The triplets are scattered across the room.
Silas stands near the windows, phone to his ear, pacing. Evan sprawls on the couch, controller in hand, eyes locked on the football game filling the massive TV. Callum sits on the arm of the couch next to him, elbows on his knees, tracking every play.
Evan pauses his game and tosses the controller aside. “She’s here.”
Silas ends his call and pockets his phone. Callum straightens.
Sandra clasps her hands together. “Should I bring refreshments?”
“Thanks. We’re good, Sandra.” Evan crosses to me and leans in, his lips brushing my cheek.
I freeze. The kiss is brief, casual, but I wasn’t ready for it. Whiskers scrape my skin, and he smells clean and warm, expensive cologne mixed with soap.
He pulls back and grins as if nothing happened. But this is the part where I start pretending the affection is normal.
Sandra beams at us and disappears down the hallway.
Ben clears his throat. “Well, I’ll let you guys get her settled.”
“You’re leaving?” The panic in my voice is embarrassing.
“You’ll be fine.” He squeezes my shoulder, then looks at the triplets. “Take care of her.”
“Always,” Evan promises.
Ben heads for the door, and I’m alone with three men who are supposed to be my partners or boyfriends. Or whatever the plural is.
Callum stands and crosses to the bar, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water. “So, Sandra thinks you’re our wife.”
“Wife?” I hold out my ring finger, waving it back and forth playfully, showing the lack of a ring. “I don’t remember having a wedding.”
Evan laughs. At least he thinks I’m funny.
“Husband works better than boyfriend for what we’re doing,” Silas explains. “It signals permanence. Commitment. That’s what the executor needs to see.”
“So, I’m supposed to call all of you my husbands?” The word feels strange on my tongue. Too big. Too real.
“That’s the idea,” Callum confirms, twisting the cap off his water.
Evan grins. “Don’t worry. We won’t make you have three weddings.”
“Can’t legally marry all three of us anyway,” Callum points out. “The contract you signed is the binding agreement.”
Evan leans forward, eyes bright. “But if youwanta wedding, I’m in. Any excuse for a party.”
“I don’t need a wedding.” The words come out too fast.
“You sure?” Evan’s smile softens. “We could do something small. Just us.”
“I’m sure.”
Silas watches me carefully. “The staff needed to know we chose a wife before you moved in. Sandra. The chef. Housekeeping. They all think this is real.”
“How many people work here?”
“Five,” Silas answers. “Sandra manages the household. The chef comes in daily. Three housekeepers rotate.”
Five people who think I’m married to all three of them.
