Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“I wanted to. This is fun.” He kissed my forehead and added, “Dinner’s in fifteen minutes. I thought we could eat in the lounge.”
I nodded and hurried upstairs, before I teared up. I wasn’t used to being with someone who was that sweet, kind, and considerate. Part of me didn’t think I deserved it. Another part worried I was taking more than I was giving. I wished I knew how to be the kind of boyfriend Bryson deserved.
Tonight, he was really going above and beyond. These dinners were meant to be a sensory experience and all about comfort, and the present turned out to be the softest, fluffiest rainbow unicorn onesie I’d ever seen. I stripped down to my briefs and pulled it on, and it felt like a warm hug.
When I returned to the kitchen, the sight of Bryson in a onesie of his own made me smile. His was black with a white panel on the front. I thanked him for mine and said, “You look cute. I never thought I’d see you in something like that.”
“They looked cozy, so I decided to get one for myself. But I wasn’t paying that much attention when I ordered these online. I thought mine was just black and white, but there’s a little more to it.” He pulled up the hood, revealing cartoonish eyes and round, black ears. Then he turned around to show me the stubby tail on his butt, which made me giggle.
“You’re the cutest panda ever,” I told him.
He turned back around and grinned at me as I wrapped my arms around him. “If you tell anyone I wore this, I’ll deny it.”
“Your secret is safe with me. But I’m going to need you to make peace with the onesie, because you’re extra cuddly.”
“Only if you promise not to snap any selfies. I don’t want photographic evidence of this particular ensemble.”
“Fine.”
He kissed me before saying, “Dinner’s ready, so go get settled in the lounge and I’ll bring it to you.”
“Can I help carry stuff?”
“No thanks, I’ve got it.”
He’d been busy while I was out. There was a cozy seating area on the floor of the lounge, with tons of pillows and blankets, and there were several framed photos on the mantel. He must have finally gone up into the attic, because there were a couple of storage boxes in the corner that I’d never seen before.
I circled around the pillow nest and went over to the fireplace, so I could get a better look at the photos. There were two of Bryson as a little kid with his dad, who looked just like him, and a shot of Bryson at maybe the age of ten with his dad and grandfather, in front of a Christmas tree. The other four were of him and me.
He’d framed the picture of our epic lift in front of the Las Vegas sign, along with a photo one of the rugby guys had taken during our wedding ceremony. There was also a cute selfie of the two of us with Dusty. Finally, there was a group shot of Bryson and me with the entire Pink Victorian crew, which we’d taken last Sunday when they’d invited us to dinner.
“I thought you should have a family photo on the mantel, too,” he said softly, when he came up behind me. “That’s why I framed the one with all your friends.”
“Thanks for doing that. I love this photo.” Bryson had held his phone at arm’s length, and everyone had piled into the frame. Even the dog, cat, and Vee’s parakeet had been included.
“I know. I love it, too.” He put the tray he was carrying on the coffee table and said, “Be right back,” before returning to the kitchen.
After convincing Dusty to move over—because of course, he’d curled up in the center of the pillow nest—I took a seat and glanced up at the mantel. Bryson’s grandfather was coming to dinner tomorrow night, which would be the first time in four years that he’d set foot in the house. That was obviously why Bryson had put up the photos.
It felt weird to still be selling the fake marriage, since we were actually involved now. I liked the genuine photos, the ones that showed our real life. The two from Las Vegas felt fake.
We couldn’t take our foot off the gas, though. As much as I wanted to be done with that lie, and as guilty as we both felt for deceiving his grandfather, we still had eleven months of this ahead of us.
Bryson needed that money. It was the only way he could hold on to the house he loved, and the only chance he had of getting to try again with a new restaurant.
I had to keep reminding myself of those things. They were my motivation to keep going, far more than my own dream of a cake business. Bryson had already given me the tools I needed to succeed at that—but aside from working with the designer on my website, I didn’t have a clue where to begin. How was I going to find people who wanted to buy my cakes? And why did I think I could run a business? I was worried about losing all the money I’d be getting from Bryson’s inheritance, if this was what I spent it on.