Page 34 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)

HARRISON

I hung up the phone and stared at my desk, Theodore's words echoing in my head—lawsuit, media attention, fabricated marriage.

I tried calling Margot twice. She declined both calls. When I left a voicemail asking her to back down, I knew it was pointless. From my point of view, I felt the suit was futile, but if she wanted to keep wasting her time and money, I wouldn’t stop her.

Voices from the dining room drew me out. I found Sadie, her mother, and Eloise hunched over a clay volcano project. Eloise's hair fell across her face as she concentrated on painting.

"The lava flows down because of gravity, not because it wants to," Janet was explaining, her voice clearer than it had been in days.

Sadie laughed—a sound I hadn't heard all week. "That's very philosophical, Mom."

I stood in the doorway watching them work together, feeling that familiar ache. This was what a family looked like, and it was what I wanted my family to look like. I wanted them to be my family.

Sadie glanced up and saw me. The easy smile faded slightly and she gave me a polite nod before turning back to the project.

"Dad! Look what we're making—Mount Vesuvius!" Eloise beamed. "Tomorrow we're going to make it erupt with baking soda and vinegar."

"That sounds incredible, sweetheart."

The conversation continued around me, but I could feel the careful distance Sadie maintained. She'd been doing it all week, ever since losing her job.

Dinner was strained despite Eloise's chatter.

Sadie responded when spoken to, helped serve the meal, cleaned up afterward—all the motions of domesticity without any warmth.

Just like this was the arrangement we agreed upon.

It felt awful after having such intimacy with her before.

I felt gut-sick after she was fired. I never meant for this to affect her in any negative way, but I failed to realize some of the consequences.

I'd been so focused on myself. It was very selfish of me.

After Eloise had been tucked into bed and Janet had settled in the living room, I found myself outside our bedroom door. Sadie sat on the edge of the mattress in simple cotton pajamas. Her thick hair was loose around her shoulders, and she stared at her hands.

"The lawsuit," she said without looking up. "Theodore called today?"

"Yes." I closed the door and leaned against it. "How did you know?"

"You get a particular look when dealing with your family." She finally met my eyes. "How bad is it?"

I sat in the chair by the window, keeping distance between us. "My sisters are claiming the marriage is fake. Theodore thinks it might make the papers."

Sadie's face went pale. "The papers?"

"Wealthy family drama. Contested inheritance."

"And what happens to us? To Eloise?"

"I don't know." The admission tasted bitter. "I'm sorry, Sadie. I never meant for things to spiral out of control."

She stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "I lost my job, Harrison. The only job I've had in years that actually meant something to me."

"I know?—"

"No, you don't know." She turned to face me, fire flashing in her eyes. "You don't know what it's been like to work my entire adult life for scraps, to take whatever job I could get just to survive. That position at Hawthorne was the first time I felt valued."

I stood, wanting to close the distance between us. "You are valued. You're incredible with Eloise, with your mother?—"

"As a caregiver. As someone useful." Her voice cracked. "But not as myself. Just as the woman who can be counted on to handle whatever crisis comes next."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" She crossed her arms. "You married me because I was convenient. Because I was already in Eloise's life and wouldn't cause trouble. Because I needed money badly enough to agree."

Her words felt like an accusation, but I kept my voice quiet so we didn't disrupt Eloise or Janet. "Is that really what you think?"

"What else am I supposed to think? You sneak in after I'm asleep and leave before I wake up." Her face scrunched up in confusion and she rubbed the crevices in her forehead away. "I mean…"

"I was trying to give you space."

Sadie didn't respond to me yet again. There was something really bothering her that she wasn’t saying and I wished she would open up.

But I understood that I didn't know her as well as I should. I didn’t even know how she handled stress.

All I knew was she was perfect in my eyes and I would do anything for her.

"I thought you were upset about the job?—"

"To accept that I'm completely dependent on you now?" Her voice rose, then dropped to a harsh whisper. "To accept that I'm exactly what I never wanted to be—a kept woman?"

The accusation stung. "You're not kept. You're my wife."

"Am I, Harrison? Because we agreed this was just an arrangement, but we can't stop sleeping together. But we don't know each other, and I'm just really confused." Tears welled up in her eyes, but her whisper-shout didn't calm down.

"You're right on all counts… I've been selfish."

"And what about me, Harrison? What about what I want?"

I stared at her—cheeks flushed, hair falling across her shoulders. Even angry, she was beautiful.

"What do you want?" I asked quietly.

The question seemed to deflate her. She sank back onto the bed. "I don't know anymore. I used to know exactly. Stability. Security. My mother safe and healthy."

"You can still have those things."

"Can I? Right now, I feel anything but secure. I feel dependent and trapped and…" She looked up with eyes too bright. "And I feel things I'm not supposed to feel."

My chest tightened. "What kind of things?"

"Things that make this arrangement more complicated than it should be."

I moved toward her slowly. "Sadie."

"Don't." She held up a hand. "Don't make this harder."

"Make what harder?"

"This." She gestured between us. "Whatever this is. It's not real, Harrison. It can't be real."

I sat beside her and tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away.

"You don't know what you want," she whispered. "This situation—the pressure, the stress—it's making you think you feel things that aren't really there."

"You're wrong."

I reached out and traced the line of her jaw with my fingertips. She shivered but didn't pull away.

"I watch you with Eloise," I said quietly. "I watch you care for your mother even when she's difficult. I watch you handle everything thrown at you with grace and strength. And I think about how empty this house was before you were in it."

"Harrison—"

"I think about the way you hum while making breakfast. The way you leave notes in Eloise's lunch. The way you curl up in that corner of the couch with your tea and books."

Her eyes were wide now, lips slightly parted. "Stop."

"Why?"

"Because you're making this about emotions when it's supposed to be about business."

"What if I want it to be about emotions?"

She shook her head. "You don't. You can't."

I leaned closer, close enough that our foreheads almost touched. "Tell me you don't feel anything. Tell me this is still just an arrangement."

For a long moment, she didn't speak. I could hear her breathing grow shallow. "I can't," she whispered finally.

"Then stop trying to talk yourself out of this."

The space between us disappeared. I wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly, her mouth was on mine and all the careful distance we'd been maintaining shattered.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, full of all the frustration and longing we'd been pretending didn't exist. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer.

Her mouth opened under mine, heat and breath tangling until I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began. I pushed her back onto the mattress, bracing a hand beside her head. The cotton of her pajamas was soft beneath my fingers, but it hid too much. I wanted her skin.

She made a sound when I slid my palm up her side, catching the hem of her top and tugging it over her head.

Her hair spilled across the pillow, cheeks flushed, chest rising fast. I bent to taste the skin I’d been aching for all week, my mouth tracing the curve of her collarbone before closing around her nipple.

She arched into me, fingers tangling in my hair.

“Harrison…” It was almost a warning, but the way her thighs shifted told me she wasn’t going to stop this.

I covered her with my body, my hand slipping under the waistband of her pajama pants.

The heat between her legs hit me like a jolt.

I pushed the fabric down, dragging her panties with it, until she kicked free and lay bare beneath me.

My fingers slid over her, finding her already wet, and I swallowed the groan that rose in my throat.

“You’re incredible,” I murmured against her neck. “Every inch of you.”

Her hips lifted as I stroked her, slow at first, then deeper, watching her lips part around soft gasps. I kissed her again, taking in the way her breath stuttered when I circled her clit. She gripped my forearm, not to push me away—just holding on.

“I could spend all night making you feel like this,” I told her, letting my voice sink into her ear. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I wanted to draw it out, to feel her shake apart in my hand, but my control had been shot the second she’d pulled me to her.

I freed myself from my pants, pushing them down just enough to take her.

The tip of me slid through her folds, slick and hot, and her thighs opened wider in silent invitation.

The first thrust knocked the air from both of us. I sank in to the hilt, holding there, feeling her clench around me. Her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth dropping open.

“That’s it,” I said softly, watching her face. “So perfect.”

I moved slowly at first, savoring the drag of her body around mine, the way her nails scraped over my shoulders.

She hooked her legs around me, changing the angle, and I drove deeper. Her breath caught on every thrust, each one pulling us further from reason. The week of distance, the arguments, the confusion—it all burned away in the friction between us.

“You feel amazing,” I rasped. “Better than I remembered… better than I’ve ever had.”

I shifted to my elbows so I could kiss her, hard and unrestrained, our mouths meeting between ragged breaths. She tasted like resolve breaking apart.

Her hand slid down my back, urging me faster, and I gave her what she wanted. The rhythm built, bodies slick, the headboard knocking softly against the wall. I could feel her tightening, her moans turning into quiet, urgent pleas I could barely make out.

“Come for me,” I told her, my mouth at her ear. “Right now. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Her body went taut beneath me, then she was shuddering, gripping me so hard I had to fight to keep moving. I held her through it, thrusting until the aftershocks eased and she went slack against the mattress.

But I wasn’t done. I pulled her hips up, sliding back into her from a new angle that made her gasp. Her nails dug into the sheets, her eyes glassy when she looked back at me. The sight nearly undid me.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” I said, voice rough. “You were made for me.”

I drove into her harder, chasing the release I’d been holding back. My hands gripped her waist, my body snapping against hers until heat surged low in my spine. I spilled into her with a groan, the world narrowing to the sound of our breathing and the thud of my heartbeat in my ears.

For a long moment, I stayed there, buried in her, my forehead resting between her shoulder blades. When I finally eased out, she collapsed onto her side, pulling the blanket halfway over herself. I lay beside her, reaching for her hand.

We lay in the darkness, our breathing slowly returning to normal. I could feel tension creeping back into Sadie's body as reality reasserted itself.

"We can't keep doing this," she said quietly.

"Why not?"

She turned to look at me. "For an arrangement, we're getting awfully close to real."

"And that's a problem?"

"You're acting as a real husband, Harrison. You're making me feel things I shouldn't feel."

My chest tightened. I should have backed down, but lying there in the darkness with her hair spilled across my pillow, I couldn't bring myself to lie anymore.

"Am I such a horrible person for loving you?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Her eyes widened, and she went very still.

"What?"

But there was no taking it back now. The truth I'd been suppressing, that I wouldn't even tell myself, was out.

Sadie sat up abruptly, pulling the sheet around herself. For a long moment, she just stared at me.

"Harrison," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can't—we can't?—"

She cleared her throat and sat in stunned silence for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger but more distant.

"Maybe you should sleep on the floor tonight."

The words cut through my heart with laser precision. I’d put myself out there and I felt the rejection sting me. I sat up slowly, looking at her, this woman I'd just confessed my love to.

"Sadie—"

"Please." She wouldn't meet my eyes. "I need to think."

I wanted to argue, to push back. But the set of her shoulders told me that pushing would only make things worse.

So I gathered my pillow and a spare blanket from the closet, and I made a bed on the floor.

As I lay there staring at the ceiling, I could hear her breathing above me. It sounded as if she was trying not to cry.

I'd finally told her the truth. And it had never felt more impossible.