Page 13 of The Nicest Thing

"I wish you would've," Finn mumbled. For the life of me, I couldn't tell if he was serious. His face was a perfect mixture of playful and abashed. "I don't like that kind of attention"—he threw me a wink—"unless it's from my wife."

"Finn, you're way too good at this."

"Hm, good at what?"

"This," I said, gesturing to him and my still tingling skin. "The husband thing."

Finn's face went blank as he drew back. "Isn't that why you brought me?"

"Yeah, but…"

But I hadn't expected to like it so much.

Or no, I knew I'd love it. I just hadn't realized how much I'd want more.

He waited as I sorted through my feelings, but I didn't get the chance to respond as two women joined us.

"Hey, I'm Sofie Soul, paranormal romance, and this is my writing partner and sister, Cleo," she said, smiling from Finn to me. "Having a good time?"

"Yeah," I said back, nervous they might be more of Finn's admirers—but found out later that wasn't the case. "How about you?"

"Hmmm. I just came over because, well, you have to tell us how you did it."

"Did what?"

Her sister Cleo widened her eyes. "The Ice Queen."

"Huh?"

"What'd you say to get her to open up to you?"

I looked at Finn who shook his head. He had no idea what they were talking about either. "Sorry, I'm lost."

The two leaned forward like they were imparting a secret.

"Isla Kincaid," Sofie said.

"Yeah," I replied, "what about her?"

"You were speaking to her a minute ago."

I nearly choked. "Excuse me?"

They both nodded.

"No, I couldn't have been. I was just talking to a sweet older woman who—"

Cleo laughed outright. "Sweet? I bet she's never heard that before."

"Yeah," Sofie agreed with a conspiratorial smile. "Isla's been known to make people cry just by looking at them."

"She's that powerful—and mean."

"Usually," Sofie put in then tilted her head. "But she sure seemed taken with you."

Cleo crossed her arms. "And your man."

I stared between them a moment. "You're serious? That was really her?"

"Yep."

Finn lifted a hand then said, "Uh, who's Isla Kincaid?"

The three of us looked at him in disbelief.

"I'm assuming by the horrified looks on your faces that I should know already."

Sofie scoffed. "She's only like one of the most prolific indie authors of our time."

"And the most reclusive," Cleo said. "They say she only comes out like twice a year."

"For select bookish events. To let people know she's alive—and that we'll never measure up to her greatness," her sister added.

Finn looked to me for confirmation, and I shrugged. "She's romance writing royalty. I heard she owns her own mountain."

"That's true," Sofie said with a nod. "We've been there."

"Only to use the bathroom at the rest stop," Cleo added, "but it was still fun."

"Isla Kincaid," I repeated, and even I could hear the reverence in my voice. "She wrote one of the first romances I ever read. Still one of the best."

Finn tilted his head. "Isn't she the one who runs that book conference you're always talking about?"

I nodded. "Romance or Die. Super exclusive, invite-only. I haven't even worked up the courage to apply; it's that intimidating."

"You'd get in," he said with so much confidence even I wanted to believe him.

But I knew better.

"It's called Romance or Die because writers have died waiting for acceptance," I explained.

Finn sniffed. "Still."

"So?" Cleo repeated. "What did you talk about?"

"I…she's a fan of the friends-to-lovers trope."

"Who isn't?" Sofie gestured for me to go on. "And?"

"You were right. She liked Finn," I said, giving him a soft smile. "But who wouldn't?"

Finn smiled back at me, and Sofie and Cleo sighed in unison.

"She liked you, Rose," Finn said. "She talked to you a lot longer than me."

The sisters said their goodbyes, but I barely heard, so caught up in the moment. After they were gone, Finn glanced at me.

"You okay there?" he asked.

I shook my head in wonder. "Isla Kincaid. The woman, the myth, the legend. I was speaking to her, Finn, and didn't even know it."

"Why didn't you?"

"She doesn't let herself be photographed often. She hates pictures."

"Sounds like someone else I know," he said.

"Yeah, probably the only thing we have in common."

Finn gave me a stern look.

"Besides writing romance."

I shook my head.

"And liking a certain O'Brien."

Finn's lips tipped up. "I don't know what you mean. She was far more interested in my wife."

That word again.

My wife.

The two combined were like fuel to the fire already burning in my core.

"I never understood it before," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"Seriously, Finn. My wife?"

"You love it."

It wasn't a question.

"I don't dislike it," I said diplomatically.

But Finn's smile told me I might've revealed more than I mean to.

To cover, I started rambling. "You know, the appeal of marriage—in real life or fiction—I never got it if I'm being honest. Probably a result of my crappy parental examples. But who am I to judge, right?"

Finn didn't interrupt even though part of me hoped he would.

"I've always been more into fake dating, enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers. Sports romance, naturally. Anything swoony, of course. But marriage? Not a fan."

"Rose."

"That's what makes this situation so crazy. Not the only thing obviously. But yeah, crazier than it would be if I was actually a believer."

"Rose," Finn repeated, and I stopped mid-rant. "If it bothers you, me calling you my wife, I'll stop."

It did.

It made me hot and bothered.

Something Finn would figure out soon enough if I didn't pull it together.

"Don't stop," I said and sent him a smile. "I like it."

Lie.

I loved it.

So much.

Too much.

But my foolish heart would just have to deal.

"Okay," Finn said, closing the space between us. "Let's work the room. See how many more people we can make uncomfortable with our PDA."

"Sounds good," I said shakily.

"If I kiss you, you won't slap me, right?"

"Never."

Finn placed a kiss against my forehead then whispered. "You're the best, wife."

And you're the best friend and fake husband I've ever had.

I just hoped this wouldn't ruin everything.