Chapter 3
I opened the door to find him in Superman pajamas, clutching a stuffed dinosaur.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"I had a bad dream. About Mom leaving again."
My heart clenched. "Want to talk about it?"
Tommy shook his head. "Can you just... check my room for monsters? Dad doesn't believe in them, but they might be there anyway."
This little boy is so afraid of being abandoned again. How can I protect him when I know I'm going to leave in two years?
"Of course. But Tommy?" I knelt down to his eye level. "There are no monsters here. Just us."
"Promise?"
I looked into his trusting blue eyes—so much like his father's—and felt something crack in my chest.
"I promise."
As I tucked Tommy back into bed, I realized the real monster in this situation might be me. In twenty months, I'd break this little boy's heart all over again.
I had fallen into a routine faster than I'd expected. Coffee first—I'd finally figured out that espresso machine—then making Tommy's lunch while he got ready for school.
"Rose, can you sign this?" Tommy handed me a permission slip for a field trip. "Dad's already at work."
I hesitated, pen in hand. This wasn't something I should be signing—I wasn't really his guardian—but Tommy was looking at me expectantly.
"What's the field trip for?"
"Natural History Museum. We're studying dinosaurs." Tommy bounced on his feet. "Please? Everyone else's parents already signed."
Everyone else's parents. Not contract wives. But looking at his hopeful expression, I couldn't say no.
I signed "Rose Blackwood" at the bottom. The handwriting looked surprisingly natural.
"Thanks, Mom—" Tommy stopped abruptly, his face going red. "I mean, Rose. Thanks, Rose."
My heart did something complicated. "It's okay, Tommy."
But it wasn't okay. Every day we were pretending to be a family, and I was starting to forget this was only temporary.
Marcus was late again—third time this week—when I heard Tommy coughing upstairs. I found him in his room, face flushed, shivering under his blankets.
"Hey, buddy." I pressed my hand to his forehead. Burning up. "How are you feeling?"
"My head hurts. And I'm cold."
I grabbed the thermometer from the bathroom. 102.3 degrees. Not dangerous, but high enough to worry me.
I got him children's Tylenol and a cool washcloth for his forehead.
"Rose?" Tommy's voice was small. "Will you stay with me?"
"Of course." I settled into the chair beside his bed. "Want me to read you something?"
He nodded toward his bookshelf. "The one about dragons."
I read until his breathing evened out, checking his temperature every hour. Marcus found us at eleven PM, me still sitting beside Tommy's bed.
"How is he?" Marcus whispered.
"Fever broke an hour ago. He's sleeping peacefully now."
Marcus looked at the thermometer, the medicine bottle, the damp washcloth. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." The words came out sharper than intended. "He needed someone."
Marcus studied my face in the dim light. "Thank you. For taking care of him."
He's looking at me like I'm not just the hired help. Like I actually matter.
"He's a good kid," I said softly.
"He is. And he's lucky to have you."
For a moment, I forgot this was a business arrangement. Marcus stood close, his voice gentle, and I could see something in his eyes that looked like...
"I should let you get some sleep," I said quickly, standing up.
But as I passed him in the doorway, his hand briefly touched my arm. "Rose. Really. Thank you."
Marcus was working at his laptop while I helped Tommy with homework at the coffee table. This kind of domestic scene felt too real, too comfortable.
"Dad, I need help with this math problem," Tommy called out.
Marcus joined us on the floor, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned over Tommy's worksheet. When he frowned in concentration, for a moment he looked exactly like Danny when he was fixing something.
My breath caught.
"You okay?" Marcus asked, noticing my reaction.
That focused expression, the way his brow furrowed. But this is Marcus, not Danny. I can't confuse them.
"Just thinking," I said. "About how good you are with him."
Marcus smiled—a real smile, not the polite business smile. "Elena always said I was too serious with him. That I needed to be more fun."
"You're perfect the way you are," I said without thinking.
We looked at each other, something passing between us. Tommy was oblivious, erasing his wrong answer, but I felt like Marcus could see right through me.
"Rose," he said quietly. "Sometimes I feel like—"
"Got it!" Tommy interrupted triumphantly. "The answer is twelve!"
The moment broke, but the awareness remained. I was in dangerous territory.
I'd discovered it was Marcus's birthday completely by accident—Tommy mentioned it casually while we were grocery shopping. Marcus hadn't said anything, probably because our arrangement didn't include birthday celebrations.
But I found myself making Danny's favorite dessert: apple pie with cinnamon ice cream.
Why am I making this? This was Danny's favorite, not Marcus's.
"Something smells amazing," Marcus said, walking into the kitchen.
"Happy birthday," I said, feeling suddenly awkward. "Tommy mentioned... I hope you don't mind."
Marcus stared at the pie cooling on the counter. "You made this for me?"
"It's nothing fancy. Just... everyone should have something special on their birthday."
"Elena used to make apple pie," he said quietly. "Not exactly like this, but..."
Of course Elena made pie too. Am I unconsciously copying her? Or am I channeling Danny's memory?
"I can make something else if you prefer—"
"No." Marcus stepped closer. "This is perfect. It's been a long time since anyone... thank you, Rose."
When he said my name like that, with such warmth, I felt something shift inside me. This wasn't just gratitude, and it wasn't because I reminded him of Danny. This was something new, something dangerous.
Tommy was asleep, dishes were done, and Marcus had opened a bottle of wine. We sat on the back porch in unusually comfortable silence.
"Rose," Marcus said eventually. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you ever regret this? The arrangement?"
I considered lying, giving him the safe answer. Instead, I found myself being honest.
"Sometimes I wonder what I've gotten myself into. This feels more real than it should."
"Yeah," he said softly. "It does."
We weren't looking at each other, but I could feel the tension. This conversation was heading somewhere we shouldn't go.
"Marcus—"
"I know," he interrupted. "I know this is supposed to be temporary. But Tommy loves you. And I..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but I heard it anyway.
What was he about to say? That he loves me too? This wasn't part of the plan. I came here to save Maya, not to fall for my fake husband.
"We should probably get some sleep," I said, standing up too quickly.
"Rose, wait—"
"Good night, Marcus."
As I went upstairs, I could feel his eyes on me. Everything was getting too complicated, too real. And the scariest part? I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.