Page 29 of Six Month Wife

Hattie lingers long enough to turn the moment into an ambush. She asks about our story, how long we’ve been “official,” and where we live. I wasn't prepared for this.

Parker plays along like it’s nothing. I try not to choke on my salad.

I'm keeping my cool for the most part, but it’s hard when Parker keeps answering with more enthusiasm and leaning into this new couple persona like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I catch myself glancing at him more than I should.

We’re both pretending we’re fine with this, pretending that our marriage is real, but neither of us has said the words aloud yet. At least not in a way that makes sense to anyone else.

When Parker finally heads out to the terrace with Gunner, and Hattie flutters off to her next social event, I’m left with Bets.

She takes a sip of her water, then glances at me with that half-smile that always means she’s been paying more attention than I realized. “You never cease to surprise me.”

I raise an eyebrow, bracing for whatever comes next. “I try to keep it exciting.”

She nods. “You always pivot fast. You don’t adapt, you flip the script and land on your feet like it was part of the plan. That’s a great quality.”

I let out a soft breath, unsure how to respond. If only she knew.

Compliments always sit funny on my skin. But something about the way she says it, low and matter-of-fact, sticks with me. It's part guilt, part excitement.

“Thanks,” I say, fiddling with the stem of my water glass. “Some days it feels more like a free-fall than a flip.”

Bets chuckles, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “It’s why Citrine’s still here. You’re scrappy and smart. People forget that’s all it takes.”

I nod, forcing a small smile. I want to believe her. I want to believe I’ve got it all under control, like I’m not one bad month away from everything slipping through my fingers.

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I murmur, “I hope I live up to that version of me.”

She tilts her head, considering me for a second longer. Then she smiles and reaches for her napkin. “You already do.”

I watch her fold it neatly, finishing the last of her water like the conversation’s closed. But in my chest, something lodges tightly. I want to be that version of me, the one Bets sees. The one who flips the script and makes it stick.

And maybe this six-month marriage, the money, the lie, the risk of it all, will finally be the thing that gives Citrine the wings it’s been waiting for.

8

Parker

The ER bustleswith the usual controlled chaos as I step through the double doors and into the stream of nurses, doctors, and the various beeps and buzzes of equipment. Morning shifts are always full of energy and sheer exhaustion.

“Morning, Doc Matthews,” Nurse Tía greets me with a harried smile as she rushes by with a tray of supplies balanced in her capable hands. She’s a veteran around here and highly respected.

“Morning, Tía. Coffee doing its job today?”

She snorts, her eyes finding their way to the ceiling behind her horn-rimmed glasses. “Barely. I’m three cups in and still a zombie.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you should try Red Bull,” I tease, falling into step beside her as we walk toward the nurse’s station.

“Blasphemy,” she says with mock horror. “Don’t let anyone around here hear you say that.” She casts a glance at me, and her expression softens. “You look chipper today,though. Got a little spring in your step. Something going on?”

I open my mouth to brush it off, but I catch myself. The more people who know about my thing with Adair, the better, if we are going to sell the marriage as real. I’m still not used to calling her my wife.

“Actually, um, yes. It’s new. We’re keeping it quiet for now, but it’s serious.”

Tía’s eyes light up. “A new love interest? Serious? I want all the details!”

“I’m still a little shy about it, but yeah. It’s good.” I shrug, and though I try to keep my expression neutral, a smile breaks through.