“There’s more,” Ethan continues. “Colton, you need to do that podcast interview withThe Dirty Jersey. As soon as possible. Tell your love story. Make it believable. Jenna, I bet you managed to arrange that.”
I groan. I hate that podcast.
“Why would she arrange that?” I ask.
“She’ll explain later. The final condition: No divorce. Not for at least a year. Preferably longer.”
“A year?” Jenna’s voice rises.
“Minimum,” Ethan confirms. “Quick divorces scream arrangement. And if you think Mira’s lawyers won’t be watching for that, you’re kidding yourself.”
The magnitude of what we’re agreeing to settles over the room. A year of my life. A year of Jenna’s. Pretending every day, in every way.
But then I think of Livy sleeping down the hall. The infection in her arm that could have been prevented if someone had simply cleaned the cut. The way she flinched when I raised my voice—not at her, never at her, just in frustration at the situation. The hollow look in her eyes when she told me her mommy’s friend said she was “in the way.” One year of pretending versus a lifetime of my daughter feeling unwanted.
“I’ll do it,” I say firmly.
Jenna and Ethan both look at me.
“Whatever it takes.” I meet Jenna’s eyes. “I’m in if you are.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. I can almost see the calculations happening behind her green eyes—the risks, the consequences, the alternatives. Finally, she gives a single, sharp nod.
“One year,” she says, as if setting terms.
“One year,” I echo.
Ethan looks between us, then checks his watch. “City clerk’s office opens in forty-five minutes. I’ll call my contact on the way. You two...” he gestures vaguely, “try to look like you don’t hate each other.”
“We don’t hate each other,” I say automatically.
Jenna raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t contradict it.
After, Ethan leaves to make his calls and then, we’re left alone. Shit this was a lot.
“You should change,” she says at some point, nodding at my rumpled clothes. “If we’re getting married, you should at least look presentable.”
I almost laugh. “Yes, wife.”
Her head snaps up, eyes flashing. “Don’t.”
“We need to practice,” I point out. “Ethan’s right. Has to be believable.”
Jenna runs a hand through her red hair, leaving it more disheveled than before. “This is insane. You realize that? Completely insane.”
“Desperate times.” I shrug.
“Your ex-wife is going to destroy me professionally when this falls apart,” Jenna says, but she’s already standing, already committed despite her words.
“If,” I correct. “If it falls apart.”
She gives me a look that says she thinks I’m naive. Maybe I am. But I’ve built a career on taking hits and staying on my feet. This is just another kind of fight.
Down the hall, I hear a small voice call out, “Daddy?”
Jenna and I jerk up, looking at each other. Then I call back, “Coming, Livy-bear.”
I head toward my daughter’s room, then pause, looking back at Jenna. “Ready or not, we’re family now.”
