Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Fucking hell. “What if you’re in another relationship? Your new woman won’t like you giving me your DNA.”
“I’ll give it to you before we get divorced, and she’ll have to deal with it.”
“Can you even do that?”
He shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.” He leans against his knees again. “Look, I’m serious about this. It’d be pretty great to be the father of your child. But if you don’t want to do this, I respect that, and we’ll file for annulment as soon as we land. I’ll protect you as much as I can from the media. You have my word.”
Kimbra returns, handing me a glass of red wine. She says something about moving to the dining room, but it sounds like gibberish.
Today has been too much in every sense of the word. But as I sip my drink and take in Renn—who is calmer than I would expect under the circumstances—the chaos in my head begins to settle.
The baby aside, because I’m not sure I can actually do that, if he can promise he’ll play the part of the doting husband for ninety days, would it be that terrible to pretend to be a loving wife? It’s just three months. Surely, I can use that time to benefit me somehow.
I set the wine down and find my purse. The receipt from the strip show is at the bottom; it’s the only piece of paper I can find. I pull out a lip liner and face a curious Renn.
“Ninety days,” I say sternly. “And if I’m to play the role of wife, you’re to play the role of husband. That means no wandering eye, no pictures with other women, no dates.”
He smiles. “Deal.”
“You agreed to that so easily. What about sex? Can you go that long without it?”
He smirks. “I said deal.”
Fine. I scribble the agreed-upon length of commitment on the back of the receipt.
“And you’re filing for divorce,” I say. “Not me. And if anyone says I was after your money or whatever, you have to defend me.”
“That’s a guarantee.”
How is it this easy? I add that to the receipt.
“You have to accompany me to events,” he says. “You have to live with me.”
“Live with you?”
“Live with me.” His eyes sparkle. “We have to sell it, baby.”
“Ugh.”
“No ice cream in the bed,” he says.
“I’m signing a prenup.”
“No prenup.”
“Renn …”
“No prenup. It would be a postnup now anyway.”
I start to argue the point, but the look on his face stops me. “No co-mingling of money or assets.”
“Sure.”
Something about the glimmer in his eye concerns me.
“You have to let me treat you like my wife,” he says. “For ninety days, you are Mrs. Brewer.”
“Fine. But I don’t think you understand that I’m not the domestic type.”
“I didn’t marry you for your domestic abilities.”
“You married me because of an alcohol made from agave,” I say.
“We should name our first son that.”
I sigh as the whole baby thing hits me again. “I’m on the fence about the baby part of this, Renn. I’m not sure I want to do that.”
He narrows his eyes. “Can I choke you during sex?”
My insides burn so hot that I shift in my seat. “You said you could go ninety days without sex.”
“But you won’t be able to.” His smirk is so deep, so delicious, that I shiver. “And you also have to change your name.”
“That’s a little unnecessary for three months, don’t you think?”
“I want my wife to have my name,” he says with a casual shrug like we’re discussing the weather.
“You’re getting a little demanding for a man who needs this more than I do.”
He holds his hands in the air. “Fair. But that’s my last demand.”
“It better be,” I mumble, listing the rest of the agreements on the receipt. But as I lift the lip pencil, I think of one more thing. Maybe the most important of them all. I take a deep breath. “One more thing …”
“What?”
Our gazes lock in the middle of the walkway.
His features are free from the stress he’s carried all day. The playfulness he’s known for dances through his eyes.
My stomach clenches at the thought of doing this with Renn. But it sours just as quickly at the idea of getting too close to him.
Yup. Gotta add this.
I refuse to grow feelings for a man who will never reciprocate them. Who isn’t interested in love—especially mine.
“If either of us develops real feelings for the other,” I say, my voice quiet, “then we walk away immediately. No questions asked.”
He studies me for a long time, the playfulness turning somber.
My heart skips a beat, then two, as I hold my breath and wait on his response. Just as I’m about to tell him to forget the whole thing—that we’re both out of our heads, he stands.
“I agree,” he says, offering me a hand.
I set the receipt and pencil beside the snacks and tentatively place my hand in his.