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I hear him greet the girls before he finally comes into view. He’s loosening his tie, a movement that looks entirely too distracting with the way his hand flexes and his jaw moves. I’m aware I reek of cleaning fluids, my hair is up in a messy half bun, and my shirt is half untucked. I look like I always do when in a guest’s room. But I’m not just a maid here as much as I am his fiancée as well. That thought hits me hard.
I’m not about to approach him and welcome him home with food and a bath drawn. We aren’t pretending to that extent. But I realize I barely know the man besides his obsession with his dogs, his apparent ability to cook better than me, and his family’s controlling habits. He knows more about me than I do him, and he only knows that secondhand through Russell or from my work profile.
I bite my lip. We are such a sham it’s pathetic and anyone with eyes will see through us in a second.
“Hello,” he says.
It knocks me out of my thoughts, mostly because I’m surprised. He rarely greets me just to say hello. I blink before I nod back, unable to speak due to my tongue being tied. But that seems to make him happy enough as he moves to the fridge and begins to rifle through it for food. I don’t even offer to make him anything this time.
“Did you find what I left you on the table?” he asks.
I scowl as I remember the passive-aggressive note. Adrian, unbothered, puts together some sort of weird sandwich, and I watch with a smile hidden by my simple pasta as he fusses with the layers to make everything sit just right.
“I did,” I finally respond, and even I can tell my voice is stiff.
“Any problems?” He doesn’t seem offended by my tone. And why would he be? He probably just doesn’t care.
“No,” I pause, tapping my fingers against my porcelain bowl. “But… now that I think about it… well….”
I seem to have an issue with getting the words out and Adrian turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow. He waits, though I can tell from the way he hasn’t taken a bite of his sandwich that he’s impatient.
“Are you going to say something, or can I eat my lunch?” he finally asks, exasperation in his words.
I sigh. “Well, we don’t seem like a couple.”
He narrows his eyes. “We aren’t.”
I shake my head, irritated that I can’t explain this right, but it’s so awkward. I don’t really want to get to know Adrian better. At least I don’t think I do? But there is a small part of me that is curious.
Why is a billionaire struggling so hard to find someone who will play this part?
Why is he so against love?
Why does he want this money so badly when he likely can just work hard for a few more years and expand that way?
How did Adrian Saunders become the grouchy almost forty-year-old man he is today?
There are so many whys and so many hows, I just don’t know where to begin.
I huff out a breath. “I know that. You know that. Russell knows that. But no one else is supposed to and currently… well, everyone is going to figure it out. We don’t even have a backstory on how we supposedly met. We don’t know anything about each other. Like you know I like French food because of my past, but do you know my favorite dish? Do you know my favorite color? Because that’s like basic first and second date stuff people learn when they like each other.”
I throw my hands up in the air. I’m frustrated, annoyed, and my cheeks puff out in a pout as I try not to storm out of the room like a child. I’m not angry, just confused as to why it feels so uncomfortable between us. It’s almost like I’m asking Adrian out on a date. But I’m not doing that… right?
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Slowly, he takes a bite of his sandwich almost as if he is confused as to whether this is what he should be doing. I know I just ranted, but can’t he just answer me?
He finally shrugs one shoulder. “So you’re saying we should get to know each other better?”
I nod, a sigh of relief leaves me, and my shoulders drop.
“Do you want to write something like flash cards?” he says pensively.
I nearly laugh. He’s so awkward, so antisocial. I shake my head, rolling my lips against each other, in between my teeth in order to control myself before I answer.
“No, I think then we might know too much. We could say we’ve been together for like three to six months, whichever you prefer the sound of. Then… I suppose I should choose how far we go back into a history for that and how much we should learn about each other,” I pause and think. “But talking about it over a series of days would make it seem more natural.”
“Natural,” he parrots back, quietly.
I don’t think this man has a natural social bone in his body, but I can work with it, I’m certain. He seems to be thinking about what I said, and I let him turn it over in his mind. One thing I’ve come to learn is that Adrian’s someone who always needs to consider things for a long time. He never rushes, except for that one time we argued. Perhaps it’s why he doesn’t get angry often.
