Page 37 of Six Month Wife

But the way this lie fits too well.

It’s almost like I’m slipping into someone else’s life, and realizing I kind of like the feel of it.

10

Parker

“Dr. Matthews. Just a quick update.”

The estate attorney’s voice is too cheerful for what comes next. “The estate’s representative will be arriving on Tuesday.”

I freeze mid-pour, coffee sloshing over the edge of my mug. Tuesday. That's only four days from now. It's also the day of the big annual carnival and blood drive at the hospital.

Shit.

“Arriving where, exactly?”

“Palm Beach. He’d like a brief meeting with you and your wife. Nothing formal, part of our standard verification process. Right now, the plan is for him to arrive around seven on Tuesday and, if your schedules work, you three can sit down and talk for a bit Wednesday morning, and then he can fly out.”

Right. Nothing formal. Just a stranger with a clipboard and a built-in bullshit detector.

“Anything specific we should do to prepare?” I ask. “We can give him a tour of the island if he'd like, if there'stime on Wednesday before he flies out. Is there anything else?”

“No need for a tour. Set aside an hour. That should suffice. Be yourselves,” he says, which is either sarcasm or a death sentence. “You’re legally married. You’re cohabiting. He’ll be looking for alignment with the terms.”

Alignment. Like we’re a quarterly report.

“Understood,” I say, though my pulse is already pounding behind my eyes.

He says some other things, but I have no idea what. All I can think about is this meeting. It's our first, and possibly most important, show.

The call ends.

I stand there, coffee forgotten, staring at the marble backsplash like it’s going to give me answers.

Tuesday is in four days, but if we don't meet until Wednesday, I've got five days to prove a lie. Or get caught in it.

I don’t have to be at the hospital for a few hours. I’d planned on a quiet morning, maybe a run later. That’s gone now.

I need to move. I need to sweat this out before it buries me.

The treadmill humsbeneath my feet. The steady drone is good for me, like white noise for my brain.

Sweat slides down my spine as the sharp scent of rubber and salt air clings to everything in here.

Outside, the marina’s dotted with sailboats bobbing like they don’t have a care in the world.

Must be nice.

I’m half a mile in when the door swings open behind me. And like that, focus becomes a memory.

Her hips swing like she owns the place, and I swear the room temperature spikes. Suddenly, my entire body is overheated, and I’m certain it’s not from the run.

She’s in leggings that I’m pretty sure are designed for maximum distraction. Oh, shit, and that cropped tank top that highlights her trim waist and round ass, I'm done. It should be illegal for women to parade in front of men in these clothes.

She glances around the room, probably looking for an open treadmill, scanning through the other four people in here. The second she spots me, her mouth quirks up in a half-smile with her eyes gleaming.

“Well, well,” I call out quietly, slowing my treadmill to a slow jogging pace. “If it isn’t my beautiful wife, the vision of marital bliss.” I turn on the show hardcore. It's half practice, half performance.