Page 13 of The Temporary Wife

Gianna

I stood in my flower shop at dawn, mechanically arranging white lilies for an anniversary celebration, my hands moving through familiar motions while my mind raced through everything that could go wrong today.

Soon, Colby and I would walk into a courtroom and defend our marriage against Lyla’s accusations of fraud.

Today, a judge would decide whether our love was real enough to survive legal scrutiny.

The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was creating flowers for a couple celebrating fifty years together while preparing to fight for the right to stay married after just three months.

My phone buzzed with a text from Summer:

Coffee and moral support? I’m outside.

I unlocked the door to find her holding two steaming cups and wearing the determined expression of someone prepared to talk sense into a friend.

“You look terrible,” she said, stepping inside and locking the door behind her, the statement becoming her norm.

“Thanks. Just what every woman wants to hear on the day her marriage might be declared fraudulent.”

Summer handed me the coffee and studied my face with concern. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Maybe two hours.” I accepted the warmth of the cup gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. “Every time I closed my eyes, I kept thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.”

“And all the ways it could go right?”

I managed a weak smile. “You’re relentlessly optimistic.”

“Someone has to be. You’re catastrophizing enough for both of us.” She perched on my work stool, the same spot where she’d given me advice so many times over the past months. “Talk to me. What’s really scaring you?”

I set down my coffee and returned to the lilies, needing something to do with my hands. “Everything. The recording Lyla has of us talking about the arrangement?—”

“The what?” Her eyes widened.

I rolled mine in response. “Oh yeah, that’s how she bolstered her fraudulent accusation. The day she came to talk to Colby, she stopped by the house and planted a listening device.”

“That snake!”

“Among other things I’d like to call her. When Colby told me I felt so violated. She’s been listening to us for weeks. It’s unnerving. But because she had a key to the house and had permission to use it, Colby can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, wow . . . I don’t know what to say.”

I sighed. “So coupled with her lovely recording of Colby and I discussing private stuff, she’s calling into question the timeline that makes it look like we only got married for the custody case. The fact that we can’t deny it started as a fake marriage because it did.”

“But it’s not fake now.”

“How do we prove that? How do we convince a judge that somewhere between the courthouse ceremony and today, we fell in love for real?” I trimmed a stem with more force than necessary. “What if the judge thinks we’re just better actors now?”

Summer was quiet for a moment, watching me work. “Do you remember what you told me about why you agreed to marry Colby in the first place?”

“Because I couldn’t let Luca lose his father.”

“And what did you tell me three weeks ago when you finally admitted you loved them both?”

I paused, lily stem halfway to the vase. “That I couldn’t imagine my life without them.”

“So ,what changed? What made it real?”

I thought about the question, really thought about it.

When had the arrangement become genuine?

Was it the first night Luca called me Mom?

The morning I woke up and realized I belonged in Colby’s bed, in his house, in his life?

The moment I stopped thinking about an exit strategy and started planning a future?

“I think it was real from the beginning,” I said quietly. “I just took a while to admit it to myself.”

“Then that’s what you tell the judge. That love doesn’t always start with romance and flowers and perfect timing. Sometimes it starts with showing up, with choosing someone every day, with building something together one moment at a time.”

Her words hit something deep in my chest. She was right, our love story wasn’t conventional, but it was ours. We’d built something beautiful from legal necessity and shared responsibility and two hearts that had been ready to love each other all along.

“What if it’s not enough?” I asked.

“What if it is?”

After Summer left, I spent the morning finishing arrangements and trying not to check the clock every five minutes. But time moved with relentless inevitability toward the hearing, and by eleven o’clock I couldn’t focus on flowers anymore.

I was cleaning my workstation when the shop door chimed. I looked up expecting another customer and found my mother standing in the doorway, elegant and uncertain in a way that was completely unlike her.

“Mom?” I set down my spray bottle, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

“I flew in this morning.” She stepped inside carefully, taking in the shop with curious eyes. “I wanted to be here. For the hearing.”

“How did you . . . I didn’t tell you about the hearing.”

“Colby called me yesterday. He explained what was happening, what you were facing.” Her voice was gentler than I’d heard in years. “He asked if I could come. Said you might need your family today.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. Colby had called my mother, had reached out to the woman who’d been largely absent from my life, because he knew I was scared and wanted me to have support. Even in the middle of his own crisis, he’d thought about what I needed.

“You didn’t have to come,” I said.

“Yes, I did.” She moved closer, and I caught the familiar scent of her perfume, the same one she’d worn when I was little.

“I know I haven’t been the mother you deserved, Gianna.

I know I let my own fears and mistakes create distance between us.

But you’re my daughter, and you’re in trouble, and that means I’m here. ”

“Mom . . .”

“I met him again, you know, this time as your husband and stepson. Colby. And Luca. They picked me up from the airport. Luca gave me flowers and called me Grandma.” Her smile was soft, genuine.

“That man loves you, sweetheart. It’s written all over his face when he talks about you.

And that little boy . . .” she paused and shook her head.

“He’s so proud to tell people about his mom. ”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “They’re everything to me.”

“I can see that. I can see how happy you are, even scared as you are right now.” She reached out and touched my cheek, a gesture I remembered from childhood.

“Whatever happens in that courtroom today, don’t let anyone tell you that what you have isn’t real.

I’ve been married three times, and I’ve never seen love like what I saw in Colby’s eyes when he talked about you. ”

By the time I got home, Colby was pacing the living room in his best suit, tie slightly askew and hair showing signs of repeated finger-combing. He looked up when I walked in, relief flooding his face.

“There you are. I was starting to worry.” He crossed to me in three quick strides, pulling me into his arms. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now.” I breathed in his familiar scent, drawing strength from his solid presence. “My mother’s here.”

“I know. I picked her up this morning. I hope that was okay, I just thought you might want family there today.”

I pulled back to look at him, marveling again at his thoughtfulness. “It was perfect. Thank you. Where’s Luca?”

“Still at school. I didn’t want him there for this. Kay’s picking him up and keeping him until we’re done.”

Smart. Luca didn’t need to see his parents’ marriage dissected in a courtroom, didn’t need to witness the legal system questioning the foundation of his family.

“Are you ready?” Colby asked.

I straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, taking comfort in the simple intimacy of caring for him. “As ready as I can be.”

“Whatever happens in there, we face it together.”

“Together,” I agreed.

The courthouse was an imposing brick building that had stood in the center of Millbrook for over a century. As we walked up the steps, I saw David Voight waiting for us near the entrance, briefcase in hand and expression serious but confident.

“How are we looking?” Colby asked.

“Good. I’ve reviewed Lyla’s evidence, and while it’s compelling, it’s not insurmountable.

The key is going to be demonstrating the genuine nature of your current relationship.

” David’s gaze included both of us. “The judge will be looking for authenticity, for evidence that this marriage has evolved beyond its original purpose.”

“And if we can’t prove that?”

“Then we deal with whatever comes next. But I believe we can prove it. Your marriage may have started as a legal arrangement, but what I’ve witnessed between you two over the past few weeks is absolutely genuine.”

Inside the courthouse, we found seats in the gallery behind our lawyer’s table.

The room was smaller than I’d expected, more intimate, which somehow made it feel more intimidating rather than less.

Lyla sat across the aisle with her attorney, perfectly composed in a navy suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

She didn’t look at us directly, but I could feel her presence like a cold draft, a reminder of everything we stood to lose.

When I stole a glance in her direction, I caught something unexpected, the way her manicured fingers twisted her ring, a nervous habit I’d noticed during the school art show.

For just a moment, beneath the polished exterior, I glimpsed something that looked almost like uncertainty.

Judge Morrison—the same kind man who’d performed our wedding ceremony—entered and called the hearing to order. The irony of having him preside over both our marriage and its potential dissolution wasn’t lost on me.