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Finally, she raises her head. “I don’t see anything in here about personal rules.”
“What do you mean?” Max asks, beating me to it.
“I mean, house rules. You know, the level of intimacy expected in public, that kind of thing. It just talks about us appearing as a married couple to the public, but not what we have to do specifically.”
“Oh,” Max says, scratching his chin. “The lawyers probably thought those details would be left up to you two.”
“Okay. Can we make them now?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. Is she serious? Do we have to wade through all the nitty-gritty right this minute? I don’t have time for this. I shoot Max an insistent look.
“I’m sure you’ll figure this out as you go,” he says to her.
She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “No way. We’re putting this in writing now and making it part of the contract, or I’m not signing this.”
Why did I not consider this? Because everything about this situation is strange, and I have no experience with it.
“This is going to be my life for two years,” she adds. “I need to know exactly what’s expected of me and where the boundaries are.”
I let out a long sigh. “Fine. We’ll spell out the rules. Max, you’d better get back to the office and join that conference call. I’ll meet you there later.”
He glances between us and gives me a terse nod. “Okay. Bring the documents back with you when you’ve found a common ground.”
“Will do,” I say. With that, he walks out of the room.
“Okay,” I sigh, turning to Jane and trying to disguise my exasperated tone. “Let’s get this over with. What rules do you want to add?”
“First, we need to define the level of touching when we’re in public,” she says, grabbing a notebook from her handbag.
I quirk an eyebrow. “I don’t know what kind of kinky things you’re into, Jane, but when I’m dating someone, I usually don’t shag them in public.”
She frowns. “Shag?”
“I’m British,” I say with a shrug.
She cocks her head to the side, a smile teasing her lips. “Could have fooled me.”
“I’ve been living in the States for over ten years, so there’s not much Britishness left in me. But sometimes, a word or two sneaks in. Anyway,” I say with a wave of my hand, not wanting to get into my background or why I worked so hard to cut ties with where I come from. “That’s not my thing. Sorry to disappoint you.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Obviously I don’t ‘shag’ anyone in public either. I just meant hand holding, a touch on the back, small gestures.” She swallows hard. “Kissing.”
I sit back, scratching my jaw. I didn’t think about any of that, and the thought has my imagination running wild. It’s been a while since I was intimate with someone. I go through phases. Sometimes, it’s a new girl every week. Sometimes, it’s no one for months.
“Given that we have to pretend to be engaged, then married,” I begin, “I think most of the gestures you mentioned are expected.”
“Okay, but we need the specifics,” she demands, clicking the pen.
“Oh, you really are serious?” I try to cover my irritated tone with surprise.
She gives me a look that leaves little room for argument.
Crossing my arms, I grumble out, “Fine. Hand holding, yes. A touch of the hand on the back, yes. I might brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, if that’s okay. And you’re free to wipe away any cream I have on my lips after drinking my coffee.”
Despite my sarcastic tone, she writes it all down diligently. “And kissing?” she asks, not lifting her head.
“I think it’s a given. Doesn’t have to be too frequent, but once or twice an outing would be expected, I guess.”
“Okay”, she says, scribbling it all down. “Tongue?” she asks, her cheeks reddening.
