Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I imagine him everywhere. I close my eyes, and I can feel him here, in a way.
In a way I long for.
In a way that’s getting harder to ignore.
But I have to ignore it. We set down rules in Vegas, then reestablished them the other week before our brunch with the Greers—nothing physical. Then broke them again after the board dinner. Because sex complicates everything. So do feelings. Those fuckers really complicate things. Our fake marriage is already one huge complication; that’s why we have rules. Rules I’ll need to work hard to stick to when he returns tomorrow.
I need to focus on that.
I open my eyes and shove those thoughts away as I head to the foyer and grab my small pink duffel bag—the one I didn’t go through in front of Beckett or Reina. I rummage through it and pull out a small box of special things I brought to make this all seem even more real—framed photos and one piece of art. Something I hope he likes. I go room to room, adding the framed pics one by one. For the camera crew of course. For the shoot.
After I finish placing the last frame in the living room, I go to the foyer and grab one more thing. A piece of art I made for him—a little mirror with a sketch on it. A new design I’m playing with. But where should I hang it? I check out the walls. It’s not really my place to hammer nails and hang items. So I bring it to the plant table and rest it against his Lego orchid.
I step back, staring at the room. What will Asher think when he sees all this? Will he be surprised? Uncomfortable? Amused? No idea.
When I finish, I take pictures of the rooms, then stand in the kitchen and text my friends, attaching the photos.
Maeve: Look—instant wife. Just add pillows, perfume, and plants. But here’s the question—where should I sleep tonight?
Everly: That couch looks like it’s made of pillows.
Fable: The guest room looks like a five-star hotel.
Josie: The carpet looks like you could fuck on it and not get rug burn.
Leighton: Girl, sleep in his bed.
I glance toward the stairs leading up to his bedroom, my heart racing dangerously fast. Do I really sleep in his bed? It feels too intimate without him here. But where will I sleep tomorrow? My stomach flips. No idea. We didn’t discuss that when he asked me to move in for the weekend. Maybe I should just head home.
I text Asher to let him know everything’s set up and that I might go home for the evening. I don’t want to presume I’m welcome tonight too. His reply comes instantly.
Asher: Stay the night, wife.
It’s like he can read my mind.
Maeve: Without you? Are you sure you want me taking over everything? Because I probably will. It’s the inevitability of me.
Asher: My house is your house.
Yeah, except his house is about twenty times larger than mine.
Maeve: You’ve been warned.
Asher: It’ll be more believable. It’ll smell like you then.
Maeve: You like the smell of paint and struggling artist?
Asher: Yes, but mostly you smell like plums, sunsets, or wildflowers.
My breath hitches as I stand in the now-quiet kitchen. He’s so casual about it, but something about the way he’s cataloged my body sprays makes me shiver. I bite my lip, then reply.
Maeve: All three? At once?
Asher: No. It depends on the day. Keeps me on my toes. And yes, you can and should sleep in my bed. It’s fucking otherworldly comfortable.
Talk about intimate. Talk about an invitation. I’m not sure I can resist RSVPing.
I grab my canvas bag and head upstairs, down the hallway to the main bedroom where I push open the door. The room is vast, with a huge king-size bed. Like it’s enchanting me, I walk over to it, then drop my bag on the floor. I run a hand along the soft dove-gray duvet, then picture Asher in it. Taking up all the space with his big, strong frame, rippling muscles, tousled hair, and bossy, commanding charm. What does he look like when he goes to bed? When he wakes up? In the middle of the night when he dreams? I reach into my bag and set down a couple paperbacks on the nightstand. A new book I checked out from Josie’s library since I needed a tearjerker. And then my familiar copy of If Found, Please Return. With my phone still in hand, the thoughts of Asher weave around me as I wander to the palatial bathroom with a shower that’s begging for me to try it. My phone buzzes.
Asher: And use the rainfall shower. You’ll love it.
I’m convinced now he can read my mind. Or maybe he’s spying.
Maeve: Are you watching me? Do you have cameras? That’s where I am. Checking out this bathroom I could live in.