Xander’s father got called away, and Liam never showed up. Perhaps they don’t want to meet me. Like I’m not enough for them. It’s this house that makes me extra self-conscious, full of doubts.
The Stone estate in Hillsborough spans more acresthan most city blocks. Nestled between towering cypress and redwood trees, Xander’s childhood home is beautiful and overwhelming at the same time. And, of course, they have their own dome-covered pool.
The water is warm, almost velvety, swirling around my ankles with the gentle hush of movement, like even the water here has learned to whisper.
The dome is massive—an architectural marvel of curved glass and sleek steel beams that rise like the ribs of a cathedral. The light here is different.
Sitting at the edge of the pool, with my dress hiked up, I kick my feet through the water. The tiles beneath me are of a soft gray marble, veined with silver.
The scent of eucalyptus hangs in the air, subtle but intentional, like everything else in this house.
This isn’t just a pool. It’s a sanctuary.
And that’s why I came here. There is so much I would like to believe. So much I would like him to say. So much I should probably say.
I wish we had started like a normal couple. But would we have started? Would I ever have let go of all my objections to this relationship?
I don’t know. I wish I knew.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. We’re together. I’m happy with him. I just wish there wasn’t this nagging need to define who we are to each other.
Because I’m sure as hell that we arenot in a fake marriage. Okay, the marriage is fake, but the rest is real. And yet we have a contract, and our divorce is inked into it.
I trail my toes along the surface, watching the ripples chase each other.
It’s ridiculous. All of it. This dome could house my entire apartment complex. Twice. There’s a rainfall shower near the sauna that looks like it belongs in a Bond villain’s lair. A stocked juice bar that probably has a sommelier. And yet…
Despite the extravagance, there’s a strange stillness here. Like I’m not in someone else’s life anymore, but paused at the edge of two versions of mine.
A part of me feels like an impostor. The charity-case wife. The fake.
But Xander’s mother asked me about the bistro like it mattered. Lottie made jokes like we’ve known each other for years. Even Nana Sybil, in her terrifying bluntness, treated me like I belonged.
And Xander? God, Xander. With his snark and charm, and that soft look he keeps giving me… I can’t hold his money or his upbringing against him. That’s not fair. He didn’t choose this world any more than I chose mine.
And beneath the layers of privilege and polish, his family is… just that. A family. Messy and loud and awkward, and loving in their own strange way.
We’re not so different. Not really.
Most of my objections to this union are proving to be wrong.
The water laps against my shins, a slow rhythmic pulse that almost matches my breath. I lean back on my palms and close my eyes for a moment. Let myself feel it.
Not the wealth.
The peace.
But everyone’s suggestion about my pregnancy keeps derailing the calm. Their innocent inquiry and, I guess, not so outlandish expectation, is more like the calm before the storm.
Of course, the reason his father wanted him to marry was an heir. That’s what they expect.
I laughed it off, because what else was I supposed to do? It’s not like we had a conversation about children like a normal couple would. It’s not like Xander would want to have kids with an older woman.
What if he wants a big family?
Maybe he doesn’t want any children.
And I kind of gave up on the idea of becoming a mother.
