“I need to stay at Birdie’s. Which means Silvie needs to move in with you,” he says, waiting for me to react.
A flutter of panic takes flight in my stomach. Suddenly, this whole thing is all-too real. And fast. I agreed to it, and have every intention of helping her, but it’s now creeping into my personal life. Literally. But I’ll be marrying her and this is an inevitable step.
“I don’t have a guest room,” I tell him, with wide eyes.
My brain quickly catalogues what it would look like to have the gorgeous woman in my home. Sitting on my sofa, bare feet near me. Half-dressed in my kitchen making coffee. Dripping and dressed only in a towel as she exits the bathroom.
This is going to be difficult.
How do I refrain from pinning her to every surface, kissing her until she’s whimpering my name?
“It doesn’t matter,” Wilby says quickly, stealing me from my wicked thoughts, as he motions for me to sit at the table with him. “Paparazzi could show up at any time. And if the attorneys handling the trust believe this is not a legitimate marriage, Silvie will not get her company. It will all be for nothing. You have to make it look legit, my friend.”
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door. He opens it, and a woman steps into the room. She has a measuring tape and a clipboard. Wilby’s already moving onto the next task. This guy is efficient as hell.
“Cal,” Wilby says, “this is Denise. She’s here to measure you.”
Denise smiles warmly. “You ready?”
“I think so,” I say, though that feels optimistic.
This is happening at warped speed. All I can do is strap in and go along for the wild ride.
Silvie’s worth it.
That settles my brain a bit because it’s the truth.
Denise circles me, tape ready. “I was going to have linen pants and a button-down shirt. Maybe a light jacket. But,” she adds, glancing at Wilby for approval, “I’ll need his full measurements for future events we’ll need to dress him for.”
Future events? I freeze and glance at Wilby, but he’s alreadycrossing things off what looks like a massive to-do list on his computer.
“Future events?” I repeat, voice hoarse.
Wilby nods like this is obvious. “Galas. Dinners. Board things. Charity stuff.”
It’s all temporary, remember?Wilby implores me with that silent message. I nod, understanding the unspoken words.
Denise keeps measuring, unfazed. “We like to have everything on file.”
My chest tightens. I didn’t realize we’d be doing events. And where?
“Yes, you will look powerful in a suit,” she says. “Sleeve length.”
She measures my arm while my brain spirals.
This is more than paperwork. This is showing up. Standing beside her. Being seen as her husband. Silverlyn Montclair’s husband.
I take a slow, calming breath so I don’t hyperventilate. I wish Silvie were here with us. She has a calming effect on my soul.
Wilby winces at something on his list and comes back to our conversation. “Eventually, Cal, you’re going to have go to New York.”
My stomach drops. I can’t go to New York. Panic claws its way up my esophagus. This woman flitting around me like an annoying fly is only adding to the anxiety.
“To meet her parents,” Wilby adds and winces. “I’m so sorry about that by the way. Her mom is actually a terrible person.”
This jolts me from my mini panic attack as the urge to protect Silvie grounds me.
“That bad?” I ask, frowning.
