Dear Future Ex-wife

He sighs. “At some point, you’ll have to get used to me. You can’t run away.”

I lift my fork, my eyes pointed at Nate. “You said I’ll want the real thing someday, so I’m taking your advice and staying away from your lingering touches.”

Nate snickers. “Okay, have it your way. You’ll see in the end that I always win.”

“See, this is the Nate King I know. The cocky son of a bitch who always gets what he wants. The womanizer. The playboy.”

“Oh, well, didn’t you hear I’m gonna be a married man?” He gives me a shit-eating grin. “So, all of that’s changed.”

“Hmmm…” I stuff a piece of chicken into my mouth and moan at the deliciousness as the spiciness hits my tongue. “I pity the woman who gets to tame you.”

Nate glares at me, his lip twitching as if he wants to laugh. And then, we burst into a fit of laughter. The snarky humor and banter will get us through the worst and best of times. I wear my sarcasm like armor and so does Nate.

We eat our dinner in uncomfortable silence. Nate glances down the table at me with each bite he takes. He’s like a hunter stalking his prey, ready to pounce any second. My phone dings with a text message that ends our staring contest. I remove it from my pocket and sigh. Great, it’s Kevin.

We need to talk…

Of course, we do. I haven’t had the time or the courage to tell him that we’re over. Kevin knows about the scandal with Nate. He could expose our fake relationship. But he’s a powerful man who knows that running a company like ours requires some sacrifice. I hope he understands.

“How’s your food?” Nate asks.

“Good, thank you.” I stuff the phone back into my pocket.

“Who’s that?”

“What’s it to you? I didn’t realize we have to share every aspect of our lives with each other. I didn’t ask you about your Wednesday night fuck.”

“Oh, wifey,” he says with a playful smile. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“Don’t call me wifey.”

“Get used to it, Harley baby. Mrs. King has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

I roll my eyes at him, my anger seething through me. “I’m not taking your last name.”

He scoffs. “You’re joking.”

I shake my head. “It’s not even a real marriage. Why would I want to take your name when mine still means something in this business?”

“Okay, fine,” he groans. “How about McQueen-King? Can we at least agree on a hyphen?”

“Nope,” I say, resolute. “You’re getting a wife. That should be good enough.”

“Be reasonable.”

“Plenty of successful women keep their last name. It’s for professional reasons.” I study his face, wondering why this is so important to him, but he gives nothing away. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I like the idea of you having my name.”

I let his words hang in the air for a second before something snaps inside me. “No, you’re just a narcissist who wants everyone to know that you’ve claimed me as your property, and I’m no man’s property. So, McQueen it is. Take it or leave it.”

He wipes his mouth with the napkin on his lap and drops it onto the table with an irritated sigh. “Can we stop fighting, please?”

I pull out my phone again and consider sending Kevin a text.

But I know I need to call.

Only a coward would send the text.

After I finish eating, I head into the kitchen to wash my plate. Nate follows behind me, caging me against the sink with his chest and strong arms that wrap around me. He sets his plate in the sink, digging his hip into my side. Sparks of electricity skate along my skin when his fingers graze my wet hand. I suck in a deep breath, fighting every urge to touch him back. Nate was right about having trouble resisting the real thing, and I know myself well enough to put an end to any possibility of us before it even starts.

“What are you doing, Nate?”

“Nothing.” His lips brush against my earlobe. “You’re in my way.”

“No, this is another pathetic attempt to touch me.”

He chuckles in my ear.

“Get off me, Nate. Stop acting like a jerk.”

His featherlight touch makes me shiver. He feels it, too. I swear I hear him chuckle again, but I’m too focused on how he makes me feel to respond. He loves to taunt me, torture me in every way possible. Nate uses his body as a weapon against me.

Nate leans in closer, and his breath on my skin causes me to visibly shiver. He grabs both of my arms, holding me tight, and presses his body against mine. I can’t breathe, unable to function. How are we supposed to make it until our wedding at this rate? He can’t even wash a plate without getting a hard-on.