'd had meant nothing, or at least I was trying to convince myself it was nothing.
It became increasingly harder to maintain that self-talk every time we were in close proximity and I let my mind wander.
"Can I get you a drink?" I asked, already moving toward the kitchen. "I opened a bottle of wine."
"That would be nice." She followed me with quiet footsteps. "Thank you."
I pulled two glasses from the cabinet, hyperaware of her watching me pour.
The Pinot Grigio was one I'd picked up specifically for tonight—not too expensive to seem presumptuous, not too cheap to seem careless.
I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time in the wine section of the grocery store, second-guessing myself because despite the new salary and the ability to go all out, I wanted to maintain some modicum of decorum.
Sadie needed this arraignment as much as I did, and even as far as arranged marriages went, this was moving at supersonic speed.
"How's your mother doing?" I handed her the glass, careful not to let our fingers brush.
Sadie accepted it with both hands, and I caught the slight tremor in her grip.
"Better today. The new medication seems to be helping with the nausea.
She actually ate a full meal for the first time in a week.
It's all part of helping her digestive system heal now that she's not pouring alcohol into her throat every day.
" The comment felt odd, especially watching her sip her wine, but I reminded myself that she was not her mother.
"I'm glad to hear that," I said around a sip of wine.
"Are you?" she asked, lifting one eyebrow. "Most people ask because they think they should, not because they actually want to know." Her shoulders drooped and she stared down into her glass. "I'm sure a lot of people think she's a plague and don't see the disease that's affecting her."
The honesty in her voice caught me off guard. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't care."
She studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you. For caring, I mean. And for… all of this." She gestured vaguely around the kitchen. "I know this situation isn't exactly what either of us planned."
I took a sip of wine to buy myself time.
The truth was that I cared more than I should, more than was wise, given the circumstances.
When she'd told me about her mother's detox, my first instinct hadn't been to worry about how it would complicate our arrangement.
It had been to wonder what I could do to help, what resources I could provide, how I could make her burden lighter.
That reaction should have been a warning to me.
But what did I expect to happen when I asked a random stranger to marry me?
Of course we were going to develop some sort of relationship, right?
I never expected it to be so immediate or so physical.
I'd have settled for amicable friendship.
But this? Some part of me probably hoped that given how explosively we'd hit it off, something more could honestly develop from it all.
And another part of me definitely believed she was taking pity on me, using me for the things I could provide—mutually understood—and thought of me like a father figure, not a lover.
"The paperwork," I choked out, because focusing on logistics was safer than examining the way her presence made this house feel different. Warmer. More alive than it had been since Eloise was born.
"Right." Sadie set her wine glass on the counter and reached into her purse. "I brought copies of everything you requested—social security card, medical records, birth certificate." She set it on the counter next to her glass, and I remembered the file Blackwood had prepared for me.
"Be right back," I told her before I retrieved the sealed envelope from my desk in the adjoining study.
The lawyer had been thorough, as expected.
Marriage license application, insurance paperwork, medical proxy forms, and the prenuptial agreement that had taken three revisions and a slew of text message conversations to get right.
We spread everything across the kitchen island, and I found myself standing closer to her than necessary, catching the scent of her shampoo—something clean and floral that made me think of the garden Eloise had been begging me to plant in the back yard.
"This is the license application," I said, pointing to the top form. "Pretty straightforward. And these are for adding you to my health insurance policy."
She nodded, scanning the documents with her eyes, letting her finger drag across the pages.
I'd seen her grade papers at school pickup, the way she made notes in careful script along the margins.
Picturing her in her teacher role made my body begin to respond as I imagined a fantasy of myself as her student and her as the hot teacher.
I had to clear my throat and take a step back because the urge to touch her was so strong.
"The medical proxy—" I choked out.
"Makes sense," she said. "If we're married, legally speaking, we should be able to make decisions for each other if needed." Her eyes rose up to meet mine and there was no mistaking the way she looked at me, hungry and a bit flustered like she felt the static charge in the air.
The casual way she said it—if we're married—sent my emotions swirling. In two days, she would be my wife. Not in any way that mattered, not in the way I'd once imagined marriage might be, but legally. Officially. She would wear my ring and take my name and move into this house and?—
I cleared my throat again to keep myself focused. "The prenup is pretty comprehensive. I'd recommend having your own lawyer review it before you sign."
"I can't afford a lawyer."
"I'll pay for it," I offered, and as I did, I stepped forward.
She looked up from the papers, surprise flickering across her face. "You don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do. This protects both of us, but you should understand exactly what you're agreeing to. I'll cover the consultation fee."
For a moment, I thought she might argue, but then she nodded. "Thank you."
Sadie's soft smile behind another sip of wine made something warm knot up in my chest. She was stunning, and patient, and understanding.
Soft spoken, and brilliant, and so kind with my daughter, it made it seem so natural that she would be my wife.
I found myself staring and her cheeks warming to a cool crimson.
"The wedding is Thursday," I mumbled, just to have something to say. "Two o'clock at the courthouse. And you'll need to move in this weekend."
Her eyebrows rose slowly in surprise. "This weekend." Yes, I was a fool. This was too fast for her and I was pushing too much.
"Is that a problem? I know it's fast, but the board is already asking questions about my personal life. The sooner we establish a normal routine, the better."
"No, it's fine. I just…" She leaned on the counter and the wine glass in her hand bobbled. "I still need to tell my mother about the specifics. She knows I'm getting married, but not about the arrangement. And you still need to tell Eloise."
The reminder snapped me out of my chemistry-drunk stupor.
I'd been putting off that conversation, telling myself I was waiting for the right moment.
But the truth was I had no idea how to explain this to my daughter.
How did you tell a nine-year-old that you were marrying her teacher for legal reasons?
That it wasn't real, even though she would be living in our house and sharing our meals?
"I'll talk to her tomorrow," I said.
Sadie lifted the glass to her lips, but her hands were shaking now—subtle tremors that she was trying to hide. The wine sloshed against the side of the glass, and then she was gasping as red liquid splashed across the front of her sweater and down onto the paperwork.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry." She set the glass down hard, reaching for the scattered documents.
I was already moving, pulling my handkerchief from my pocket. "Don't worry about it. Here, let me?—"
We both leaned forward at the same time, my hands covering hers as I tried to blot the wine from the papers.
Our heads collided with a soft thunk, and I found myself looking directly into her eyes, close enough to see the flecks of gold around her pupils, close enough to count the freckles across her nose.
Close enough to kiss her.