I place my hand on his arm. “I know, and I get it. But everything’s okay. No one was hurt in either situation.”
He nods and puts his phone back into his pocket, but he’s still visibly unhappy. Other than a few strange incidents at the hospital, everything else has been great. My fake husband is officially my real boyfriend. Not many people know about it. We’ve kind of been keeping it quiet while we see how it goes for us. A lot of that is for Zoey. We don’t want to confuse her or put her in a greater position to get hurt if this doesn’t work out between us.
Some is also for my own mental sanity. Aston isn’t as worried about that as I am. But we’ve both been in positions where we thought everything was great, only to discover that it wasn’t. So, I’m being cautious and taking this slow.
I have my first ultrasound on Monday, and I’m excited and nervous for it.
It’s simply a lot on my plate, and right now I like having Aston like this. I like our quiet moments and pillow talk. I like him pressing me up against the walls in the house and stealing a kiss. I like him sneaking up behind me at work and smelling the back of my neck when I wear my hair up. I like all the hot, orgasm-inducing sex we’re having. It feels like a dirty secret when it’s actually not.
Aston wants to tell Micha, but that’s not so easy to do right now, as Micha has gone to an interior part of the country that’s particularly struggling, and cell service isn’t happening. But telling Micha makes this serious, so I don’t mind waiting a bit longer.
But that brings us back to today. To our freaking wedding party à la Fritz and Hughes.
Everyone is expected to arrive in half an hour or so, but our moms wanted us to come early to survey all they’ve done. So here we are.
The front door opens, and both of our parents are there, my dad already with a drink in his hand. Yeah, he’s still not thrilled with all of this. His baby girl snuck off and got married. Oh, and she’s pregnant with an asshole’s kid.
“You all look beautiful,” Halle exclaims, a bright smile lighting up her face. Zoey does a spin for about the hundredth time in her dress, loving how it fans out around her. Naturally everyone claps for her, and she preens as she runs past us toward the front of the house.
“Can I see the cake?” she asks immediately.
“Yes. Absolutely,” my mother tells her. “Come with me. I’ll show you where it is.”
My mother takes Zoey’s hand and leads her inside, and Aston and I follow after her, heading into the warmth of the house.
My dad instantly pulls me in for a hug. “You look so pretty.”
I smile as I hug him back. “You can’t get choked up because then I’ll get choked up.”
He pulls back and meets my eyes. “I just didn’t expect all of this yet. You were supposed to give me another ten years at least before you decided to get married and have a baby.”
I snort a laugh. “You mean before I got pregnant and fake married?”
My dad rolls his eyes at me, and Aston makes a noise behind me. I turn and catch his eye, but I can’t read his expression.
“I still wish you had let me kick Josh’s ass,” my father quips, drawing my attention back to him.
“But then you’d likely break a hip or something, and it wouldn’t change the situation with him. That’s what you call a lose-lose.”
My dad scoffs indignantly. “Break a hip? I’m not that old yet.”
I give him a teasingif you say soshrug.
“Come on, Brecken,” Jonah Hughes, Aston’s father, says to my dad. “Let’s refill your drink. Something tells me you’re going to need it today.”
“Yes. I mean, I’m sure it’s five o’clock somewhere,” I tease.
“This pregnancy is making you more of a smart-ass with your old man than usual.”
I bow to my dad. “I learned from the master.”
He chuckles, but after hanging up our coats, we all head through the first floor, passing sitting rooms and parlors and music rooms and libraries to the back solarium that spans a good portion of the back of the mansion, where teams of staff are setting everything up. There are cocktail tables dripping with ivory linens and topped with pale pink roses and tiny fake votives—we do have lots of small children running around—in the center of them. There are long tables for the cocktail hour with a million different kinds of food, and the bartenders aresetting up at the large bar in the back of the room, abutting a set of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the gardens and grounds.
It has a winter wonderland feel with fairy lights, pale flowers, and elegant crystal. “I see they didn’t take our suggestion for neon yellow and taupe,” I murmur to Aston, who’s been quiet since we entered the house.
“Shame. But this is…” He trails off, and all I can do is nod. Because yeah. It’s magical. And it makes me feel guilty. I have no clue what all of my uncles, aunts, and extended cousins know or don’t know about our marriage. But looking at all of this, you’d never know it was fake. And it kind of hurts my heart.
“I don’t like pretending,” I murmur. “We’re playing at a marriage while trying to be a couple.”
