Page 25 of The Fake Husband
Reality's better.
Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, dancing over old tattoos. "River? I love you."
The world slides to a stop around us, and I can barely breathe. "Nad."
"Too soon?"
"I've loved you for so long, so no." I cradle her face and plant a soft kiss on her mouth. "I love you too, with every fiber of my being."
===
EPILOGUE
NADINE
Five Years Later
The thing about being married to River James for real—not fake-married-for-a-weekend but actual,legally-binding-till-death-do-us-partmarried—is that he still makes my stomach flip when he walks into a room.
Five years. One toddler. Our own house. Joint tax returns. And the man still looks at me like I'm the only person in the world worth looking at.
It's disgusting, really … in the best possible way.
Right now, he's chopping vegetables for dinner with his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, tattoos on full display. The same arms that can lift an engine block somehow manage to dice bell peppers into perfectly uniform pieces. Meanwhile, I can barely cut bread in a straight line.
"Daddy! Daddy! Look!"
Our son, Nick, barrels into the kitchen, waving a drawing that appears to be either a fire-breathing dragon or an abstract representation of our mailbox. With River, it's impossible to tell which interpretation he'll choose.
Nick launches himself at River's legs, tiny hands gripping his jeans, feet scrabbling for purchase on his thighs.
"Up! Daddy, up!"
River scoops him into his arms without breaking stride, settling Nick on his hip.
"Where's Mama?" River asks, even though I'm standing right here in the kitchen doorway watching this entire performance.
Nick points directly at me. "Mama! Drawing for you!"
"Good job. You found her."
The front door bangs open without warning because Rachel still has a key and absolutely zero boundaries.
"I'm here!" she yells, striding in like she owns the place. "Where's my favorite nephew?"
Nick squeals and practically launches himself out of River's arms, tiny feet thundering toward Aunt Rachel, who scoops him up with a grunt.
"Have you been good?" she asks, eyebrows raised.
"No!"
Rachel grins. "Perfect."
River hands her a beer without asking if she wants one. We settle in the living room—Nick on the floor with his dinosaurs, Rachel sprawled across the couch.
"So," she says, fake-casual, "remember Derek's wedding?"
My eyes narrow. "Why?"
