Fake Marriage Box Set

Andrew was allowing Emma to continue calling him Daddy, although neither of us had told her to call him that. Still, he didn't want to advertise the fact that he had a child. He'd still hang the picture up in his office if Emma asked him to, but he'd be forced to come up with some sort of story explaining where the picture had come from.

Maybe it was a little mean for me to encourage that, but I didn't mind.

“All right, kiddo, it's time to get you to bed,” I told Emma as she wound down her story about the unicorn.

She pouted. “I don't want to,” she said.

“But remember the new stuffed animal that Daddy brought you from his trip?” I asked her. “Don't you want to go cuddle with him?”

“Can you tell us a bedtime story?” Emma pleaded, and I smiled at her.

“Of course, I will,” I said.

“But make it like one of Daddy's stories,” Emma commanded. “I want princesses.”

I stifled a laugh. “All right, I'll tell you a princess story, just like Daddy does,” I promised. “Come on, let's go get you in your pajamas.”

I led her upstairs to her “big girl room.” Emma had been sleeping with me during the month and a half that we'd been staying there, and eventually, she'd needed to have her own bed. But rather than move a new bed into the room with me, like I'd expected, Andrew had decided to give Emma her own guest room to stay in. The place had rapidly been filled with toys and pictures on the walls, and Andrew had even gone so far as to hang glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling.

Emma was thrilled with it, and I'd heard her telling Janice about it more than once, even though Janice, of course, already knew about the room.

It made me wonder what was going to happen when we had to move out, when Emma lost her own room again. I still hadn’t found a job, although I'd resumed searching, and even if I managed to find a job, it would need to be a well-paying one indeed if I was going to afford a place with two bedrooms, in addition to paying for Emma's daycare and all of her other needs.

I pushed that thought out of my mind, helping Emma select a pair of pajamas for the night and getting her changed into them. I told her a bedtime story, one with princesses. She drifted off to sleep before the princess even left the castle.

I retreated to my own room. Even though it was a guest bedroom in Andrew's mansion, it had, in fact, started to seem like my own room. I hadn't gone so far as to hang up anything on t

he walls or otherwise personalize the place, but I did know where all of my things went, from clothes to knick-knacks, and everything about living there started to seem strangely normal.

That was dangerous, given that Andrew and I still hadn't had any sort of talk about what we were going to do long-term. I was still expecting him to come home with some floozie and give me an ultimatum for getting myself out of the house.

I didn't know when he was going to find us that apartment downtown that he'd once talked about. I knew that he liked having Emma around, but there was no reason why he needed to keep me there as well. I had once told Misty how afraid I was that he was going to sue for custody of Emma, and I was starting to wonder if that might really be his plan, once Emma could demonstrate that she loved him just as much as she loved me.

But surprisingly enough, Andrew was starting to spend more time around the house as well. We'd done a number of things as a family over the past month, ever since our outing to the Children's Museum. One day, he'd taken us to the zoo. Another day, we'd gone for a cruise on the water. Some days, we just went into downtown and wandered around.

Andrew was, of course, still overworking himself. He wouldn't have been Andrew if he wasn't. But he was working from home a lot more frequently, spending lunches with Emma and me in the kitchen. A lot of times, he would take a break in the afternoon and entertain Emma then as well.

It was starting to feel very domestic around the house, and the best part was, it all felt natural between us. We weren't forcing this relationship.

That said, we needed to talk about the long-term plan, and soon. Before Emma got too attached to the place and to always having her Daddy around.

Before I get too attached, I thought.

I swallowed hard, trying to think of how to even approach that conversation. The trouble was, I didn't want to leave. We were comfortable there, both Emma and me. Of course, every time Andrew inquired about my job search, I felt slightly guiltier about how I was basically taking advantage of him. I was terrified that his response was going to be to kick me out and take Emma as his own. No matter how much he seemed to have changed, I didn't trust him to be kind to me.

I couldn't keep living like this, though.

I put my shoulders back and marched out of the room and over to his. I was never going to be ready for this conversation, so I might as well get it over with, I reasoned.

I knocked on the door, and when no one answered, I knocked again, a little louder this time. I frowned, wondering if it was possible that he'd already gone to bed. I knew he was there. I'd heard him head upstairs while I was telling Emma her story. Maybe he'd had a rough day at work and didn't want to talk about it, though. He'd been late getting home.

After a moment of indecision, I decided to peek inside. Maybe he'd gone back downstairs and wasn't in there at all. If I could verify that he wasn't there, I could go looking for him.

I slowly opened the door, poking my head inside. “Andrew?” I called.

I was just in time to see him walk out of the bathroom, clad in only a towel. I knew I should back up and pretend that I hadn't seen him, but for a moment, I couldn't tear my eyes away. I could see the faintest traces of moisture still sliding down his chest. He'd been incredibly hot the last time I'd seen him naked, I remembered, but he looked even more muscular now. Or maybe I'd managed to forget how chiseled those abs were and how slim his waist was.

The crisp whiteness of the towel emphasized his tanned skin. He looked like a bronzed Greek god come to life before me, a perfect example of classic masculinity. I wanted to run my fingers over his body, to trace those water droplets with my tongue, and to fall into bed with him.