“Will you be so sweet throughout my sickness?”
“Am I s-sweet?” His eyebrows furrow, and I know he isn’t trying to gloat or act. He really has no clue how precious he is.
“You are the sweetest.”
“I…wouldn’t s-say that.” His ears once again turn red, and I don’t know why, but I feel better and a bit powerful to make this man sweat.
“I’d be the luckiest girl. With such a sweet, handsome hunk by my side, I’d have to ward off girls left and right. So, you will have to wear a ring or carry handkerchiefs with my name embroidered on them. You should always carry a photograph of me in your wallet. What else…? Yeah, your calendar should clearly say lunch date with wife and dinner date with wife.”
As I carry on with the stupid list, my chest loosens and something other than misery fills my heart. I don’t know why, but I look forward to this fun-filled fake marriage phase with Zane.
“And I’ll frequently visit your office to stake my claim.”
“S-stake your c-claim?” His chuckle echoes in my tiny apartment. His hazel eyes dance and sparkle as he looks down at me still in his arms.
“So, will you marry me?”
“Ar-re you pro-posing?”
For a beat, his one eyebrow arches, and holy crap, Zane looks sinfully hot as hell. My pulse skyrockets at his rare action.
“Are you playing hard to get?”
“Fuck no. I d-don’t know w-why I said that.” He immediately backpedals and his sweet, hesitant persona is back.
“Don’t worry, you can be playful at times.” I gently pat his tie.
“If you were s-seriously asking, I’d r-really like to mar-rry you.” His words, even though stuttered, have the conviction of a lifetime. And even though it should scare me, it doesn’t.
“Why?” I whisper, unable to understand this man. “You’re getting a sick wife and tons of hospital bills.”
“I d-don’t like you upset.” His concerned voice has me transitioning our conversation.
“So, what will you do after we get married? To tell everyone that you’re mine.”
As much as I know this conversation with Zane is silly and meaningless unless we do get married, I’m enjoying the warmth it’s spreading inside me.
“What d-do you want me to d-do?” he says in a raspy voice before tightening his arms around me.
My head rests against his chest. I haven’t felt this safe in such a long time. I let my brain go wild with imagination.
“I want you to order lunch at least once a week from Steamy Beans and tell everyone that it’s because your wife works there. I want you to drop by occasionally just to check up on me. I want you to bring me flowers, daisies, every day. I want you to kiss me in front of everyone. I want you to tell everyone how much you love…”
He stills and I realize the fantasy I’m weaving.
“I’m sorry.” I pull back from his arms. “I’m just being crazy. My emotions are all over the place.”
“Wh-why not? If we decide t-to get mar-rried, we’ll have to s-say we’re in love. How el-se will everyone believe the whirlwind r-romance?”
My gaze shoots to him, and judging by his calm but serious face, I don’t think he’s joking.
“Are you really serious about getting married?”
“If it makes you happy, I’ll buy you d-daisies, carry hank-kerchiefs with your lips-stick mark, put your ph-photograph in my wallet, or-rder lunch, and s-say all those I love yous.”
My breath hitches. Holy crap! He paid attention to all my blabbering.
“How are you single, Zane?” My voice comes out hoarse, and I can’t believe this man, who’s so thoughtful and sweet, like a perfect guy from a Hallmark movie, is sitting in my apartment waiting to be my fake husband.