“That you…” my throat goes dry when I realize the personal ground I’m about to wander into. “Nothing, sorry.”
When I glance at him again, Russell is staring at me intently, his jaw ticking like he’s thinking about something hard.
“Juliette,” he says, clearing his throat and looking away. “Jules. You should know that this isn’t the first time I’ve been engaged.”
The words rocket through me, and for some reason, jealousy rises in my chest. I want to see this other woman—what is she like? Is she a doctor? An heiress, part of some medical dynasty, like him?
Is she gorgeous, accomplished?
One thing I know for certain is that she’snota single mother working two jobs and going along with a fraudulent engagement because she has nothing better to do.
As though he can see everything running through my head, Russell sighs and runs his hand through his hair again.
“It was right after we finished our residency. She came two years after me, and we worked the same hospital in New York. Both surgeons, but she was osteo. I thought—well, I was getting ready to build a family. Wewantedto build one. Together. By the time our residencies were finished out, we were pushing our luck. Figured we’d start trying right after the wedding, but to be safe, we went to a fertility clinic.”
My heart beats in my throat as my mind races ahead, trying to figure out how this story ends. Did she cheat on him? Did he cheat onher? Why did they call off the engagement?
Oh,God—maybe she died, and he can’t stomach the idea of having a family with anyone else.
Or maybe it was something else. It’s not like I got pregnant on purpose, so I’m not that well-versed in it, but I’ve heard enough to know about the clock that’s always ticking. Heard from friends of Ettie’s that some people just think they have more time than they do, or take for granted that it will work out when they want it to.
Maybe she couldn’t get pregnant.
“We ran a lot of tests to start. Both doctors wanted the full run-through. Despite being in her thirties, she didn’t have a problem. Eggs were looking great,” he sighs.
“I’m infertile,” Russell says, wincing a bit when he delivers the word. I stare at him, shocked. Maybe it’s all wrapped up in something like toxic masculinity, but the thought ofthisman being infertile feels impossible. I’d think he could get me pregnant just bylookingat me. “Margot has five kids now. Twins and triplets, actually. I guess it runs in her family.”
It dawns on me that I need to saysomething—that all this is incredibly vulnerable. He didn’t have to tell me any of it.
“I’m sorry,” I finally manage, knowing it doesn’t even come close to being the right thing to say. In fact, I’m not sureanythingis the right thing to say.
So, I listen to my instincts and set the brush on the dresser. Cross the room to him. Stand between his legs and push my fingers into his hair.
“For what it’s worth,” I whisper, sighing in relief when he wraps his arms around me. “Diaper changing for triplets must be a bitch.”
He laughs into my shoulder, and it makes me smile. His hair smells good, like eucalyptus and cedar, and I breathe it in, loving this moment. We’re all arms, mine around his shoulders and his around my waist. I can feel his thighs on either side of mine, can hear and feel each breath he takes.
In the back of my mind, there’s a voice reminding me that this isn’t part of the deal. We’re not showing off for anyone right now—there’s nobody to see this embrace, not like there might have been at the Christmas market.
And this definitely isn’t thelittle something extraRussell had been talking about in the hotel room.
If we’re not performing, and not fucking, then what are we doing? Breathing into each other, taking solace in the embrace. Sharing, touching, and holding.
And that’s not going to happen. We’ve both made it clear that we’re not looking for anything real. I’m hisfakefiancée, and I need my brain to fully and completely digest that fact before it runs away with a version of the future that’s not going to happen. Not now, and not ever.
Slowly, I push Russell back down onto the bed, and he goes willingly, his hands moving hungrily to my hips the moment it’s clear what I want, and what I’m pushing us toward. I straddle him, thinking about the way I rode him in that hotel room, the way it had felt to grind against him and take him as deep as Icould. The way he’d looked up at my breasts with a bowled-over sort of reverence.
I lean down and kiss him, savoring the feel of his thumbs slipping under the waistband of my pajama shorts.
Apparently done with the vulnerable moment, Russell growls, “Not sure why you put this on, if you knew I was just going to take it off of you.”
It fills me with a bright, hot lust that sears me clean through, and I rock against him, grinning when I feel him already straining against his pants, toward me.
“We have to be quiet,” I whisper, glancing back toward the door. “I’ve never done this before. Not with…”
Russell nods, sits up and grabs me, making me laugh when he stands, keeping his hands on my ass like he doesn’t want to let me go for a minute. Carrying me to the door, he reaches down and locks it, then brings me back to the bed, laying me out.
Silently, he strips me down, his eyes getting darker and hungrier with each piece of clothing that hits the floor.
