Page 80 of The Fake Husband Deal

“How about your father?”

Noah squeezed my hand and spoke for me when my throat seized at the unexpected question.

“Mom, Lior’s dad passed away recently.”

“Oh dear. I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said. Her eyes were honest and full of sympathy.

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Hey, are you coming or what?” Lex shouted, throwing the soccer ball in our direction. I caught it with my chest and let it fall to my feet, where I passed it back and forth a few times and then kicked it to Lex.

“I’m on his team,” River shouted.

“Come on, husband. Let’s go kick some Spencer ass,” Noah said, running toward the grass field.

I could swear I heard his mom gush.

“Does that mean I get to kickyourass?” I teased when I caught up with him.

“In sickness and in health, in family feuds and friendly soccer games with asshole brothers.”

I laughed. “Funny, I don’t remember that being in the vows.”

“I’ve just added it.”

He squealed when I grabbed him by the waist and twirled him around. His laughter made everything better.

“What else are you going to add to it?”

He held on to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “In the bathroom or the hallway, in the living room or on the kitchen table, until death do us part.”

I snorted.

“Come on, love birds. We have some ass to kick.” River and Adam flipped a coin to pick their side of the field.

Our team was me, Noah, River, Victoria’s sister Ellie, and their cousin, Thatcher, who they called Meatball.

The opposite team was Lex, Emery, Adam, their cousin Harrison, and his husband, Fletcher.

“You heard him.” I slapped his ass. He ran over to the other side of the field, throwing me a smile over his shoulder.

I glanced at the sidelines, particularly at Noah’s family and Victoria.

While his mom was smiling and chatting to her husband, Victoria had a sour expression. Even when Adam waved at her.

Noah

Considering she’d been the one to put together the schedule of events, Victoria couldn’t have looked more disinterested in the soccer tournament.

She didn’t seem the type to get involved in group sports unless it was a girls’ group massage while sipping champagne.

Okay, I was probably being a little unfair to her, but why go to the trouble of doing something if you weren’t going to enjoy it?

Cada um por si,as my grandmother would say. Each to their own.

My eight-year-old cousin, Megan, and her stepbrother, George, blew the whistles.

“Players to the field,” George shouted, and Megan followed with, “Please.”