I could hear the wheels turning in her head.
“He humiliated you, Paige,” I said, sitting down on the coffee table across from her. “Slept with your friend. And you know he’s probably out there right now, telling everyone you’re crazy, that you’re a terrible wife. But if you show up on my arm, looking happy and gorgeous? He’ll lose his mind like he did today.”
She stared at me for a long moment, and I could see her processing it. Her eyes drifted to Lily, sleeping peacefully in her crib.
“When do we do it?” she asked.
“Right now,” I said, a grin spreading across my face.
“Right now?” She blinked. “How?”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the photos I had asked a photographer to take earlier that day. “Remember lunch at the deli?”
“Yes, but—” She paused, leaning forward as I held out my phone, and watched her eyes widen when she saw the images.
I had hired a photographer and told them I wanted candid shots. The photos showed me pulling out Paige’s chair, both of us laughing over sandwiches, and the one that really sold it was me reaching across the table to wipe a smudge of mustard from the corner of her lips.
The way she was looking at me in that shot, smiling and relaxed, made it look intimate and real.
“You had already planned this?” She asked, her eyebrows raised.
“I had a feeling we might need proof,” I said. “We release these pictures. Let the public be the judge. By tomorrow morning, everyone will be talking about us.”
She scrolled through the photos slowly, and I tried to read her expression.
Is she angry that I orchestrated this? Or impressed? Horrified?
“This is insane,” she finally said.
“Completely.”
“And petty.”
“Extremely.”
“And possibly the best worst idea I’ve ever heard,” she said, looking at me. There was a spark in her eyes I hadn’t seen in days. Finally, she grinned. “Let’s do it.”
Relief flooded through me, and I reached for my laptop, pulling up the document I had been working on since that afternoon.
“I drafted the final contract.”
“Of course you did.”
I turned the screen toward her.
“The Fake Relationship Agreement. It outlines everything. Duration, which is until the divorce is finalized plus two months. That gives us time to make it believable and then stage a clean breakup.”
Paige leaned forward to read it as I continued. “Public appearances, minimum twice weekly. Coordinated social media posts so we’re telling—selling the same story. PDA like kissing and hand-holding are acceptable in public. Nothing more in private.”
Even though I desperately wanted to. I wanted to do everything and more in private.
“Nothing more in private,” she repeated.
“There are clauses about Lily too,” I continued. “I’ll help with childcare, no strings attached. And I’m covering your legal fees?—”
“Derek, you know you don’t have to?—”
“You can pay me back if it makes you feel better, but I’m not negotiating on this,” I interrupted, my voice smooth. “Confidentiality clause. No one can know it’s fake except Sean. Also, there’s a plan to leave. Clean break with no hard feelings. We go our separate ways when it’s over.”
