I didn’t trust myself not to say something stupid, so I shoved the pot toward him. A roast would be good on this cold day, but it wouldn’t be ready for a while.Focus on the food and not on Abram.He put his food in the pot, then moved back behind me. He was watching what I was doing over my shoulder.
“Will you get me the dried herbs from up there?” I nodded toward the cupboard.
He leaned forward, his hand resting on my hip as he leaned into me to reach it. I froze to my spot as he acted like we had done this our entire lives. He set the herbs down next to me but didn’t move his hand from my hip.
“This will take a while to cook, at least a few hours.” I told him.
“We’ll have to find something to do while we wait,” he whispered close to my ear.
I was panicking, so I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.
“I’m going to nap.”
I heard his soft laugh.
“You just woke up.”
“Yeah, but I feel exhausted.” I wasn’t completely lying.
I turned so I was facing him. His hand ran across my back and settled on my other hip. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for me to say something.
“Um,” I whispered. “So, what do you think you’ll be doing?”
He shrugged before scooping me up and taking me to the couch. What was happening? He laid me down, and I stared at him as he sat at the end of the couch with my feet in his lap. He grabbed a book off the table and started reading quietly, his hand resting on my ankle.
He glanced at me when he felt me staring.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered.
Maybe I had died and gone to the heavens.
He nodded like we did this every day before turning back to his book. He began reading aloud, and my eyes grew heavy listening to the calm hum of his voice.
Fuck, I was hot. My skin prickled beneath the blanket as if the air itself were too heavy. I shifted on the couch, but I couldn’t move. My eyes fluttered open, and I stilled. Abram was lying next to me on his back, and my face was resting on his chest. His arm had me in a death grip. The smell of our dinner filled the space, but all I could focus on was the feel of Abram’s body against mine. The slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of him seeping into every part of me.
His other hand rested on my hip and ass. My leg was slung over him. My heart was out of control. This felt nice… right. Maybe it was because I had never felt the touch of a man like this, or maybe it was because it was Abram. My chest ached just thinking of his name.
I didn’t move because I didn’t want this moment to stop. I wanted to stay here, memorizing how it felt to be held by him, even if it meant pretending.
But then I realized he had to have laid down next to me intentionally. My hand on his chest twitched against his warm skin. Then I lifted it and touched his face gently. My fingers curled into the short, dark stubble on his jaw. My movement startled Abram, his fingers dug into my hip. He sucked in a sharp breath, like he was steadying himself. He glanced down as I looked up at him. Our faces were a few inches apart. My heart hammered as he stared at me. For a brief moment, he looked at me like this was a nice surprise.
Then he blinked at me and seemed to wake up fully. I saw it—the exact second his expression shifted. He registered that it was me and he was instantly pushing away. The loss of his warmth was instant and cruel. Abram stood up and turned his back to me for a moment. The distance between us felt unbearable. He turned to me and stared at me, his eyes flaring red. He was angry. My stomach dropped.
“Are you alright?” I asked. My voice trembled despite my effort to keep it steady.
“I told you this was not a real marriage,” he snapped.
The words hit harder than they should have.
I flinched back at his tone. My hands gripped the blanket and moved it over me like it would shield me from his words.
“I didn’t do anything.” The defense came out small, fragile.
“You should have gotten up as soon as you woke up, not laid there pretending like this is what we do. You're my fake wife," he said tightly. "You don't get to touch me like that."
Each word cut deeper than the last. Guilt made my throat tight. He looked conflicted as we stared at each other.
