Page 94 of Call You Mine
Even though admitting that means admitting that tonight was more than just an act to put on in front of our friends.
It wasreal.
Ava steps back into my arms, surprising me. “Let’s go to bed.”
CHAPTER 30
AVA
It’s still darkwhen I wake up, the sun still an hour or two from rising.
I feel Anderson’s arm slung over my waist, his chest against my back.
We didn’t have sex—we didn’t do anything more after that kiss.
We just climbed into bed together and fell asleep.
And somehow that felt more intimate.
Being in Anderson’s arms, I realize this is the first time, in all the nights we’ve spent together over the past months, that I’ve ever woken up like this. I look for the urge to run, to sneak out of this bed and put some separation between us.
But there’s nothing.
And that terrifies me.
Marrying Anderson is supposed to be nothing but helping me appear steadier on paper—two adults, a home, a partner to prove I’m not doing this alone—and CPS will see stability, not all the messy reasons behind it.
He’s not going to adopt Georgie, and he doesn’t have to stay; once it’s all said and done, I’ll still be her only parent, and that’s safer, simpler.
We’ll get married; we’ll get CPS off our backs. We’ll divorce.
Georgie and I will move out, and I’ll be all on my own.
Again.
This marriage is just logistics, just strategy.
It has nothing to do with the way my chest tightens when he gives me that easy smile; nothing to do with the way he seems to know exactly what it feels like to have the people you love depending on you; nothing to do with the fact that the words “husband” and “wife” are supposed to mean nothing.
And yet somehow the thought of us getting divorced after all this makes it feel like they do.
I swallow, my thoughts racing faster than I can fully register them, and the anxiety in my chest begins to build. My fingers begin to prickle at the tips, goosebumps rising on my skin as a feverish heat settles over me.
I squint my eyes shut, my entire body tense as my breath becomes shallow.
The need to count them becomes overpowering, and I can’t think of anything else.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“Ava?” The voice sounds like it’s far away, like it’s underwater, like it’s coming from somewhere deep in my head.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
“Ava?” I hear again, but it’s a little louder, a little clearer.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
“Answer me, love.” The voice is pleading, the arm around my waist tightening
