My Fake Husband by Black, L. (motivational novels TXT) 📕

was prettier than anything I’d ever seen, from the sweep of dark lashes across her cheeks to the droop of her bottom lip as she slept. I felt the heavy tug of desire for her, but I forced it away. This was not just desire, though. It was tenderness, affection. I brushed her cheek with the backs of my fingers lightly, thinking how much I liked having her here and coming home to her. This girl, the one I was just helping out, had somehow made a place in my life for herself until she took up so much room I couldn’t imagine my home without her in it or my weekends without her, my random Thursday nights—nothing would be any good anymore without Trixie in my life the way she was now or even closer.

For now, she was exhausted, and I could tuck her into bed. I heaved a heavy sigh. I wanted to take her to my bed, hold her while she slept. But I knew that would make her uncomfortable when she woke up there, wondering how she got there or what we’d done that she didn’t remember. So I did the grown man thing to do. I picked her up, blanket and all, and carried her to her own room, to her own bed, and lay her down carefully so I didn’t disturb her sleep. Sure, I wanted her to wake up, find me carrying her, and be so overwhelmed with the romance that she wound her arms around my neck and kissed me.

It seemed like I was obsessed with a Hollywood ending.

But she stayed stubbornly asleep, her head lolling onto the pillow without so much as a murmur. I took the phone from her hand and plugged it into her charger by the bed. I knelt beside the bed and looked at her for a moment, studying her pretty face while she was relaxed.

“How did I miss seeing you sooner?” I whispered, barely above a breath, “when you were always this person, the only one I’d want to be with.” I pressed a kiss on her forehead softly, barely brushing her warm skin with my lips. “It’s a good thing you’re asleep. I would’ve had to tell you I think I love you,” I whispered, a fond and rueful smile taking up residence on my face. It made me feel good that I was the one who got to tuck her into bed when she was completely wiped out. I even drew the blanket down to cover her feet, switched off her lamp and left her in peace.

Dream of this, I willed her silently, dream of me putting you to bed as tenderly as a lover, protective and devoted.

15 Trixie

I woke up in my bed, covered with the blanket from the couch. I looked around, not remembering how I got there. Frantically, I glanced beside me to see if he had gotten into bed with me, if there was a naked man beside me. I was alone, and breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe I was a tiny bit disappointed not to find Damon naked in my bed, but I was relieved to find he was still such a gentleman, that he hadn’t intruded without my agreement. In fact, I felt—heart-warmed, if that’s even a word. To think he’d probably carried me to bed, to my bed, with no design other than to make sure I was comfortable. I looked over to check the time, and saw my phone on the bedside table. It was plugged in. I smiled, but it was almost a teary smile, knowing how thoughtful that was of him to charge my phone for me. It was 7:20—I had obviously forgotten to set my alarm. When I set the phone back down, I found a piece of paper I didn’t remember putting there. I picked it up, saw that it was folded in half, Trix written on the outside of it.

I sat up in bed, unfolded it and read his note:

Good morning,

You are so beautiful even when you’re asleep, that it was all I could do not to kiss you awake, Sleeping Beauty style. I knew how tired you were, and how you’re determined to do all this yourself. Let me help if I can. I’ve missed you.

I made breakfast. Yesterday I stopped at the bakery and got the good sourdough you like. It makes kickass French toast which I left in the skillet on the stove. Take the lid off and heat it up so it’s crispy. Don’t microwave it—you deserve better than mushy toast, even if it takes a whole five minutes of your busy day.

Did I mention I’ve missed you? I’m not working this weekend. Ghostbusters and popcorn?

Damon

I smiled to myself, and thought this must be what beaming felt like, when you’re so happy that your cheeks hurt from grinning too hard. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, and here it was, written down where I could keep it forever. I actually pressed the note to my chest and held it, like I was Anne of Green Gables or some other melodramatic girl in an old-timey romance story. His words felt sweet and funny, like he was, but also secret, intimate. A note a man writes to his wife when he leaves before she’s awake, when he’s made her breakfast.

I grabbed my phone to text him: I love the note. I love everything. I love you. I stopped myself before I hit send, my face flaming. I couldn’t do that in a text message. I couldn’t risk saying it at all. He’d done so much for me, for my business and been such a good friend, I couldn’t impose on him that way, expect him to deal with my messy feelings when he was such a good guy and it would be so awkward. He was nice to me, thoughtful. It was a big leap from being an extra-nice roommate