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“Oh. Right.” Because a pretend engagement means theoretical wedded bliss, a hypothetical yard full of kids.

“But we don’t actually have to make fake plans for the future,” Liam says.

“Won’t we have to make plans for a wedding?” Real plans.

“I guess, yeah.” He pauses. “But Mam will handle all the actual planning. You know she’ll be happy to.”

Which means she’ll be extra disappointed with the annulment, when she learns it was all for show. The engagement, the wedding, the marriage. Because after overhearing that conversation at the bar, I know we’re talking about a marriage now, more than a mere engagement. Me pretending to be Liam’s wife, not just his fiancée. Me legally being Liam’s wife, by the letter of the law… but not in the eyes of the church.

A union isn’t sealed if it isn’t consummated.

It’s the caveat we’ll need for this plan to work, and the caveat we’ll need to protect our friendship. I can’t have sex with Liam.

No matter how he made me feel this morning when we kissed.

He uses the chef’s knife to spread the mayo. I stopped reminding him about knife safety over a decade ago. He’s skilled with a knife, it’s part of that side of him. He’ll need a wife who’s comfortable around knives too, not someone who uses a butter knife whenever possible.

I’m just a placeholder until he finds the wife he truly needs.

“I’ll help your mam with the planning,” I say.

Whether it’s mastering a knitting pattern or perfecting a client’s dress at the tailor shop, when I commit to something, I commit. And now, I’ve committed to making this engagement look as real as possible.

“And I’ll move in this weekend. I’ll only need a suitcase for now.”

“Good,” Liam says, and I can tell he’s gone alpha mode. He’s already made the decision, and my agreement is merely a formality. “I’ll send Peter to pack up your things.”

“No thanks,” I say quickly. That’s something I can’t agree to. “I don’t want Pete to have to pack my girly things.”

“Girly things,” Liam says skeptically.

“You know…” I begin, but he crosses his arms. “Things like perfume and tampons and birth control.”

“What?” His eyes go wide like I’ve offended him, and he visibly struggles to contain himself. “I don’t think Pope Leo would approve of you taking the pill.”

I feel my mouth fall open, because frankly, it’s none of Liam’s business, and I have no intention of going off birth control. It keeps my periods predictable, not that I have to explain that to Liam.

Then his lips twitch in a grin, and his laugh bursts through. All my tension evaporates as I shake my head at him. Liam and his wicked sense of humor.

“Pope Leo wouldn’t look kindly on premarital sex, either,” I say, because I’m capable of teasing Liam right back. “Or condoms,” I add, just to see his reaction.

“That’s not about the Pope,” he says, still chuckling. “It’s about being smart. The kind of women who—” He stops himself, clearing his throat. “I’m smart every time.”

We’ve rarely discussed anything close to this before, in part because I don’t want to think about the women Liam’s slept with. I retreat to a safer topic.

“I’ll move in tomorrow after Mass,” I say abruptly, working out the details in my head. I’ll spend tonight packing at my house, then walk to church like I do every Sunday morning.

“Are you busy this afternoon?” Liam asks, with that teasing note in his voice.

“Well, no.”

“Then move in today.” He says it offhandedly, as if it isn’t an upheaval of my life as I know it.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. For some reason, the difference between moving tomorrow versus today feels immense. Today is now. Which makes this real.

“I’ll drive you down after lunch.” Liam returns to fixing our sandwiches.

He’s been trained to be a leader his whole life, and right now, he’s taking charge.