Page 1 of The Fake Husband
1
NADINE
Idon't really hate my ex, but if there's only one thing I can say about him, it's that he lights up every room he leaves. Every day I don't see him is a good day.
Today is not one of those.
Derek Myers has many skills, and one of them—possibly his finest—is the ability to make a Tuesday afternoon feel like the longest hour ever. He appears at my cubicle at 4:47 PM, because God forbid I leave the office on time.
He has a cream-colored envelope in one hand, setting it on my desk with two fingers, and I already start thinking whether a swipe of wet wipes and some alcohol sprays are enough to disinfect his presence.
Priyanka, from two desks over, performs the most unconvincing fake-typing I have ever witnessed in my life. Who types that quickly while casting us a sideways look? She is not subtle. She is not trying to be subtle. I can feel the attention radiating off her like heat, and it makes me want to laugh.
Alec, across the floor, doesn't even bother pretending. He even rests his chin over his interlaced fingers and cocks an eyebrow at me. He might as well be eating popcorn.
"Hey, Nadie."
God, he knows I hate being called that. "Hi."
"So, an invitation to the wedding. I'm inviting everyone, but I thought you deserved a personal invitation from me."
I almost roll my eyes so hard, I can see my brain. "Oh, really? Am I supposed to weep in gratitude at your feet?"
Derek can't be fazed, though. He pastes on that patronizing smile I know so well. "This isn't going to break your heart, right? Watching me marry someone else?" He pretends to say it quietly, but it's loud enough for both Priyanka and Alec to catch every word. "I know you were hoping it would be you."
The fury arrives clean and absolute even as I refuse to take the bait. Not sudden, not surprising, just the familiar weight of Derek being Derek, which is to say, he's his usual asshole self.
I do not show it. I've been not-showing things to Derek forever, even during the six months when we were together, and I am very, very good at it.
The smile never drops from his face because this is important to him. His cruelty is always delivered warm, so whatever happens, it's never on him. It's just me overreacting again. It's me reading too much into things.
See, when he's not being an asshole, Derek is a professional gaslighter.
An absolute jackpot, this guy.
"Congratulations," I say, and my voice comes out exactly the way I need it to—polite, professional, completely unaffected. Two can play this game.
"You're bringing someone?"
I don't stop to think for even two seconds. All I know is I want to smack that smug look on his face, and since physical assault is very much frowned upon by HR, I do the next best thing—give him a mental punch. "Of course. My husband."
The words land in the air between us—mine, in my voice, undeniably out of my mouth—and there's a beat while both of us process what just happened.
Oh God, did I just say…?
Derek's smile goes fractionally uncertain, just for a moment. It's microscopic, but I catch it, the tiny shift in his expression that says he's caught off guard. That right there is the best thing that's happened to me all week.
I hold onto it with both hands while the rest of me registers the scope of what I've done.
"Your ...husband," he says, testing the word like it might be defective.
"Hm-mm!"
"Well." The smile clicks back into place. "Congratulations on that too … even if this is the first time I'm hearing it."
"Maybe because it's none of your business?"
"Hmm. See you and your, ah,husband,at the wedding then."
