My stomach knots, my heart lurches in my chest, and suddenly I feel stone-cold sober.
But I’m not sober.
If I were, I’d never have the guts to say, “I’ll do it.”
“What?” A line forms between Nash’s eyebrows, an exclamation point that seems to emphasize the insanity of what I just said.
“I’ll do it,” I repeat, my pulse fluttering in my throat. I set my beer down as my arm begins to tremble. “Though I might need more than a fake engagement. My ex is saying he’s a better parent because he’s already married and has a house of his own without any perverts like my dad living in it.”
“The report on your dad’s arrest came across my desk last week,” Nash says, a hard note creeping into his voice. “Can’t say I was sad to see it.”
I sigh. “I can imagine. He was awful to you. I’m sorry.”
Nash nods. “It was a long time ago. And…not your fault.”
Our eyes meet and hold, something passing between us that feels a little bit like forgiveness. I’m sure it’s not—forgiveness doesn’t come this easily in my experience—but the softening around Nash’s eyes makes me brave enough to say, “So yeah…if we were married and living together, my ex wouldn’t have a case, and your ex would never have to know that you were lying about being ready to commit to someone else.”
Nash’s lips lift on one side. “We’re not seriously considering this are we?”
“I am,” I say, folding my fingers into a single fist to keep my hands from shaking, only realizing after I’ve done it that it probably looks like I’m begging. But that’s okay, I’ll beg if that’s what it takes. My pride won’t keep me sane if Liam succeeds in taking Felicity away. “I know there’s less in it for you, but I can pitch in around your place to make up for it. I can clean, do laundry, whatever. And then, a few months from now, or however long it takes for Liam to get tired of trying to sue me and move on, we can amicably divorce.”
“Since when do we amicably do anything?” Nash asks, arching a brow. But he doesn’t flat out say no, a fact I decide to take as a positive sign.
“Since tonight,” I insist, forcing a smile. “Since we realized we can help each other out in a way no one else can. I’ll get to keep full custody of my daughter, you’ll get to rub your happiness in the face of this woman who betrayed you, everyone wins.”
“What about your father?” he asks. “What’s he going to think about you marrying the white trash he saved you from when you were fifteen?”
My throat goes tight. “He doesn’t really think like that. He was upset and saying things he didn’t mean.”
“Oh, I think he meant every word,” Nash says in a low, gravelly voice. “And I seriously doubt he’s going to be in any rush to welcome me to the family. Especially if we run off and get hitched without asking his permission first. Which I don’t intend to do, by the way. The only man’s opinion who matters when it comes to my life or marriage is mine.”
“Good,” I breathe. “Because I’m no one’s property to be given away. Not even my father’s. When I walk down the aisle, I’ll do it on my own two feet.”
He steps closer, until his body heat warms my chest and the sexy smell of him makes my nerve endings hum with something more dangerous than anxiety. “That’s…surprising.”
“I’m full of surprises.” I swallow hard. I’m playing with fire. Moving into Nash’s place, where I’ll be exposed to his five-alarm sex vibe and delicious smell for even a few months could land me in serious, emotional distress.
This man gets under my skin like no one else, always has and always will.
“But are all the surprises good surprises?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips, making my heart thud even faster.
“I hope so,” I say. “But if they’re not, I’m an adult capable of changing my behavior. And so is my father. I’ll make him understand why we need to fake this marriage and get him on board. Considering it’s partly his fault my case is weak in the first place, I—”
“No,” Nash cuts in, bringing his face closer to mine as he adds in a soft, husky voice. “If we do this, no one knows we’re pretending but you. And me.”
Chapter Eight
Aria
My brows shoot up, anxiety and hope dancing beneath my skin.
He’s talking terms, which means there’s a chance this crazy, but potentially life-saving thing is actually going to happen.
“Okay.” I nod, more than willing to work with him. “No one knows but us, not even my family.”
“And when we’re out in public, we act like this is real,” he adds. “Like we’re crazy about each other.”