Page 48 of Holding Penalty

I feel knotted up through my torso. After everything I’ve done and been through, I can’t let this inheritance slip through my fingers. “What kind of comments?”

“Many comments from Austin residents noting that the woman Nash Miller married seems to live in a budget-priced downtown apartment building. Comments stating that Nash Miller is rarely seen in her company. Comments from customers of the petting zoo located on property owned by Mr. Miller stating that he still appears to live alone.”

An uncomfortable feeling spreads over me. Are there that many eyes constantly on Nash and me, even when we don’t notice it? Are that many people paying such close attention to us?

“But—those …”

“Allow me to be direct, Mrs. Dashwood. Are you cohabitating with your husband?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

If I had time to think, maybe I could strategize. Find out what my legal rights are, figure out how to approach this sensibly.

But I don’t have time. I’m on the spot, my nerves are twisted into pretzels, and I can’t think straight. All that occurs to me to do is lie.

“Of course Nash and I are living together,” I double down.

“Indeed?” His skepticism is patronizing.

“Yes. I visit my sister often, so that’s why people see me at her building.” I’m now realizing how often people have seemed to stare at me in the lobby or in the hallways. I guess they recognized me from pictures that circulated on social media of Nash and me in the courthouse. Or from our public date. I guess this is what it’s like being known as the wife of one of the NHL’s top players.

“I see,” the lawyer replies, the distrust thick in his words.

“I’ve been busy lately with my work. But if so many people really are paying attention, I’m sure they’ll start to notice my husband and me out spending time together more often.”

I’m just digging myself deeper.

“If that’s the case, I’m sure I’ll hear about it. If it’s not the case …”

“It is the case,” I cut him off, putting some iron in my voice. “In fact, Nash and I were just talking about how we wanted to go out together more often. This morning. When we woke up in bed together. In our house.”

I’m so screwed. Nash’s first preseason game is tomorrow. He’s going to be busier than ever. He didn’t sign up to go on a bunch of dates with me. He signed up for one fake wedding ceremony, one or two public events, and then for us to keep our distance and divorce once each of us gets what we wanted out of this arrangement.

I have no idea how I’m going to not be seen here at Hallie’s apartment, since I still have nowhere else to go.

Well, I have one idea. But it’s crazy …

Crazy, but maybe the only option.

“Perhaps the voluminous public comments have painted an inaccurate picture. I will certainly keep my eye on those comments and see if they begin to paint a different one.”

I really want to tell this guy off, but he holds my inheritance in his hands. Maybe he’s overstepping what he’s allowed to do legally, but I have no way of determining that. I don’t have the time, energy, or money to wage a legal battle. I’d rather just fool him for six months and get my inheritance.

I take a deep breath after ending the call. Nash and I are going to have to start looking like a married couple, on a regular basis. We’re going to need to make it look like we’re living together.

I guess I should have anticipated that Nash would have a lot of eyes on him, a lot of people desperate to gossip about his personal life.

Someone snapped a picture of him while we were leaving a random hotel one morning. Pictures of our wedding spread through social media like wildfire. I can’t be surprised that people are taking note of the fact that we’re hardly seen together, and seem to be living separate lives, even though we should be newlyweds still in the honeymoon phase.

With so many prying eyes on us and so much gossip and speculation on social media, how can we hope to make people believe we’re living together without … actually living together?

I’m feeling desperate, and only one solution is presenting itself to my jumbled brain.

I call Nash. He answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”